Mystery. Part 19

"You're feeling better," Tom said.

"If I really felt better, I'd hardly know how to act." She moved sideways, and levered herself up so that she could pull down her covers and slide her legs beneath them. Some of the magazines slithered onto the floor. Gloria drew the covers up over her body and leaned against the pillows.

It was like being in the bedroom of a teenage girl, Tom suddenly thought: the little record player on the dresser, the men's pajamas, the mess of magazines, the darkness, the single bed. There should have been posters and pennants on the walls, but the walls were bare.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked.

"You can stay a little while." She closed her eyes. "He looked ashamed of himself, didn't he?"

"I guess."

Tom wandered from the side of the bed and sat down backwards on the chair before the dressing table. He was still holding the record in its sleeve. "Grand-Dad just called." Gloria opened her eyes and pushed herself up against the head of the bed. She reached for the bottle of pills and shook two out into her hand. "Did he?" She broke the pills in half and swallowed two of the small halves without water.

"He wants me to go to Eagle Lake the day after tomorrow. I can get a ride on the Redwing plane with the Spences."

"The Spences are flying up north on the Redwing plane?" After a second, she added, "And you're going with them?" She put the two small sections of the other pill in her mouth, made a face, and swallowed.

"Would you like me to stay here?" he asked. "I don't have to go."

"Maybe you should get out of the house for a while. Maybe it's nicer up north."

"You used to go there in the summers," he said.

"I used to go a lot of places. I used to have another kind of life, for a little while."

"Can you remember your place at the lake?"

"It was this big, big house. All made of wood. Everything was made of wood. All the lodges were. I knew where everybody lived. Even Lamont von Heilitz. Daddy didn't want me to talk about him at lunch-the day we went to the Founders Club, remember?"

Tom nodded.

"He was famous," his mother said. "He was a lot more famous than Daddy, and he did wonderful things. I always thought he was rather grand, Lamont von Heilitz."

Where does this come from? Tom wondered. Tom wondered.

"And I knew a lady named Jeanine. She was a friend of mine too. That's another terrible story. One terrible story after another, that's what it adds up to."

"You knew Jeanine Thielman?"

"There's a lot I'm not supposed to talk about. So I don't."

"Why aren't you supposed to talk about Jeanine Thielman?" Tom asked.

"Oh, it doesn't matter anymore," Gloria said, and sounded more adult and awake. "But I could tell her things."

Tom asked, "How old were you when your mother died?"

"Four. I didn't really understand what happened for a long time-I thought she went away to make me feel bad. I thought she wanted to punish me."

"Mom, why would she want to do that?"

She cracked her eyes open, and her puffy face looked childish and sly. "Because I was bad. Because of my secrets." For a moment, Tom thought that the slyness was like a pat of b.u.t.ter in her mouth. "Sometimes Jeanine would come and talk to me. And hold me. And I talked to her. I hoped she would be my new Mommy. I really did!"

"I always wondered how my grandmother died," Tom said. "n.o.body ever talked about it."

"To me either!" Gloria said. "You can't tell a little kid something like that."

"Something like what?"

"She killed herself." Gloria said this flatly, without any emotion at all. "I wasn't supposed to know. I don't think Daddy even wanted me to know she was dead, you know. You know Daddy. Pretty soon he was acting like there never was any Mommy. There was just the two of us. Her and her's Da." She pulled the covers around herself more tightly, and the magazines still on the bed moved up with them. "There was just her and her's Da, and that was all there ever was. Because he loved her, really, and she loved him. And she knew everything that happened."

She slid deeper into the bed. "But it was all a long time ago. Jeanine was angry, and then a man killed her and put her in the lake too. I heard him shooting-I heard the shots in my bedroom. Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! And I went through the house and out on the veranda and saw a man running through the woods. I started to cry, and I couldn't find Daddy, and I guess I went to sleep, because when I woke up he was there. And I told him what I saw, and he took me to Barbara Deane's house. So I'd be safe." And I went through the house and out on the veranda and saw a man running through the woods. I started to cry, and I couldn't find Daddy, and I guess I went to sleep, because when I woke up he was there. And I told him what I saw, and he took me to Barbara Deane's house. So I'd be safe."

