Driving home, I wondered why she’d sent me away. Was it because she thought I didn’t approve of her friends and in this crisis she needed them? Or was it fear of getting emotionally involved in a dead-end romance? I had no answers there.
One thing seemed reasonably sure; Sergeant Dyke had given her name to the newspapers. And probably mine. And that’s why the reporter had shoved the door wide open; he wanted a picture that included both of us.
The Star loved controversy and sensation and when there wasn’t enough, it created them. I could see the headline: BROKER’S LOVE NEST.I could visualize my friends reading it, though most of my friends don’t read the Star. I could visualize Carol reading it.
For the first time, a sense of guilt came to me. If Carol never learned about Lynn, I could rationalize the infidelity. If no one is hurt, who suffers? But now Carol would know and Carol would be hurt. The kids would know.
Perhaps, if I could get to someone of influence, the story could be killed. But the few people of influence I knew were Republicans and they would certainly have no influence with the Star. And it wasn’t a story I’d want to explain to these people.
I went home and made some coffee. I’d had only one cup at Lynn’s and coffee helps me think. I’d never had more need for clear thinking.
I remembered that broker at Ted’s saying, “A man would be a damned fool to risk a decent family life just for some floozie on the prowl.”
I had risked a decent family life, but Lynn was no floozie on the prowl. I thought of her in this mess, too, and remembered the bills in my pocket.
Seven hundred dollars … Was one night worth seven hundred dollars? And if I paid these bills, how much would it help? She’d only run up more of them.
I took them into the study and wrote checks for all of them. I addressed all the envelopes and sealed them and put them on the kitchen table, where I wouldn’t forget them in the morning. If I could save my neck with Carol, I’d never be seeing Lynn again.
I went out into the clear night and stood on the front lawn. All the houses around me were dark except for the Nolans’. The Nolans had a new baby and a dim night light was burning.
Everybody asleep, snug and suburban. All the neighbors who would read about Jim Gulliver, adulterer, tomorrow. I wondered how many of them had come through the same thing without a word in the papers. I’d had the misfortune of getting a murder mixed up with my romance.
And a detective sergeant with political ambition.
There wasn’t any point in hating Sergeant Dyke; he hadn’t slept with Lynn Bedloe. Neither had the reporter nor the photographer. They were using me for their own purposes, but I had put myself into a position where I was usable. I had gone down Mesa Road. I had gone back to Heeney’s. I had had too much to drink. And the boys were ready for me.
I shook myself mentally. What kind of thinking was this? Who in hell did I think I was? Wallowing in self-pity.
In the house, I looked at the clock over the kitchen sink. It was nearly two o’clock. Getting Max out of bed at two o’clock for a doubtful chance of help …?
His phone rang for almost two minutes, then came his sleepy voice. “Hello.”
“Max, this is Jim. I’m in trouble. A photographer from the Star took a picture of me and — a girl. It could lose me my family.”
“Migawd, Jim — when did this happen?”
“About an hour ago. It’s not only the picture; they have a story to go with it.”
No questions, no needless words from Max. “Okay, Jim. I’ll get to work. I know a few people down there and I’ve friends who know some other people down there. I think it’s a small chance, though, Jim. I’ll keep in touch.” A sigh and, “Oi, oi, oi — Jim Gulliver and a dame. It just doesn’t add, baby.” He hung up.
The coffee percolator showed the red completion signal; I poured a cup and turned out the kitchen light and sat next to the window.
I could see the headlights of a car way up in the Castelmarre section, coming down the steep grade slowly and carefully. We’d almost bought a house in that area but had decided against it because of the kids. The grades were too dangerous for tricycles or bicycles or roller skates or wagons.
I saw young Jim in my mind, and Sue. They wouldn’t know quite what it was all about. I hoped.
I poured another cup of coffee in the dim kitchen. I’d been working hard and living in a rut but that didn’t excuse me. I could have gone in for golf or more poker or trips to Las Vegas with Carol. I could have — I could have — hell; who was I kidding? The lure of Lynn Bedloe was as strong this minute as it had ever been.
And so was my love for Carol.
