Thanksgiving Day dawned cold and bright. A pale sun starkly etched the frost covered landscape. Vertical wisps of white ascended from rooftop chimneys in the still crystalline air against a cloudless background of blue. Vaporized billows of breath wreathed the heads of early-rising villagers.
He had slept soundly and awoke slowly until suddenly conscious of the unaccustomed sound of voices and gaiety emanating from the front of the house. Then he remembered. Last night, it had been arranged that Elise; and Martie, who was staying with her; would pick up their parents and they would all come to the house for breakfast. The mother and father were registered at a nearby motel, while Grace had stayed the night in Marie’s room. Mrs. Hardesty was spending the day with her own family, and he had made reservations for all of them for Thanksgiving dinner at ‘The Sanctuary’. Now, listening to the muffled hum of their conversation mingled with the clatter and clink of breakfast preparations he realized how much he had to be thankful for, and looked forward with a pleasant anticipation to a day of good company, good food and love-if only he could keep the thought of Closter’s confession out of his mind.
There was a light tapping on his bedroom door. “Mark, it’s Elise. Are you awake?”
“Come in and find out,” he told her.
She opened the door and peeked around the edge. “Good morning, darling. Breakfast is ready.” He held out his arms and she crossed the room to sit down beside him. He pulled her down to him, kissing her hungrily and repeatedly. She finally pushed herself upright again, face flushed, eyes bright. “Good heavens! Are you always so.so amorous in the morning?”
He grinned. “There’s nothing like a little orgy before breakfast.”
She laughed and stood up. “We’ll soon find out how orgiastic you are, starting Sunday.”
“Why wait? There’s no time like the present.”
She turned around at the door. “And we’d never have a better audience either-only you’d probably find it inhibiting. And I wouldn’t like that. I want you to be at your best, darling.your very best.” She made a provocative movement with her hips, giggled, blushed and disappeared.
After a leisurely and delicious breakfast, they crowded together into his car-Elise and Martie in the front seat with him, and the three grandparents with Cassandra seated happily on her “new granpa’s” lap in the back-to drive to church. Thanksgiving was not a day on which attendance at Mass was required by the Catholic religion but, apparently, it was the practice of the Youngs to attend and he had to concede that nothing seemed more appropriate. But, it was a first for him and, as he followed Elise up the aisle to receive Communion, it was also the first time in over twenty years that he had participated in the symbolic ceremony. The dry, yeastless taste of the wafer seemed to be the only thing about it that wasunchanged.
When it was over, they drove back to the house in time for Cassandra to see the Macy parade on TV. The Adamsons, with Dana, stopped by to wish them a Happy Thanksgiving, before they drove into the city to have a traditional dinner at the home of Sybil’s parents. At first, the Youngs-and Martie-seemed to regard his tall, angular, similarly-attired neighbors with a mixture of awed fascination and mild disquietude but, before they left, all three of them had apparently recognized, and been charmed by, their natural wit and pleasing manner.
Following their departure there was a series of phone calls first, from Grace to his brother Paul and family in California-including a long-distance introduction to Elise-and regrets on both sides that his wife Janet’s overdue pregnancy would prevent them from coming east for the wedding. Then there was a call from Sheila and Claire who had combined forces for the day, and then the Youngs called their two sons, Carl and Walter, who had stayed at home to spend the day with their respective children but who, with their wives, would be flying in the next day to be on hand for the festivities on Saturday.
When the phone calls were finally finished and the parade had ended, they all reentered his car to drive over to the shopping center in Plainville to witness Santa Claus’ arrival via helicopter. The brightness of the morning had turned to a dull, windblown gray and, as if on cue, a few random flakes of snow began to fall just as Santa’s chopper touched down. Still, Cassandra-for whom all of them had endured the bone-chilling elements-was only mildly impressed and, when it was over, informed them that she thought it had been “nice”, but that she was still going to wait to see the real Santa Claus when he came on his sleigh on Christmas Eve. They then entered the all enclosed shopping plaza to see the lighting of the tree in the central rotunda and spent almost another hour strolling about admiring the colorfully decorated and animated window displays.
When they came out, the snow was falling in thin, diagonal lines of tiny flakes that stung their faces and undulated across the pavement in long snake-like ripples. With upturned collars and heads turned away from the wind, they ran hand-in-hand to where he had parked the car. Scrambling in, and huddling together for warmth until the heater began to function, they all spontaneously and rather discordantly joined in when Cassandra began singing ‘Jingle Bells’. Glancing at his watch, he saw they still had almost an hour to get back to Glen Park to keep their reservation at ‘The Sanctuary’. So he drove slowly, avoiding the freeway, and by the time he pulled into the restaurant parking lot, they had exhausted their repertoire of Christmas Carols, and were back to ‘Jingle Bells’ again.