"You mean he took you to Miami."

"No-first he took me to Barbara Deane's house, in the village, and I was there a little while. A few days. And he went back to the lake, to look for Jeanine, and then he came back, and then then we went to Miami." we went to Miami."

"I don't understand-"

She closed her eyes. "I didn't like Barbara Deane. She never talked to me. She wasn't nice."

She was silent for a long time, breathing deeply. "I'll be better tomorrow."

He stood up and went to the side of her bed. Her eyelids fluttered. He bent down to kiss her. When his lips touched her forehead, she shuddered and mumbled, "Don't."

In the study, Victor Pasmore lay tilted back in his recliner, asleep before the blaring television. A cigarette that was only a column of ash burned in the ashtray, sending up a thin line of smoke.

Tom went to the front door and let himself out into the cool night. c.h.i.n.ks of light showed through Lamont von Heilitz's curtains.

"You're upset," said Mr. von Heilitz as soon as he saw Tom on his doorstep. "Hurry on inside, and let me get a better look at you."

Tom moved through the door with what felt like the last of his energy and leaned against a file cabinet. The Shadow inserted a cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and squinted at Tom as he inhaled. "You look absolutely ragged ragged, Tom. I'll pour you a cup of coffee, and then I want you to tell me all about it."

Tom straightened up and rubbed his face. "Being here makes me feel better," he said. "I heard so much today-listened to so much-and it's all sort of spinning around in my head. I can't figure it out-I can't get it straight."

"I'd better take care of you," von Heilitz said. "You sound a little overloaded." He led Tom back through the enormous room to his kitchen, took out two cups and saucers, and poured coffee from an old black pot that had been bubbling on a gas range, also black, that must have belonged to his parents. Tom liked the entire kitchen, with its wainscoting, hanging lamps, and old-fas.h.i.+oned sinks and high wooden shelves and mellow, clean wooden floorboards.

The old man said, "In honor of the occasion, I think we could add a little something to the coffee, don't you?"

He took a bottle of cognac from another shelf, and tipped a little into each cup.

"What occasion?" Tom asked.

"Your being here." He handed Tom one of the cups, and smiled at him.

Tom sipped the hot, delicious mixture, and felt the tension drain from him. "I didn't know that you knew Hattie Bas...o...b..."

"Hattie Bas...o...b.. is one of the most extraordinary people on this island. That you know about our friends.h.i.+p means that you must have seen her today! But I'm not going to keep you in the kitchen. Let's go into the other room and hear about what has you so worked up."

Tom sprawled back on the old leather couch, and put his feet up on the coffee table covered with books. Von Heilitz said, "One minute," and put a record on his gleaming stereo equipment. Tom braced himself for more Mahler, but a warm, smoky tenor saxophone began playing one of Miss Ellinghausen's tunes, "But Not For Me," and Tom thought that it sounded just like the way the coffee and brandy tasted: and then he recognized it.

"That's Blue Rose," Blue Rose," he said. "My mother has that record." he said. "My mother has that record."

"Glenroy Breakstone's best record. It's what we ought to listen to, tonight." Tom looked at him with a mixture of pain and confusion, and von Heilitz said, "This state you're in-I know it's a terrible condition, but I think it means you're almost there there. Events are almost moving by themselves now, and it's because of you." He sat down across from Tom, and drank from his cup. "Another man was murdered today-murdered because he talked too much, among other reasons."

"That policeman," Tom said.

"He was a loose end. They couldn't trust him, so they got rid of him. They'd do the same to me, and to you too, if they knew about us. We have to be very careful from now on, you know."

