Right to Die

back then. Children’s and staff quarters are on the fourth floor, under the eaves, where it’s coldest in winter and hottest in summer. The Victorians really knew how to handle that.”
    Much of Beacon Hill is Federalist red brick, but there wasn’t much doubt Bacall was right about the period in which the Andrus home was built. Still, you’d have to be current in the real estate market to know how many millions it would fetch.
    When I didn’t say anything, Bacall leaned a little closer. “I really don’t think you need worry about Inés. She’s seen a lot worse than this.”
    “Coming over from Cuba ?”
    Just a nod. “She’s a strong woman, and a good one too. She used to volunteer at an AIDS clinic Del and I support.”
    “Used to?”
    “Inés found she couldn’t stand to see people suffering.”
    “Not many can.”
    Another nod.
    “Coffee or tea?”
    Wonsley was carrying a tray with lots of things on it that I couldn’t identify.
    “I’ll pass, thanks. Can you two give me a while upstairs?”
    Bacall said, “Certainly, John.”
    I climbed to an elliptical landing with double doors on either end. I walked to the front set. Through the narrow slit between the doors came the muted noise of a stadium crowd and the strobing of a video monitor in an otherwise darkened room. I knocked and a southern accent said, “Hold just a second.”
    Tucker Hebert threw open doors which slid into the walls on either side of the threshold. He’d taken off the jacket, tie, and shoes. His dress shirt was unbuttoned almost to the waist.
    I said, “I hope I’m not breaking in on you?”
    Hebert grinned. “Just trying to get comfortable. Maisy’s in her study. You’d be the detective, right?”
    “Private investigator. John Cuddy.”
    “Tuck Hebert.” His grip was almost a vise. “Come on in and set yourself down. Fix you something?”
    I could see a crystal tumbler, nearly full of amber liquid and ice cubes, on a cocktail table. “Beer?”
    “Easy enough.” Hebert went behind a bar of padded leather and brass implates. I heard the noises a miniature refrigerator makes.
    The table with his drink squatted close to an Eames chair and ottoman. The chair was positioned in front of a widescreen television and a console of video equipment. On the screen, two tennis players were moving around, the taller one slowing to serve, the other hopping and snorting to receive. The rest of the room was basically floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. In the flickering light, the only things I could see on the shelves were videocassettes and trophies.
    Hebert popped the cap from a bottle of Miller’s Genuine Draft with a church key. “I know these fellers are twistoffs, but I cut my racquet hand on one once, and I’ve been shy ever since.”
    I took the beer from him, no mention of a glass being made. Hebert picked up a remote-control device, but waited while the point was being played on the screen.
    “Watch me crush this one.”
    I did, realizing the bigger guy was a younger Hebert. He took a ball that bounced near his eyes and swept it away crosscourt, beyond the reach of the opponent with dark hair.
    “That was match point against me there. Survived that and went on to take the set seven-six in the tiebreaker. Lordy, old Harold did give me trouble with that moonball of his.”
    Without looking at the remote device, Hebert hit stop and then off. Pushing a third button caused the recessed lights at the tops of the bookshelves to grow brighter.
    He palmed the device lovingly before setting it down. “Little feller does about everything for you except wash the windows. Now, what can I do for you?”
    “Maybe answer a few questions?”
    “Sure, sure.” He curled into the Eames chair and reached for his drink. “Have a seat.”
    I angled a velvet wingback that probably once felt at home in the room and sat down.
    Up close and well lit, Hebert’s features were strong but lined, the year-round tan like the patina on the surface of an antique. The ready smile reminded me of locally produced car commercials, the only detraction other than age being a swipe line through his left eyebrow. He took a healthy swig of what looked more and more like Scotch.
    “You know I’ve been asked to look into the threats to your wife.”
    This time he grinned without showing his teeth and put down the drink. “Tell you what, John.”
    “What?”
    “Let’s not dance around too much, okay? I know Alec and Inés went to see you, and I also