in the lighted kitchen as I slipped into the Devine house by the back door after some cautious detours that were probably unnecessary; but you get into certain habits in this business, if you survive.
“I made you some fresh coffee,” she said, turning from the stove.
“You’re supposed to be asleep,” I said.
“Well, so are you,” she said with a grin.
After what I’d just seen, she looked very good, very reassuring, in her long loose kaftan or dashiki or whatever the hell it was called. There was still some hope for the human race. I even liked the bare feet peeking innocently out from under the hem of the garment, although I’m not really a freak for barefoot girls; I find heels and nylons a lot more stimulating. But stimulation was not the game tonight. We were just two people who’d come to know each other pretty well and were now surprisingly comfortable with each other, which had not always been the case in the past. There was a question in Martha’s gray eyes, but she did not ask it aloud. I answered it anyway.
“The guy across the street shot Bob,” I said. “The husband. You can probably figure out a motive if you try hard. That article by Eleanor Brand had nothing to do with it, so except for a personal grievance for the way she abused your trust, you have no reason to look her up with intent to do grievous bodily harm, as the saying goes. She’s not responsible for Bob’s death in any way.”
That wasn’t quite true, of course. The buildup given Bob in the magazine story had apparently intrigued the bored„ and unhappy, temporarily ex-alcoholic, Mrs. Lorelei, making easy the seduction from which everything else had come, but I saw no reason to split hairs at this point.
Martha nodded. “All right, Matt. I guess I’m glad in a way. It was something I felt I had to . . . just a kind of compulsion, I guess. But if it wasn’t her fault, or mine, that he was killed, I guess I can forgive her for the rest.” She was silent for a moment, and went on a little stiffly, “So you’ve done your job here, the job Daddy assigned you. You’ve very skillfully prevented me from causing any trouble. Where do you go next, Mr. Troubleshooter?”
I started to answer, and stopped. A siren was wailing in the distance, coming closer. I went into the living room and watched through the curtains as a car with a flashing light-bar on top pulled up across the street. I wondered if the wife had gotten to the phone over there without the husband’s knowledge and turned him in, as part of her destructive vengeance, but I didn’t think so. It was unlikely that she’d been in any condition to telephone after being so deathly ill; but he would have known that his position was no longer tenable. He’d tried to do what was best for her, but some of what he’d done had gone very badly wrong, disqualifying him from further efforts on her behalf. It was time for him to leave her to others who might be able to give her the assistance she so badly required.
I doubted that, even at her sober best, she’d ever been a woman who- could have aroused a great tender passion in me; but my tastes and preferences were beside the point. He had loved her, a little too much for his own good; he still did. So he would have helped her gently out of her bedraggled clothes over there, and cleaned her up and made her look as nice as he could. He would have put her carefully to bed and maybe even kissed her goodbye if he thought it would not upset her too much the way she felt about him now. Then he would have gone to the phone himself and looked up the police number and made that call and another to a friend or neighbor whose wife could come over and look after her, after he’d been taken away. It occurred to me that I’d never seen his face, or heard his name.
“Here’s your coffee,” Martha said, behind me. “You didn’t answer my question. . . .”
Chapter 5
In many ways Florida is about as distant from New Mexico as you
“I made you some fresh coffee,” she said, turning from the stove.
“You’re supposed to be asleep,” I said.
“Well, so are you,” she said with a grin.
After what I’d just seen, she looked very good, very reassuring, in her long loose kaftan or dashiki or whatever the hell it was called. There was still some hope for the human race. I even liked the bare feet peeking innocently out from under the hem of the garment, although I’m not really a freak for barefoot girls; I find heels and nylons a lot more stimulating. But stimulation was not the game tonight. We were just two people who’d come to know each other pretty well and were now surprisingly comfortable with each other, which had not always been the case in the past. There was a question in Martha’s gray eyes, but she did not ask it aloud. I answered it anyway.
“The guy across the street shot Bob,” I said. “The husband. You can probably figure out a motive if you try hard. That article by Eleanor Brand had nothing to do with it, so except for a personal grievance for the way she abused your trust, you have no reason to look her up with intent to do grievous bodily harm, as the saying goes. She’s not responsible for Bob’s death in any way.”
That wasn’t quite true, of course. The buildup given Bob in the magazine story had apparently intrigued the bored„ and unhappy, temporarily ex-alcoholic, Mrs. Lorelei, making easy the seduction from which everything else had come, but I saw no reason to split hairs at this point.
Martha nodded. “All right, Matt. I guess I’m glad in a way. It was something I felt I had to . . . just a kind of compulsion, I guess. But if it wasn’t her fault, or mine, that he was killed, I guess I can forgive her for the rest.” She was silent for a moment, and went on a little stiffly, “So you’ve done your job here, the job Daddy assigned you. You’ve very skillfully prevented me from causing any trouble. Where do you go next, Mr. Troubleshooter?”
I started to answer, and stopped. A siren was wailing in the distance, coming closer. I went into the living room and watched through the curtains as a car with a flashing light-bar on top pulled up across the street. I wondered if the wife had gotten to the phone over there without the husband’s knowledge and turned him in, as part of her destructive vengeance, but I didn’t think so. It was unlikely that she’d been in any condition to telephone after being so deathly ill; but he would have known that his position was no longer tenable. He’d tried to do what was best for her, but some of what he’d done had gone very badly wrong, disqualifying him from further efforts on her behalf. It was time for him to leave her to others who might be able to give her the assistance she so badly required.
I doubted that, even at her sober best, she’d ever been a woman who- could have aroused a great tender passion in me; but my tastes and preferences were beside the point. He had loved her, a little too much for his own good; he still did. So he would have helped her gently out of her bedraggled clothes over there, and cleaned her up and made her look as nice as he could. He would have put her carefully to bed and maybe even kissed her goodbye if he thought it would not upset her too much the way she felt about him now. Then he would have gone to the phone himself and looked up the police number and made that call and another to a friend or neighbor whose wife could come over and look after her, after he’d been taken away. It occurred to me that I’d never seen his face, or heard his name.
“Here’s your coffee,” Martha said, behind me. “You didn’t answer my question. . . .”
Chapter 5
In many ways Florida is about as distant from New Mexico as you
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