Read The Master's Chair (The Chronicles of Terah) for Free Online Page A

mail, take a package and mailing instructions from another, accept another resident’s dog from the groomer, call for one of the doormen to take the animal up to his home, accept the keys from a couple headed out, and make dinner reservations for another couple. All in under ten minutes.
    About five minutes before seven, he walked over to the desk and announced himself. The clerk consulted a small calendar, smiled at him, and motioned him towards the elevator. When he got on the elevator, the attendant asked whom he was visiting. Pallor told him the Johanssons and the man set the little dial for the seventh floor. The gated door slid shut silently and the elevator rose smoothly to the seventh floor and gently stopped. The attendant opened the door and told him to have a good evening.
    The carpet on the hall floor was lush and showed signs of having been vacuumed recently. The small pictures along the walls weren’t chosen to impress, only to enhance the décor. When he reached the door to the Johansson’s condo, he pressed the little buzzer and waited for the door to open.
    A middle-aged woman in a light green pantsuit opened the door and held her hand out to Pallor. “Mr. Stewart. I’m Gladys Stokes. Please come in. We’ve been expecting you.”
    She led him down a short hall and into a living room that actually looked like it had been lived in. There were magazines and books on the coffee table and end tables, not set out for show, but set aside by someone who had been reading them. The mantel over the fireplace held what looked like family pictures, and there was a basket of newspapers beside one of the recliners.
    “If you’ll have a seat, I’ll get the Johanssons. They’re in Christina’s darkroom looking at some of the proofs she shot for Harold’s company today. Can I get you something to drink while you’re waiting?”
    “No, thank you. I’m fine,” Pallor said as he sat down in one of the chairs.
    A few minutes later he heard talking and laughing, and then Mr. and Mrs. Johansson walked into the room. Both were dressed in jeans, sport shirts, and good quality tennis shoes.
    Mr. Johansson stepped over to Pallor and held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Stewart. I’m Harold Johansson.” Then he turned towards his wife and said, “And this is Christina, the talented one of the family.”
    She punched his arm playfully and said, “He’s just saying that so that I’ll give him a discount on the work I did for his agency today. Don’t pay any attention to him.”
    Gladys walked in with a tray with four glasses and a big pitcher of what looked like lemonade. She held the tray while Mrs. Johansson cleared a spot on the coffee table. After she set the tray down, she said, “I know you said you didn’t want anything, but I brought you a glass just in case you changed your mind.” Gladys poured three glasses, handed one to each of the Johansson’s, and took a sip of hers.
    Mr. Johansson took a deep swallow of his and nodded. “You really should try this. Gladys is one of the few people left in the world who squeezes her own lemons. She makes wonderful lemonade.”
    Pallor smiled and nodded at Gladys. She poured the fourth glass and handed it to him.
    “Now, what can we do for you?” Mrs. Johansson asked.
    “First of all, I’m curious as to why you’re going with a private adoption when I’m sure you’d qualify with a state agency.”
    “Well, from what we’ve read, most adopted children eventually want to know who their natural parents are, and with a state adoption, that doesn’t happen very easily,” Mrs. Johansson said.
    Pallor frowned. “You do realize that in this case, the natural mother doesn’t want her son to even know he’s adopted.”
    “Yes, and that’s fine for now, but by the time he’s grown, he’ll probably figure it out. I don’t know what his mother looks like, but unless she’s blond with blue eyes, he’s going to figure out that something’s not quite