What the hell was I? No freak, certainly, if one could accept the eternal triangle running through our fiction and our plays and our newspapers. I was no different from a million others to whom this thing had happened. And I loved them both more than physically.
And if I had to make a choice? Carol would win, because Carol had the kids on her side of the scale.
Far overhead, a plane droned. Overhead, overhead, Arrowhead, Arrowhead …
I must have been dozing when the phone jangled noisily. I came to with a start and felt my way through the dark dining room.
Max said, “I guess we’re dead, Jim. They’re hard-nosed bastards. I even threatened ‘em with a libel suit. They laughed at me.”
“Okay,” I said wearily. “Thanks, Max.”
“Who’s the girl, Jim? Want to tell me her name?”
“Lynn Bedloe. I think you met her.”
“Oh, yes. Lovely girl. Hey, just a minute — she was in the office once, for a loan.”
“That’s right. So …?”
“We can tie it up — it was all business, see, and you were suddenly taken sick over there and …”
“Max, who cares? Do the papers care?”
“Papers, hell … It’s Carol I’m talking about. Migawd, you’re not worrying about anybody but Carol, are you? This happens every day, Jim. Or night. Look, let me figure out the story. Carol won’t see a paper until noon, anyway, and by the time she drives down here, we could dream up a real sound alibi.”
I didn’t think a Max-devised alibi would ring true to Carol. Max has a habit of elaborating to the point of fantasy. But I said, “Okay, Max. I’ll see you at the office.”
I went back to the dark kitchen and sat near the window. I thought that perhaps I could understand Lynn’s resentment, now. She liked to think of herself as a freedom-loving child of the night; the newspapers were going to make her out a home-breaking tramp in a sordid love nest. It was her own picture of herself that was in danger.
I went into the bathroom and filled the tub with water as hot as I could stand it. I soaked myself in that until the water began to cool.
But it was still a restless sleep and I came back to life with the sun. I put the coffee on to perk and put on a robe before going out to the driveway to pick up the Times.
I was mentioned in the Times account of the death of Tom Edlinger, mentioned as the man who had discovered Tom’s body. Lynn was not mentioned, nor any of the gang at Heeney’s.
I scrambled three eggs and fried some bacon and made toast and tried to interest myself in the sport pages but failed.
At 8:30 I was at the office, the first to arrive. Max came in a little later, looking tired and worried.
He stared at me a few seconds, and shook his head. “You jerk.”
I said nothing.
“She’s a dish, all right,” he went on. “I’ll grant you that. But Jim, next time, spend a hundred dollars. Get a professional. You’d be amazed at the class of the hundred-dollar girls in this town.” He smiled sadly. “Next time, come to Uncle Max, huh?”
“It wasn’t like that,” I told him. “It isn’t like that. That kind of talk makes me sick, Max.”
He stared at me. “Isn’t …? You still lust for this doll?”
“I like her and respect her.”
He took a deep breath. “Gawd …! Oi … Jesus, Jim boy …” He expelled his breath and walked over to the window.
Finally, he turned to face me again and his voice was quiet and level. “You come from Iowa to this — this phony, phony Southern California. You work too hard and maybe you fret because you think you’re missing something. You’ve got partner trouble and maybe — maybe domestic trouble?”
I shook my head.
“Okay,” he said, “but you got what all marriages got, too much of the same thing and not enough of the big thing. That’s all right; who hasn’t? So the first chance you get, you kick over the traces and spend a night off-limits. This is historic?”
“To me.”
“To you, maybe. But not to anybody else you know, I’ll bet. So your situation has complications and will need a little finagling. But no, you’re an honorable man, and nobody must get hurt.” He paused. “Wait … Maybe you plan to marry this Bedloe doll?”
I shook my head. “I love Carol, Max, and I love my kids.”
He nodded. “Good. And the big thing is to save that, right?”
“That’s right, Max. But in my way. Let’s not talk about it any more right now.” I went to the cooler to get a glass of water. I said, “Colonel Dean was in yesterday.”
“Oh …? Something good?”
“A fortune, Max.” I told him all about it.