It was the first time he had been there since the night he and Elise had met and-after they had hung their coats in the cloakroom-when he turned and saw Jim walking toward them, smiling, the hairs on the back of his neck stiffened with the sudden, subliminal remembrance of his greeting that night.
According to what Ben had told him on the phone, the crash occurred at a few minutes after five.
Except for special bulletins, the early TV news programs were over by six-thirty.
There was a television set in Jim’s office but no radio on the premises that he was awareof.
Everybody else-Joan, who had told Elise-and Gladys, Stanhope, Phil and Wanda, who had told him-even Closter, who had told Ben-all reported hearing about it on the ten o’clock news. But, Jim had already known about it when he and Elise got there about seven-fifteen-and, also knew that it had been one of Ben’s rigs that had crashed-and recalled that Gladys had told him that the name of the trucking company had not been mentioned on the later news broadcast. So, if it was not mentioned later, would it be likely that it had been mentioned earlier-assuming there had been any earlier mention of the crash at all?
When-and how-had he heard about it?
He automatically grasped the outstretched hand and responded to the warm greeting of the deceptively soft voice. Feeling almost ashamed of the traitorous thoughts that the question aroused, he pushed it from his mind; deciding that there must have been a report on an earlier news program, or he had been told about it by someone else; and made the necessary introductions. Jim seemed to exude even more charm and urbanity than usual, and it was apparent that everyone-except Elise who appeared somewhat restrained, and her father who looked strangely startled-was suitably impressed. Following a few moments of conversation about the weather and the state of his health, Jim led them to the large, round table he had reserved for them in the corner of the dining room. There were windows on two sides that afforded a pleasant, cozy view of the rapidly whitening lawns and shrubs outside. For a party of their size, the menu featured a special Thanksgiving dinner, served family-style with large, heaping platters of turkey and all the trimmings, which he had ordered in advance, anticipating that it would be particularly enjoyable for the Youngs.
But, despite the pleasantly warm glow generated by the wine, their enjoyment of each other, and the comfort of their surroundings, the thought of how and when Jim had first heard of the accident, kept intruding on his consciousness, demanding an answer, and spoiling his appetite. Unfortunately, he became aware that his distraction apparently had been transmitted to Elise and her father-who sat on either side of him-and who also seemed strangely subdued and thoughtful. Grace, Mrs. Young, Martie and especially Cassandra, all appeared to be thoroughly enjoying themselves and the meal, eating with relish and carrying on a lively, running commentary on the food, the restaurant and the plans for the wedding-obviously unaware of anything untoward in the behavior of the other three at the table with them.
At the end of the meal, when the dishes had been cleared and the coffee served, Jim came and sat down with them. He was evidently pleased with the compliments about the food and the decor offered by Grace and Mrs. Young, and did not appear to notice the more reserved demeanor of Elise and her father, or his own, for that matter. He chided them gently about their forthcoming marriage and elicited the promise of a waltz from Elise. Finally he insisted on treating the adults to an after dinner brandy, and an extra helping of plum pudding for Cassandra, before excusing himself to attend to the needs of some of his other patrons. It was apparent that Grace and Mrs. Young had been captivated by his old-world courtliness and manners, and even Martie and Cassandra seemed to have been entranced by his mellifluent voice and imposing appearance. It only made him feel even more guilty about the unfoundedsuspicion that had kept nagging at him throughout the dinner.
By the time they arrived back at the house, Cassandra was already nodding and made no protest when her two grandmothers cooperated in preparing her for bed. Pajama-clad, with sleep-heavy eyes, she went from one to the other to bestow on each of them an equally affectionate hug and kiss. After she had been safely tucked in, the rest of them found places in the living room and, as the conversation dwindled and the adrenalin ebbed, slowly sank into various stages of boredom as they watched the antics of an overage, outdated comedian on the flickering television screen.
