The new owner of the Jackson place walked across the road while his wife poked around their new house. There was a young man sweeping the front porch, and there were various workmen doing things here and there.

“Good morning,” the young man said.

“Good morning. My name is Smith Peterson. My wife, Coco, and I are going to be your neighbors across the road, and I thought I’d come and say hello.”

“Well, congratulations,” the young man said. “Come take a seat?”

Peterson walked up the steps and took a porch chair.

“I’m Eben Stone. My twin brother, Enos, lives here with me, but he’s upstairs working on something.”

“Don’t bother him,” Smith said. “There’ll be plenty of time when we’re moved in.”

“Soon?”

“Couple of weeks.”

“Where you folks from?”

“New York. I’m a dermatologist down there, but I’m beginning to take fewer patients these days. I reckon we’ll be out of the city in a year.”

“Well, you’ll get a wonderful summer up here, and a terrible winter.”

“Oh, we’ve got a place in Florida to take care of winter. Tell me, did I read something about you and your brother in the paper recently?”

“I expect so. Just about everybody did.”

“What was it about?”

“Well, some years ago, we killed our abusive parents.”

“I remember, now. You got a pardon, didn’t you?”

“A lot of folks took up our cause, and we were vindicated, so we came back to the island where we spent our summers growing up. We teach criminal appeals at Yale Law two days a week in the summers.”

“Was the house across the road where you grew up?”

“Yes, it was. We tried to buy it when we were released, but somebody outbid us.”

“Look, Eben, we don’t want there to be any hard feelings between us about our buying the house. If you and your brother still want it, we’ll withdraw our offer and look elsewhere for a place.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you, Smith. But I speak for my brother, too, when I say that we’re very happy in our new house, and we hope you’ll be just as happy in yours.”

“Thank you, Eben,” he said. “I’d better run. I see my wife coming.” He left and met his wife at their car. Eben Stone gave them a cheery wave as they drove away.

—

Stone went to the front door, let Billy Hotchkiss in, and waved him to a seat on the sofa.

“I’ve got the offer right here,” Billy said, handing Stone a folder.

Stone opened and read it. “Smith Peterson and his wife, Coco,” he said. “New York.”

“That’s right. He’s a dermatologist and plastic surgeon. What is it they say about dermatologists?”

“Their patients never die, and they never get well,” Stone said.

“That’s right. The Petersons can afford it.”