Max’s voice was a whisper. “Devon’s … How about the local merchants, Jim? They’ve been fighting Bullock’s and Robinson’s.”
“I don’t think anybody in this town wants to fight Colonel Dean,” I said.
‘That’s right. Yes, of course …” He looked at me smilingly. “And I’ll bet the Colonel wasn’t too hot about your including Max Schuman in this, either.”
I shrugged.
Max’s voice was still low. “But maybe you insisted, Jim?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t insist. He said I could decide either way.”
“So you decided my way, like the honest Iowa boy you are.”
“We’re partners, Max.”
“I know. And it means something to me, too, Jim.” He went back to the window, to look out. “Jim, my — father wasn’t in the — the — ah — investment business. He was a pawnbroker.”
I wondered what it had cost him to say that. I said, “So, isn’t that the investment business?”
He turned back to smile at me. “You always say the right thing, Jim. You’ve a talent for it.”
“Oh, I’m just a nice guy,” I said. “If it would help business any, I’d hang three balls out in front right now.”
He shook his head and chuckled.
From the doorway, somebody said, “Pardon me!”
The door had been open and we hadn’t seen Miss Padbury come in.
I nodded. “Did you talk to your Mr. Chopko last night?”
“He’s not my Mr. Chopko, Mr. Gulliver. He’ll be in at ten.” She went to the closet to hang up her coat. She went to the outer office without looking at me again.
I thought of Max making the confession and was touched a little. And I thought that perhaps Adele had told him she’d told me, and wondered if I was anti-Semitic; or less pathological, if I was only anti-Max?
Max stuck his head through my doorway to say, “I’ll go and pick up a Star, Jim. And I might get a cup of coffee. Nothing hot cooking, is there?”
I shook my head and he went out.
He was back in less than five minutes and he had a paper with him. He spread it on my desk, and I saw the picture of Lynn looking startled and frightened and my angry face over her shoulder.
The Caption Read: LOAN BROKER CLAIMS LOVE NEST ALIBI IN CANYON KILLING.
“The Star ran a series on moneylenders about a month ago,” Max went on. “Maybe circulation is down again and they’ll start a new series with this.”
I read aloud, “… a partner in the firm of Gulliver-Schuman.” I looked up at Max. “They didn’t overlook anything.”
“Personally,” Max said, “they can hurt you. But not the business. People who come to us want money, Jim, not character references. What gets me is who gave them all that dope?”
“Detective Sergeant Dyke, out of the West Side Station. A real, first class son-of-a-bitch.”
Max looked startled. “Jim, that doesn’t sound like you. This guy must have really annoyed you, eh?”
“The first man in a long time,” I admitted. “But I haven’t had much experience with policemen before. What did he gain?” I asked. “Now he’s made an enemy and is no closer to the truth of the case than he ever was. And what good can a newspaper do him, especially one as anemic as this?”
Max smiled. “Relax, baby. I know you don’t like the paper. Most Republicans don’t. But they do have over two-hundred thousand circulation. I read it all the time.”
My phone rang, and it was Colonel Dean. He didn’t give me much time to say anything. He talked for less than a minute, and hung up.
My heart pounded and I couldn’t say anything for seconds.
“Colonel Dean?” Max asked.
I nodded.
“We’re out?”
“We’re out. He was sure I could understand why. No breath of scandal must endanger a deal as delicate as this one.”
Max laced his hands and clenched them. Then he smiled.
“You’re planning something,” I said, “Don’t, Max. Don’t ever cross Colonel Dean. He could ruin you in this town.”
Max continued to smile. “Jim, I’m a lot of things you don’t like. But I’m not gutless. Colonel Dean doesn’t impress me the teeniest goddamned bit. He’s just old and rich and lucky and he’s built up a reputation for being sharp. We’ll see about that.”
I shook my head. “I lost you this deal, Max. The Colonel didn’t cut you out; I did.”
“You cut me in,” he corrected me, “and the Colonel cut us both out. We’re still in, though, Jim. I’ll see you later.” He waved, and started for the door.
“Wait — Max …” I called.