From where he sat on the sofa; with Elise snuggled against him; he could see that although her father’s eyes were fixed on the TV screen, his attention was apparently focused inward. His face showed no reaction to any of the performers-talented or otherwise-who were so busily disporting themselves in such outlandish and outrageous ways before his unseeing gaze. A small frown drew the ends of his gray thatched eyebrows together over the bridge of his slightly aquiline nose, and the normally wide mouth was pursed in an unnatural pucker. He, like all of them, had been in a cheerful, gay mood until they reached the restaurant. Then, a pall had seemed to settle over him and Elise. He had thought his own vague uneasiness over the source of Jim’s information had been the cause. Now, he began to sense that the Chief had his own reasons for his perturbance-and that it was, like his own, somehow connected with the restaurant owner. Still, his own suspicion was so tenuous and unsubstantiated that he was reluctant to admit it-even to himself. So, once more-certain that his imagination was not only stirring up false images in his own mind, but causing him to see them in the Chief’s as well-he pushed the thought out of his conscious sight and tried to concentrate on the picture in front of him.
Elise stirred against him. “Are you enjoying this?” she asked.
He grinned at her. “I’m sure I’ve seen worse, but I can’t remember when.”
“There must be something else we can do,” she murmured.
He leaned close, his mouth against her ear. “There is-if you think the others have the forbearance to excuse us.”
She looked at him in mock horror. “I was thinking of something.. .something less physical.”
He pretended surprise. “So was I. I was just thinking of asking your father if he would care to play a game of pool. What were you thinking of?”
She blushed and punched him lightly on the arm. “You tricked me! You were thinking the same thing as I, and you know it!”
Their by-play had caught her father’s attention and he smiled at them quizzically. “What are you two up to?”
“I was just trying to stave off your daughter’s amorous advances.”
The Chief’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “I think you’ve got your hands full. She’s a passionate wench if there ever was one. Gets it from her mother, of course.” He glanced over his shoulder at his wife but her stuporous, heavy-lidded gaze indicated she had missed the entire exchange.
Elise, feigning indignation, stood up. “Well, I’m not going to just sit here and have myreputation sullied by the two of you. Are you going to play pool or not?”
“Pool? Do you have a pool table, Mark?” the Chief asked with apparent interest.
“Yes. Downstairs. In the family room,” he told him. “Care to play?”
He nodded instantly. “By God! I haven’t played pool in years-since before I got out of service. But it sounds like a good idea.”
“I’ll keep score,” Elise said.
“Do you know how?” he asked her.
She looked at him with a pretense of anger. “Oh, no! I’m not going to get caught in another one of your semantic traps.”
He laughed and they excused themselves to the others who seemed oblivious to their departure. With him leading, they left the room and walked through the kitchen to the door to the basement. Opening it, he flipped the switch to illuminate the stairs and proceeded down to the family room followed by Elise and her father. Although it was large, comfortable and attractively furnished, the ‘family room’ had been the least used of any in the house. He and Marie had never been much of a family to begin with and, as the years passed and their alienation had intensified, they had done less and less entertaining-if you did not count the increasingly frequent visits of Julie Fay and family. Only Cassandra and Dana had used the room with any regularity in the last couple of years.
He had played pool only infrequently and indifferently, and had purchased the table on the spur of the moment when he found out that Dan was an excellent player and he still thought he would be a more regular visitor. But Marie’s steadily increasing tantrums and surly moods had discouraged him from inviting even as close a friend as Dan to the house and, like the room it stood in, the table had been mostly unused. Now; while Elise perched on one of the high stools in front of the bar in the corner, and looked on with ill-concealed, tolerant, amusement, he and her father began an earnest-if inept-attack on the colorfully numbered billiard balls. But, after a few minutes, it soon became apparent that the Chief also had been an excellent player at one time and, as he quickly regained his skill; the game rapidly turned into a rout.
At the end of the third game-during which he had simply looked on admiringly as the other man ran the table-he retired ingloriously from the field, and went behind the bar to make the three of them a drink. The Chief replaced his cue in the rack and sat down next to his daughter. Lifting his glass, he clinked it against both of theirs.
“To the both of you,” he said, his voice slightly huskier than normal. “I’m not sure which one is luckier, or more deserving, but I hope that you’ll be as happy together as mother and I have been.”
Elise put an arm around her father’s neck and kissed him on the cheek. He knew she had told him, and her mother, about the circumstances under which they had met, and the essential facts of the events that had followed-including Marie’s still unexplained disappearance and fatal reappearance. It seemed probable, however, that as a cop-even a small town cop-the Chief was naturally curious about some of the details. But, neither he nor his wife-nor Martie-had broached the subject since their arrival. Apparently, they were making a determined effort to keep their curiosity in check for the time being, at least until after the wedding. He appreciated their reticence, but realized the unnatural strain it placed on them, and was aware of their right to know the whole story. Now; although he was loath to destroy the mood of the day and the pleasantness of the moment; he felt an urge to bring up the subject himself-because the doubts about Jim were growing stronger and he wanted to be able to discuss them, and dismiss them, if it was possible. Still, he was reluctant to admit he entertained them at all, based on such flimsy evidence.
