In the kitchen, Carol stood at the stove, stirring soup.
“Harry,” she called. “Soup’s on.”
Through the kitchen door, Carol saw Harry in the hall, punching a number into the telephone.
“Customer service?” Harry said into the telephone. “Representative.” He waited. Then: “Hey, there … Thank God the phone company still employs human beings!”
Sun through the pale green Levolor slats cast stripes across the floor and up the opposite wall.
“It’s getting cold, Harry,” Carol called.
Turning his back on her, Harry said into the telephone, “Could you tell me my current balance?”
Carol ladled soup into a bowl, which, disappearing from view, she carried to the kitchen table.
“My name is Matthew Cotton,” Harry said. He gave Cotton’s office telephone number, adding, “My address is Bay Bank Building, 33 Main Street, Springdale, Massachusetts, 01101.”
Carol reappeared at the stove, where she scooped soup into another bowl, which she carried out of sight to the table.
“Recent charges?” Harry said into the telephone. “To identify me? Of course. There was a long-distance call I made last night.… To Florida.”
Carol reappeared and filled a third bowl, which she carried to the table.
“Hang on,” Harry said into the telephone. He searched on the telephone table and found a pencil stub. “Okay.” Repeating what the operator said, Harry wrote on a pad, “305-555-3720.”
Carol stood in the kitchen doorway, saying, “Harry…”
Harry nodded and said into the telephone, “You don’t know what a help you’ve been.”
Harry hung up the receiver and immediately picked it up again, put it to his ear.
Glancing at the ceiling, Carol called, “Phil. Hot soup!”
Harry punched in the number he’d gotten from the telephone company.
“Well,” Carol said, “I’m going to eat before it gets cold.”
She retreated into the kitchen.
“The Breakers,” Harry repeated what he heard on the telephone. And, after listening to the choices, pressed a 6. After a moment, he asked, “Can I talk to Marian Turner? She’s a guest. Turner.” Harry spelled it. “I’ll wait.”
Phil clattered down the stairs and said, “Put on the feedbag, Harry,” as he passed through the hall into the kitchen.
“Turner?” Harry again spelled the name. “You’re sure?” he asked. “There’s no Turner registered. Yesterday? No, no Turner registered in the past week. Thanks.”