He didn’t turn around; he went out and through the outer office and I heard the hall door close.
I didn’t know what he meant to do, unless it was to go and face Colonel Dean. I had a feeling he was about to do something stupid.
At ten, Miss Padbury brought Mike Chopko into my office. She didn’t look at me; she seemed hurt. By now she had probably seen the Star.
Mike Chopko was a handsome man, broad-shouldered and genial. He waited until Miss Padbury closed the door before saying, “I can guess by the papers that you got tangled up with Sergeant Dyke.”
I nodded. “Know him?”
“Oh, yes. Anybody who ever worked out of the West Side Station knows him very well. A very ambitious man.”
“It hasn’t seemed to do him much good. Or is a sergeant’s rating better than I think it is?”
“It depends on how it’s used. A man can make a dollar on it. What stymies Sergeant Dyke is that people don’t like him very well, including his superiors.”
I thought of the man who’d taken dictation. I was silent.
Chopko said, “What did you want me to do, Mr. Gulliver?”
“Investigate the backgrounds of a group of people for me.”
“Why?”
“I want to know about them. Perhaps it could even give us a line on this murder.”
Chopko looked doubtful. “Maybe. And if it should …?”
“We’d be helping the police. Frankly, Mr. Chopko, I asked Miss Padbury to send you in before I talked to Sergeant Dyke last night. I thought, perhaps, if he knew I was co-operating with him, this morning’s headlines wouldn’t have happened. Now, they have happened — but I still want to know about these people. And I still want the killer of Tom Edlinger uncovered.”
Chopko appeared no less doubtful. “First, private investigators aren’t supposed to mess around murder cases. And second, I haven’t had much experience in the field.” He grinned. “I sound like a bad businessman, don’t I?”
“You sound like an honest one,” I corrected him. “And it’s refreshing to hear. Are you telling me you don’t want the business?”
He shook his head. “I’m not that rich. But I thought we should go into this agreement with your eyes open.”
I gave him all the names I had, Tex and Jackie and the Paiges. I told him I’d get the names of the others. I told him about Mrs. Edlinger.
He put them down in a notebook and said, “And of course, you’ll want a complete report on Miss Lynn Bedloe?”
“I hadn’t thought of it. I — well — it seems a little cold-blooded.”
“This is a murder case, Mr. Gulliver.”
“Okay,” I said. “Including Miss Lynn Bedloe.”
He nodded. “Anything else?”
“One thing.” I hesitated. “I have complete faith in Miss Padbury, you understand, but I don’t think this investigation is any of her business.”
He stood up. “Don’t worry, Mr. Gulliver, I lead two lives. And my professional life is a secret between me and my client.” He smiled. “Besides, Joyce can be a little stuffy at times. She still isn’t completely sold on the indispensability of men.”
He went out, and after the hall door closed, Miss Padbury came in. She stood near the doorway, looking embarrassed.
I waited, saying nothing, pretending to ignore her.
Finally, she said, “Mr. Gulliver …”
I kept my face blank. “Yes?”
“I’ve — seen the Star — and I — just wanted to say that, well — anyone can make a mistake.”
“Thank you, Miss Padbury,” I said. “Will you bring in the file on the Hillview loans we’ve placed?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, and went out looking faintly disappointed.
I tried to keep my mind busy but was unsuccessful. At a little after eleven, I phoned Lynn.
“I’m — sorry about last night,” she said. “I was unreasonable.”
“It doesn’t matter. Have you seen the Daily Star?”
“No, but Janis Paige has and she phoned me. It’s horrible, isn’t it, Jim?”
“It’s pretty bad. Are we still friends?”
“If you want to be. I — damn it, I keep thinking of you.”
“I’m glad,” I told her. “We probably won’t see each other today. It seems sensible to guess there will be enough trouble to keep me occupied well into the night.”
I could hear her sigh. “Oh, God — Jim, you’re too nice to have something like this happen to you. It’s monstrous.”
“Nothing bad has happened to me, yet,” I said. “Let’s not anticipate trouble. It makes it twice as bad if we look forward to it.”
