afraid I don't have the slightest notion," he
said, then held up a finger. "Wait, I seem to remember
that she stopped by my office to tell me that she had
tickets at the ACT for the next night." He started to
explain the initials, then stopped. "I'm afraid I don't
remember what they were doing. It has been quite
some time, you understand."
"Too long," I admitted for the tenth time.
"Do you mind if I inquire into your motives in this
matter?"
"Her mother asked me to look for her," I said.
"Do you do this for a living? Or are you a member of
the family?"
"Both," I said. "I'm a cousin on her mother's side
and a licensed private investigator."
"Would you be insulted if I asked for some identification?"
"Nope," I said, and took out my photostat.
"I would have thought, from your accent," he said as
he handed it back, "that you were from the Texas or
Oklahoma branch of the family."
"Texas," I said. "But they let us live just about
anywhere we want to nowadays."
"I see," he said. "Has there been some new information about Betty Sue that prompted her mother to hire you?"
"Nope," I said. "I was just handy. Down here on
another case. And both Mrs. Flowers' sons are dead
now, and she just thought she'd like to see her baby girl
again."
"I don't imagine she's a baby anymore," he said,
smiling at his own joke. "But if I were you I would get
48
in touch with her father. For reasons I don't quite
understand-perhaps because he withheld his affection
from her-Betty Sue had an unhealthy fixation on him.
I would think she would have been in touch with him.
Yes, I would look for the father," he said, then leaned
back in his chair, sipped his drink, and sighed heavily,
like a detective who had just broken a big, sadly
corrupt case in an existential movie.
My temper and my mouth had always gotten me in
trouble. And occasionally prevented me from picking
up the information I needed. I wanted to tell Gleeson
to stuff his stupid advice. I also wanted to tell him to
stuff his Time magazine analysis, and to explain what
fixation meant, but instead of carping, I kept my mouth
shut, my temper in hand.
"I never had a chance to meet Betty Sue when she
was growing up," I said, changing directions. "What
sort of girl was she?"
"One in a million," he answered, quickly but softly,
then paused abruptly as if he had confessed to something. I knew I had him now.
"Why?"
"Why?" he whispered. "When I first saw her, she
was playing in a grade school production of Cinderella,
which I had to attend for reasons I don't even want to
think about now. A simply dreadful production, even
for grade school, and Betty Sue had been wasted in the
fairy godmother role, but let me tell you, my friend,
when that little girl, that mere child, was onstage, all
the other children seemed like creatures of a lesser
race. She had the best natural stage presence I had ever
seen. Offstage, she wasn't anything special, a pleasantlooking child, no more, but onstage she was in charge.
Such presence. Such a r,tatural sense of character, too. "
He paused to chuckle. "Her fairy godmother was a
queen, her gifts bestowed grandly on her inferiors. And
even then, she had a frighteningly sexual presence. You
49
could almost hear the middle-aged libidos in the
audience whimpering to be unleashed.
"After the production, I went backstage to talk to
her," he continued, "and found her staring with such
awful longing eyes at the little girl who had played
Cinderella that I gave her a lecture then and there
about how good she had been. I'm afraid I quite lost
control for a bit. When I finished, she looked up at me
and said , 'It's just a prettier dress than mine, that's all. I
wouldn't be Cinderella, anyway. I wouldn't stand for
it.' She was nine, my friend, nine years old.
"After that, of course, I took her in hand, and
whenever possible I arranged my high school and Little
Theatre productions with a role for her in mind. I
said, then held up a finger. "Wait, I seem to remember
that she stopped by my office to tell me that she had
tickets at the ACT for the next night." He started to
explain the initials, then stopped. "I'm afraid I don't
remember what they were doing. It has been quite
some time, you understand."
"Too long," I admitted for the tenth time.
"Do you mind if I inquire into your motives in this
matter?"
"Her mother asked me to look for her," I said.
"Do you do this for a living? Or are you a member of
the family?"
"Both," I said. "I'm a cousin on her mother's side
and a licensed private investigator."
"Would you be insulted if I asked for some identification?"
"Nope," I said, and took out my photostat.
"I would have thought, from your accent," he said as
he handed it back, "that you were from the Texas or
Oklahoma branch of the family."
"Texas," I said. "But they let us live just about
anywhere we want to nowadays."
"I see," he said. "Has there been some new information about Betty Sue that prompted her mother to hire you?"
"Nope," I said. "I was just handy. Down here on
another case. And both Mrs. Flowers' sons are dead
now, and she just thought she'd like to see her baby girl
again."
"I don't imagine she's a baby anymore," he said,
smiling at his own joke. "But if I were you I would get
48
in touch with her father. For reasons I don't quite
understand-perhaps because he withheld his affection
from her-Betty Sue had an unhealthy fixation on him.
I would think she would have been in touch with him.
Yes, I would look for the father," he said, then leaned
back in his chair, sipped his drink, and sighed heavily,
like a detective who had just broken a big, sadly
corrupt case in an existential movie.
My temper and my mouth had always gotten me in
trouble. And occasionally prevented me from picking
up the information I needed. I wanted to tell Gleeson
to stuff his stupid advice. I also wanted to tell him to
stuff his Time magazine analysis, and to explain what
fixation meant, but instead of carping, I kept my mouth
shut, my temper in hand.
"I never had a chance to meet Betty Sue when she
was growing up," I said, changing directions. "What
sort of girl was she?"
"One in a million," he answered, quickly but softly,
then paused abruptly as if he had confessed to something. I knew I had him now.
"Why?"
"Why?" he whispered. "When I first saw her, she
was playing in a grade school production of Cinderella,
which I had to attend for reasons I don't even want to
think about now. A simply dreadful production, even
for grade school, and Betty Sue had been wasted in the
fairy godmother role, but let me tell you, my friend,
when that little girl, that mere child, was onstage, all
the other children seemed like creatures of a lesser
race. She had the best natural stage presence I had ever
seen. Offstage, she wasn't anything special, a pleasantlooking child, no more, but onstage she was in charge.
Such presence. Such a r,tatural sense of character, too. "
He paused to chuckle. "Her fairy godmother was a
queen, her gifts bestowed grandly on her inferiors. And
even then, she had a frighteningly sexual presence. You
49
could almost hear the middle-aged libidos in the
audience whimpering to be unleashed.
"After the production, I went backstage to talk to
her," he continued, "and found her staring with such
awful longing eyes at the little girl who had played
Cinderella that I gave her a lecture then and there
about how good she had been. I'm afraid I quite lost
control for a bit. When I finished, she looked up at me
and said , 'It's just a prettier dress than mine, that's all. I
wouldn't be Cinderella, anyway. I wouldn't stand for
it.' She was nine, my friend, nine years old.
"After that, of course, I took her in hand, and
whenever possible I arranged my high school and Little
Theatre productions with a role for her in mind. I
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