"Did you know that my grandmother committed suicide?" Tom asked. Von Heilitz paused with his cup halfway to his mouth. "It's like...it was a shock, but it wasn't wasn't. And you lied to me!" Tom burst out. "My grandfather couldn't have seen the Thielmans' dock from his balcony! It doesn't face the water, it faces the woods! So why did you say that? Why does everybody tell me so many lies? And why is my mother so helpless! helpless! How could my grandfather dump her at someone's house and go back to Eagle Lake by himself?" Tom let out a long sigh that was nearly a sob. He covered his face with his hands, then lowered them. "I'm sorry. I'm thinking about four or five things at once." How could my grandfather dump her at someone's house and go back to Eagle Lake by himself?" Tom let out a long sigh that was nearly a sob. He covered his face with his hands, then lowered them. "I'm sorry. I'm thinking about four or five things at once."

"I didn't lie to you. I just didn't tell you everything-there are a couple of things I didn't know then, and a few I still don't know." He waited a moment. "When do you go to Eagle Lake?"

"The day after tomorrow." When von Heilitz looked up sharply, he said, "It was just worked out. That's why my grandfather called. I'm going on the Redwing plane."

"Well, well." The old man crossed his legs and leaned back into his chair. "Tell me what happened to you today."

Tom looked across the table, and was met by a smile of pure understanding.

He told him everything. About the hospital and David Natchez and the dead man and Dr. Milton; about his "excursion" to the old slave quarter and Maxwell's Heaven; about seeing Fulton Bishop glide through the court like a hungry snake; about Nancy Vetiver and what Michael Mendenhall had said; Dr. Milton in the pony trap; his father's drunken hostility and the visit from Ralph Redwing; about the call from his grandfather; his mother in her bedroom, remembering Eagle Lake and her childhood.

"My G.o.d," the old man said when Tom had finished. "Now I know why you were in such a state when you arrived. I think all that calls for some more brandy, without the coffee this time. Will you have some?"

"I'd fall asleep if I had any more," Tom said. "I'm only half done with this." Putting it all into words had helped him. Despite what he said, he was tired but not at all sleepy, and he felt much calmer.

The Shadow smiled at him, patted his knee, and took his cup out into his kitchen. He returned with a snifter of brandy and set it on the table, then turned over the Glenroy Breakstone record and filled the room with the confidential, pa.s.sionate sounds that Tom would a.s.sociate with both this moment and his mother for the rest of his life.

He sat down again across from Tom and looked at him steadily-with what looked to the boy like steady unambiguous affection, as he swirled the brandy in his gla.s.s. "Just now, you told me two very useful bits of information, and confirmed something that I have always thought to be true-that you went out to the Goethe Park area seven years ago for the same reason that you made your English teacher drive you to Weasel Hollow. I saw you that day, and I knew that you saw me too. You didn't recognize me, but you saw me."

Mr. von Heilitz seemed very excited, and his excitement infected Tom. "You were there? You told me-that first time I came here, you asked if I remembered the first time-"

"And that was it, Tom! Think!"

And then Tom did remember a gloomy Gothic house, and a face that had looked skull-like peering through the curtains. His mouth dropped open. Von Heilitz was grinning at him. "You were in that house on Calle Burleigh!"

"I was in that house." His eyes glowed at Tom from over the top of the snifter as he drank. "I saw you coming down the block, looking between the houses to see 44th Street."

"What were you doing there?"

"I rent houses and apartments in various places on Mill Walk, and I use them when I have to keep an eye on things and stay out of sight. That place was as close as I could get to Wendell Hasek's house on 44th Street. From the top floor, I could see that whole block of 44th Street."

"Wendell Hasek," Tom said, and then saw saw him: a fat man with a crewcut leaning against a bay window in the brown and yellow house, and the same man appearing on its porch, signaling with his hand. him: a fat man with a crewcut leaning against a bay window in the brown and yellow house, and the same man appearing on its porch, signaling with his hand.