“All right. Jim, if you can, phone me, won’t you?”
“Of course,” I promised. “Chin up, lady.”
“I’ll try. I think I’ll go to the beach.” A pause. “And Jim, I’ll be holding my thumbs for you. Luck — honey.”
She didn’t seem to be worrying about her reputation; she was mostly concerned with mine. And probably with Carol’s attitude. But Carol was an adult; this didn’t necessarily mean she’d throw over all the good years for one silly, alcoholic night. And Carol couldn’t be sure I’d been unfaithful.
My phone rang and it was my attorney. He said, “You promised to drop in this morning, Jim.”
“I didn’t want to bother you. How are you feeling?”
“A lot better. My temperature’s down. Don’t you need me, Jim?”
“Maybe. Could we sue the Star with any hope of collecting?”
“The Star …? You mean the local paper? Did they say something about you?”
I told him about the picture and the story.
He said slowly, “I’d have to see how it was worded, Jim. But at a rough guess, it doesn’t sound like they’ve gone overboard, except for the headline. What would it gain us?”
“A sense of responsibility among their editors, possibly.”
He chuckled. “Aren’t you being a little stuffy? You stuck your neck out, Jim, and it’s logical to expect an axe in a situation like that. What we can hope for is to salvage what’s left of your reputation. It wouldn’t seem — reasonable that you’d be the man best fitted to give the Star a lesson in morality.”
I was annoyed for only a moment. Then I said, “I guess you’re right at that, Earl. Take care of yourself, and I’ll call you if I need you.”
“Do that. And don’t go tilting at any windmills without advice from counsel. I’m always available, night and day.”
I sat in the office thinking back on it. All along, my timing had been wrong. If Earl hadn’t been sick, he would probably have come down to my interview with Dyke. And Earl’s prestige might have done some good there. If Tom hadn’t been killed, no one would have known I’d spent the night at Lynn’s. If the family hadn’t gone to Arrowhead, I never would have dropped in at Heeney’s.
Added up, it seemed to make me a victim of circumstance. But there was one fallacy in the reasoning, a major one. I didn’t have to drive down Mesa Road. I didn’t have to look up Lynn Bedloe.
So far, it had cost me some reputation and the Colonel Dean deal. It had caused Lynn unnecessary anguish. All this, I could survive. The thought of Carol was the frightening one.
And how would it hit the kids? That was probably more important than Carol’s attitude. Carol knew what was going on in the world. But this was a hell of a way for the kids to find it out.
I’d warned Lynn not to anticipate trouble; it was time to take my own advice. I took the Hillview file out to Miss Padbury and told her, “I’m going to lunch. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. What time did you plan to eat?”
“I’ll have it sent in, Mr. Gulliver.” She didn’t look at me directly.
“Max will probably be back soon,” I said, “and then you can go. Or you can close the office for an hour. It doesn’t seem like we’ll miss any potential business.”
“I’ll have my lunch sent in, Mr. Gulliver. I really don’t mind eating here.”
Somehow she made it sound like the sacrifice of the year. I went out, nettled. What the hell had I done to deserve all this unwanted sympathy?
There wasn’t any reason to go to Heeney’s but that’s where I went. Heeney wasn’t behind the bar; the same bartender who had worked last night was there.
I asked him, “What’s wrong with Heeney?”
He shrugged. “Just a vacation, Mr. Gulliver. Heeney gets a little fed up at times.”
“If he’s a moralist,” I said, “he’s in the wrong business.”
The man shrugged again. “Aren’t we all?”
I looked at him steadily, but his face was bland. I asked, “Don’t you want my business?”
He looked surprised. “Of course, Mr. Gulliver. I didn’t mean to … Did I give you the wrong impression, maybe?”
“I guess.” I sighed. “Perhaps I’m too touchy.”
“Oh, Mr. Gulliver …” he said sympathetically. “I mean, what the hell — who reads the Star?”
“Two-hundred thousand Democrats,” I said. “What’s good for lunch?”
“The short ribs. Best in town, so help me.”