Elise reached across the bar to put her hand on his. “Mark, darling. Something’s been troubling you ever since we got to the restaurant this afternoon. Would you care to tell us what it is?”
Although he had been growing used to her amazing perceptiveness, it still surprised him-and it must have shown on his face.
“You’re going to learn that you can’t hide anything from this one, Mark,” the Chief said. “She never misses a thing.”
“I’ve already learned,” he replied. “And, as usual, she’s right. Except that I feel a little foolish about the cause.”
Elise squeezed his hand. “Why don’t you tell us what it is and let us decide if it’s foolish or not?”
So, hesitantly and reluctantly, he explained the reasoning that had prompted his suspicions-if they really were suspicions, or only the elusive word needed to complete a difficult puzzle. “Well, you could probably check the local TV and radio stations,” the Chief said as he finished. “They should be able to tell you if there was any earlier announcement of the crash. But, even if there wasn’t, there’s any number of other ways he could have heard about it. The most obvious would seem to be that he was told about it by someone who had seen it, and got there before you did.”
“You’re right, of course-and that’s probably how he did hear about it,” he conceded. “And that’s why I feel.well.guilty, for even considering anything else. But.damn it! It bothers me!”
“Perhaps there’s no reason for you to feel guilty, Mark,” Elise said.
“What do you mean?”
She hesitated, searching his face. “I.I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to tell you, really. But.well, the fact is, that I also remembered something-two things-about Jim from that night.”
“Two things!” His throat felt constricted. “What sort of things?”
“Well.when you introduced me to him, I remember you told him I taught school in Glen Park. But, I’m certain you didn’t mention what grade I taught, or even in what school-and there’s more than one, as you know. Yet, later, when you went to phone Mr. Wozniak, and he came to sit with me, he asked what I thought of Cassandra. I guess I still wasn’t thinking too clearly at the time, so I missed the significance of it. But, how do you suppose he knew she was one of my pupils?”
He shrugged. “Marie must have told him. I’m sure I never did.”
“But, why would she?”
“I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“It might be an indication of how well they knew each other.”
“Perhaps. But something like that could hardly be construed as a lover’s confidence.”
“It could, depending on why and, under what circumstances, she told him.”
Her father looked shocked. “Now, just a minute, honey. I don’t think you should be.”
“It’s all right, Chief,” he interrupted him. “It’s been pretty well established that my late wife was having an affair. The only question is, with whom. And to further complicate matters, the FBI believes that-without her knowledge-the man was also the leader of the smuggling ring. So, Elise’s conjecture is justified, even if it is a little far-fetched.”
There was a look of infinite sadness in Elise’s eyes. “I’m afraid you won’t think so, when I tell you the other thing I remembered.”
He was reluctant to ask. “What is it?”
She took a sip of her drink. “While he was still sitting with me, he reached to put out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table-and I noticed a ring he was wearing on the little finger of his left hand. I even commented on how lovely it was. He thanked me and said it had been a birthday present.” She paused, looking chagrin. “Yes, darling. It was a sapphire. Just like the clerk described. I knew I had seen it somewhere, but I couldn’t remember when or on whom.”
“Until you saw it on him again today?”
“No, darling. Until I realized he wasn’t wearing it, and wondered why?”
“What’s this about a ring?” her father asked.
He explained to him how Hollander had found the entry in Marie’s checkbook, and how he and Elise had accidentally discovered where and when the ring had been purchased.
“She had it inscribed ‘To J. from M.’ I naturally, but mistakenly, assumed that the ‘J’ indicated she had bought it for her sister Julie, whose birthday is in September. But, unless there’s two rings like that around, the ‘J’ obviously stands for ‘Jim’-who, coincidentally, also has his birthday in September.”
“You could call Julie, just to be sure,” Elise suggested.
“It hardly seems necessary. Under the circumstances, the added coincidence of each of them receiving a ring like that from two different people would be beyond belief.”
Elise reached for his hand again, clasping it in both of hers. “I.I’m sorry, darling. I dreaded telling you. I felt sick when I remembered it this afternoon, and realized what it meant.”
He expelled his breath, and took a deep swallow of his drink. “That does seem to clinch it though, doesn’t it? Except that it’s all pretty circumstantial. The ring might prove that he was Marie’s lover, but the fact that he knew about the crash before we got there doesn’t prove a thing. If only we could establish a connection between him and Closter-but, I guess we’ll just have to wait to see what Closter’s confession has to say.”