I took a corner booth, faintly embarrassed, dimly resentful. I ordered a double bourbon with water, and the short ribs. None of the gang were here. In a booth at the other side of the room, a dark, attractive woman was reading the Star. She had a drink on the table in front of her.
She put the paper down and her eyes met mine, and I looked away. The waitress brought my drink, momentarily blocking my vision.
When the waitress went away, the woman in the booth was still staring at me. I returned her stare for a moment and then realized how adolescent that was.
I looked away and was conscious, somehow, that she was leaving the booth. I looked back to see her heading my way. She was walking with care and exaggerated dignity, like a drunken person. She had olive skin and lustrous eyes and that overripe look of some Latins in their thirites. She was beautifully dressed.
She came over to stand in front of me, the drink in her hand. “Mr. Gulliver?”
I nodded, conscious that the bartender was watching us closely.
The woman smiled, “Edlinger’s my name, Mrs. Rita Edlinger. You’re new to the Heeney gang, aren’t you?”
“I don’t understand you, Mrs. Edlinger.”
“I think you do. Mind if I sit down?”
I rose to the crouch permissible by the confines of the booth. “Of course not, Mrs. Edlinger. Could I order you something?”
She shook her head and carefully wormed into a seat across from me. She watched the liquid in her glass anxiously as she did this.
When we were both seated again, she said, “You look like a nice guy, Mr. Gulliver.”
I said nothing.
She stared around slowly and then said, “I guess I’ve left my bag in the other booth. I’ll get it; I want a cigarette.”
“I’ll get it,” I said.
When I went to the other booth, I caught a gesture from the bartender. He shook his head and indicated the door with one hand.
I didn’t know if he meant I should leave or he would give the heave to Mrs. Edlinger. I got her purse and came back.
“Thank you,” she said very distinctly. “I am not going to be a nuisance, Mr. Gulliver. I’m not that drunk — yet.”
I said nothing.
She found a cigarette and I held a light for her. She inhaled deeply and said, “I thought I might run into some of those other freeloaders here. I never expected to see you.”
“What other freeloaders, Mrs. Edlinger?”
“Tom’s idiot friends. The ones who broke up our marriage.”
“I’m not familiar with the story, Mrs. Edlinger,” I said quietly.
“Maybe not,” she said. “Did you know Tom well?”
“No, not very well. Well enough to guess he had a lot of charm.”
“And a talent,” she said, “but the Heeney gang wouldn’t know about that or care about the charm. Tom also had enough money to pick up the tab; that’s what they loved about him.”
“Are you sure that’s a fair judgment, Mrs. Edlinger?” I asked.
“I’m sure and you will be. You’re a married man; what can they bring you but trouble?”
“Some laughs.”
She looked at me in drunken gravity. “Are you laughing now?”
“Not at the moment. Mrs. Edlinger, why do you worry about me? I’m a big boy; I can take care of myself.”
“Really …? And who’ll take care of your wife?”
“I don’t — think that need concern you, Mrs. Edlinger.”
“Don’t be stuffy,” she said calmly. “I can give you the story on all of them. Don’t you want to know about your new friends, Mr. Gulliver?”
I didn’t answer. The waitress brought my short ribs, and I started to eat. Rita Edlinger continued to smoke and stare at me.
All we needed was a Star photographer now for another front-page story — SHYLOCK WOOS WIDOW. Not that Rita Edlinger was a bona fide widow or I was a bona fide Shylock. The Star could overlook the factual details.
The short ribs were good and so were the peas. I didn’t look at Rita Edlinger.
She said quietly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” I lied. I looked at her frankly. “I suppose — I mean, you loved him, didn’t you? You …”
She nodded. “Do you love your wife, Mr. Gulliver? And your kids?”
“Very much.” I looked at my food.
“But you don’t want to know about this gang?”
“There’ll be a man,” I said, “questioning you about them. He will appreciate everything you have to tell him about them.”
“A policeman, you mean?”
I shook my head. “A private investigator.”
Her voice showed a new interest. “You hired a private investigator?”
“I won’t go on record as saying I did that.”
She smiled and sipped her drink. “Well, that’s very interesting. Perhaps you’re not quite as naïve as you seem, James Gulliver.”
“It’s quite possible,” I agreed. “Wouldn’t you like to eat something? At least, some soup …?”
Her smile was warmer and I felt her attraction. She put the cigarette out carefully. “You’re a worrier, Jim. You’re a bleeding heart. I’ll have soup if it will make you happy. Onion soup; they’re noted for it.”
I beckoned the waitress and ordered the soup. Rita Edlinger added, “And bring plenty of that grated Parmesan cheese.” She set her drink farther away. It was only half-consumed.
Her eyes were reminiscent. “You’re a bleeding heart,” she repeated, “and a certain girl we both know has you smack in the middle of a mess because you are what you are. A soft little girl with big cow eyes and round heels has her hot little hands around your heart and she’s squeezing the life out of you.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” I said.
“All right,” she said calmly, “let’s talk about Tom Edlinger and his Spanish wife, Rita. They were very happy. Rita had the money and Tom had the ideas and the talent and together they built some pretty nice homes in this area. And then, for some reason or other, Tom got to hanging around bars….”
“Don’t,” I interrupted. “What can you gain by going all over it?”
“Don’t worry,” she said, “I’m not going to get out of hand. I won’t embarrass you.”
“I wasn’t thinking of me; I was thinking of you.”
She nodded. “You would. Which makes you ineligible for the Heeney gang. Well, to continue, Rita was no convent-schooled señorita. She knew a thing or two about men. So I went along with Tom to the bars and especially this one. Only Rita didn’t fit in as she should.” She traced a circle on the tablecloth with one carmine fingernail and looked up smilingly. “Do you think they might have thought I was a — Mexican? Do you think that could have been it?”
“I’ve no idea,” I said.
Her onion soup came and she studied it. She picked up a spoon. “Haven’t any of them ever told you what was wrong with Rita?”
I lied with a shake of the head.
“Perhaps I was too possessive?”
I shrugged.
“Perhaps I thought our bed should be Tom’s only bed? I suppose that’s not a really civilized thought.”
“A lot of people think it’s the only right thought.”
“I did. Perhaps I put on some weight. Could that have been it? Do you think I’m getting that heavy, Mexican look, Jim?”
I shook my head. “I think you are extremely attractive, Mrs. Edlinger.”
She nodded. “So did some of the other Heeney citizens. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told them off so violently. That must have been the Latin in me. I’m boring you, aren’t I?”
“No,” I said, “but you’re torturing yourself. It’s not sensible. You’ve a lot of living ahead of you, Rita.”
She shook her head. “A lot of years, but no living. I died with Tom. I just hope to live long enough to see the lot of them in their own personal hells.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound stuffy. I didn’t think it was the time to sound stuffy.
She ladled the cheese into her soup. “Don’t look so pained. I’m through. It’s off my chest.”
The waitress brought my coffee.
“Do you know what catharsis means, Jim?” Rita asked.
I frowned. “I think so.”
“I learned it from my first psychiatrist. I suppose you knew I — had experience with psychiatrists?”
I lied again with a shake of the head.
“I have to be careful,” she said. “I’m not supposed to get all wrought up. Talking to you probably helped me.”
“I hope so,” I told her sincerely. “A woman who loves as deeply as you do can’t be dead, Rita. There are a lot of worthwhile men in this world.”
“Men like the pipsqueaks,” she said lightly. “Men like the nothing girls, the thin-boned little girls with big eyes. Men fall in love with the images of their little daughters or their mothers. This is a daughter period we’re going through.”
“Not me,” I said. “My wife’s as — full-bodied as you are, Rita.”
She looked at me softly, her lustrous eyes dimly wet. “Save that, Jim Gulliver, no matter who you have to sacrifice. Take it from another bleeder, Jim, you’ll find nothing you’re looking for at Heeney’s.”
“You might be right,” I said. “I’m not quite as — worthless as the Star makes me out. Nor quite as stupid as Sergeant Dyke thinks. Did he question you?”
She nodded. “And I gave him an earful. He could write a book on this gang, now.”