“What confession?” the Chief asked.
He explained how they had found out about it and why they had not been able to get at it as yet.
“Maybe you don’t have to wait,” the Chief said quietly.
He shared Elise’s surprise as he asked him, “Why not?”
“Because, I think I can make the connection for you.”
He and Elise exchanged looks of astonishment. “You! You can make the connection? But .how?” he asked him.
“Well, like Elise, I didn’t want to say anything, and I wouldn’t have, because I thought Sloan was a friend of yours and what I know about him-or suspect-happened a long time ago. Besides, there was no evidence that he was guilty of anything then, and I’m not sure that it means he’s guilty of anything now. But, just answer me one question.”
“What is it?”
“This fella Closter that was killed-was that his real name?”
“No. It was.” he started to say.
“Claude Louis Oster,” the Chief finished. “I thought there was something familiar about it when Elise wrote and told us about him, and also about meeting a man named Jim Sloan. The one thing a cop needs more than anything else is a good memory, and I’ve never forgotten either one of them.”
“But.where did you know them, Poppa?” Elise asked.
“It was in Vienna, after the war. In nineteen forty-eight. A few months before I was shipped home to be discharged.” The Chief shifted his gaze from her to him. “That’s where I met her mother, you know-and where Walter Junior was born. I was in the MP’s, attached to military intelligence. Mostly, we worked at breaking up the black market operations. There had been a big one going on for a couple of years that had been giving us fits. But finally, we got enough evidence to arrest a sargaent and a couple of privates. There was no doubt that the three of them were guilty but, the only thing was, that we were all convinced there was somebody higher up who was the real organizer and director of the operation-and that the sargeant was taking the rap for him, either out of fear or because he had been promised a payoff when he got out.”
He paused to sip his drink. “But, we didn’t have a shred of evidence to back up our suspicions, and the sargeant was as stubborn as they come. A couple of times, he seemed right on the verge of admitting the truth, but then he’d look me right in the eye and tell me he didn’t know what I was talking about.” He recalled his own frustrating interview with Closter and knew they were both thinking of the same man. “Don’t let anybody tell you that the man who looks you straight in the eye is telling the truth,” the Chief interpolated. “Chances are he’s lying in his teeth.”
“What happened to him, Poppa?” Elise prompted him.
“Well, when he went before the court-martial, it was pretty open and shut. He had no defense, and the only thing that kept him from getting the maximum penalty was the fact that his commanding officer testified for him as a character witness, and asked the court for leniency. He was very impressive, mainly because he had a big reputation in the area, and was well liked by both the top brass and the enlisted men. But, also because, he looked impressive.” He paused to look at them and saw they had guessed who the officer was, “Colonel James Sloan was every bit as tall as he is now, except maybe fifteen or twenty pounds lighter. But, he had that same soft way of talking, and he made a very persuasive witness. And, there’s no doubt he helped, because little Claude Louis Oster was given only three years instead of ten. But, the longer I sat there listening to Sloan, the more convinced I was that he was the one that Oster was protecting-and, from what we know now, probably went right on protecting until the day he died.”
“Until a few hours before he died, at least,” he corrected him.
“Yeah. If that’s who he’s named in the confession.”
“There doesn’t seem to be any reason to doubt it, does there?” He turned away from them to make himself a fresh drink. The lights seemed suddenly dim, and he had trouble reading the labels on the bottles. He grasped the nearest one, but his hand was shaking and the liquor spilled over the edge of the shot glass. He leaned on his palms and felt the tremors traveling up his arms, across his shoulders and into his chest. Then, Elise came around the bar and put her arms around him, murmuring soft words of comfort and reassurance. He clung to her, swallowing the bitterness of knowing that-despite his previous disclaimers to Elise-he had liked the big, soft-spoken, urbanely-mannered restaurant owner more than he cared to admit, and had felt a sense of friendship for him that; until the revelations and remembrance of the past few hours; had prevented any consideration of him as either Marie’s lover or Mr. In-Between. Now, the knowledge that he was undoubtedly both, seemed to sear his mind like the edge of a white, hot blade pressed across his brow. But finally, the shaking subsided, and he relaxed his hold on Elise. Drawing back slightly, she studied his face, her eyes mirroring her love and compassion. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her softly on the lips.
“Elise. Elise. Sometime-somewhere-I must have done something very good and wonderful to deserve you. I only wish I knew what it was.”
Then, the disembodied voice of Martie broke the spell and brought them all back to the present as she called from the top of the stairs.
“Hey, you three! Have you forgotten about us?”
And the truth was, that they had.