I smiled. “You’re feeling better, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “I certainly am. I don’t know if it’s the onion soup or Jim Gulliver’s ear.” She made a face. “If you do get thrown out of the house, when your wife gets back from Arrowhead, perhaps we — can console each other.”
I grinned. “I’ll keep the offer in mind. How did you know my wife wasn’t back from Arrowhead?”
“I guessed it. There hasn’t been time for the paper to get there. You can safely leave me now, Jim; I’m going to be all right.” She nodded at the still unconsumed drink. “You can take that back to the bar on your way.”
I had finished my coffee; I stood up and looked down at her. “Good luck, Rita. I hope we’ll meet again.”
“Not while you’re still married, I hope we don’t,” she said. “Good luck to you, Jim.”
I took her drink back to the bar and told the bartender, “She doesn’t want any more of this. Send her over a cup of coffee when she has finished the soup, will you?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Gulliver. I … She made trouble in here once before. I was a little nervous about her.”
“She’s Tom Edlinger’s former wife,” I said.
His smile was wry. “Don’t I know it? Doesn’t everybody she talks to soon find it out?” He looked at me warily. “Was that something to crow about, being Tom Edlinger’s wife?”
“I don’t know,” I said wearily. “I didn’t know him very well.”
The hazy morning had turned into a sunny afternoon. I walked along Wilshire, looking in the shop windows. Four blocks of that and I’d had enough; I went back to the office.
Miss Padbury was typing as I entered. She said, “Mr. Schuman wants to see you immediately.”
Max was on the phone when I went into his office. He was saying, “… all right, you goniff, take my blood. That house is in the best section of Brentwood, stupid. If I didn’t need the money in a hurry, I wouldn’t even be talking to a thief like you. I should have known what to expect from a first-tee lawyer. You get no more strokes from me, schtunk.” He smiled. “All right, Sam, three strokes and six percent, a fair trade. You’ll have your money back in sixty days.” He hung up.
“Now what?” I asked him. “Is that your home you’re borrowing money on?”
“Keeerect. How much can you get on yours? Is it loaded?”
“Slow up, Max,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing I want to bother you with now. Can you get a quick ten thousand for a half-interest in a fortune?”
“I can get it from Hillview in five minutes if you’ll tell me what this is all about.”
He looked at me coolly. “Don’t you trust me or my judgment?”
“Sometimes. You went way sour on that Venice deal that bounced on us yesterday.”
He grimaced in mock pain. “Below the belt, yet. Jim, you’ve got enough on your Iowa conscience now. Just get me ten thousand dollars. Call up your friends at Hillview and see if they’ll get it over here in five minutes. I’ll bet you ten dollars to five they don’t.”
Irritation moved through me. I kept my voice even. “Is what you’re planning honest, Max?”
He held his right hand up, palm forward. “On my Scout honor. And if you can’t get the ten thousand, don’t worry about it. I’ve got friends. And you’re still in for half.”
“You’re bucking the Colonel,” I said.
He shook his head. “I’m working for Gulliver-Schuman.”
“You’re committing suicide.”
His voice was mild. “Would that bother you?”
I studied him, saying nothing.
He smiled. “I’m sorry. I apologize, partner.”
I said nothing.
“And you with all the trouble you’re in. I am sorry, Jim.”
“Not enough to make you completely ethical, though.”
This time he studied me. This time he was silent.
“All right,” I said. “I’m no lily. Don’t say it; I know it.” I picked up the phone and dialed Hillview.
I got Blake on the phone and asked, “Could you get ten thousand over here in two minutes so I could win a bet? I’d sign a personal note.”
“Check all right, Jim?”
“Fine.”
“How long a note?”
“Sixty days. Ninety. Suit yourself; I’ll probably extend it when it’s due.”
“It’s on the way, Jim.”
I hung up and said to Max, “Let’s check our watches.”
He shook his head and took his wallet out. He pulled out a ten and offered it.
I said, “Buy Adele the biggest box of candy you can get for that. Tell her it’s from one of her admirers. I’m going home after I endorse the check over to you, Max. I’m going home to wait for Carol.”