"He was there," he said. "He must have seen me. He sent out-" Tom stopped talking, seeing an older boy and a dark-haired girl in his memory. Jerry Fairy. And what are you gonna And what are you gonna do now, Jerry Fairy? do now, Jerry Fairy? "He sent his children out to get me. Jerry and Robyn. They wanted to know-" "He sent his children out to get me. Jerry and Robyn. They wanted to know-"

You want to know what's going on? Why don't you tell me, me, huh? What are you doing here? huh? What are you doing here?

"-what I was doing there. And then-"

He saw two other older boys, a fat boy who already looked angry and a boy as thin as a skeleton, rounding the corner of a native house. The whole crowded, frightening scene of those few minutes came back to him in a rush: he remembered Jerry hitting him, and the sudden flash of pain, and how he had lashed out and broken Jerry's nose- Nappy! Robbie! Get him!

He remembered the knives. Running. Remembered seeing Wendell Hasek come out on his front steps and winding his hand in the air. The fear of it, and the sense of uncanniness: uncanniness: of being trapped in a movie, or a dream. of being trapped in a movie, or a dream.

"Jerry must have sent for his friends," he said.

Tom began to shake. Now he could remember everything: the gleam bouncing off one of the knives, the insolent way the one called Robbie had lounged before he began running, the white street name in the purple air, AUER AUER, the certainty that Robbie was going to shove his long knife into him, the traffic on Calle Burleigh suddenly dividing around him and a grey-haired man on a bicycle swooping toward the ground like a trick rider in a circus. He put his hands over his eyes. The mesh of a grille, and a face pointed toward him.

"Nappy and Robbie," he said.

"Nappy LaBarre and Robbie Wintergreen. That's right. The Cornerboys."

Tom's shaking had gradually subsided, and he stared at von Heilitz.

"That was what they called themselves," the detective said. "They all dropped out of school at fourteen, and they did a few things for Wendell Hasek. They stole. They kept a lookout for police. In general, they got up to no good until they reached their early twenties, when they suddenly turned respectable and started working for the Redwing Holding Company."

"What do they do for the Redwings?" He remembered something Sarah had said that afternoon. "Oh-they're bodyguards."

"I suppose that's what they're called."

"And what about Robyn?"

Von Heilitz smiled and shook his head. "Robyn got a job taking care of a sick old woman. When the old woman died while they were on a trip to the mainland, Robyn inherited her entire estate. The family took her to court on the mainland, but Robyn won the case. Now she's just spending her money."

"Hasek recognized me," Tom said. "That's why he sent for the Cornerboys. A few days before, he came to our house. He must have tracked down my grandfather-and he must have stopped at a couple of bars too, because he was smashed. Anyhow, he was shouting and throwing rocks, and my grandfather went outside to handle him. I followed him, and Hasek saw me. My grandfather ran him off, and I went back inside, and when Grand-Dad came back he went upstairs. They were all talking about it. I heard my mother screaming, Where did that man come from? What did he want? Where did that man come from? What did he want? And my grandfather answered, And my grandfather answered, He came from the general vicinity of 44th and Auer, if you're interested. As for what he wants, what do you think he wants? He wants more money." He came from the general vicinity of 44th and Auer, if you're interested. As for what he wants, what do you think he wants? He wants more money."

"And you overheard, and a few days later you went out there-across the island by yourself, at ten years of age. Because you'd heard enough to think that if you went to that place, you'd be able to understand everything. And instead you were almost killed, and wound up in the hospital."

"And that's why everybody kept asking me what I was doing out there," Tom said, and another level of confusion fell away from him. "Why were you at the hospital today?"

"I wanted to see for myself what you learned from Nancy Vetiver. I knew that poor Michael Mendenhall couldn't have much more time, and I spent a couple of hours a day in the lobby-in the disguise you saw-to see what would happen when he died. And I learned that my impression of David Natchez was correct-he's a real force for good. That he's stayed alive all this time means that he's also a resourceful character. Someday, Tom, we're going to need that man-and he is going to need us."

Von Heilitz stood up and pushed his hands into his pockets. He began pacing back and forth between his chair and the table. "Now let me ask you another one. What do you know about Wendell Hasek?"

"He was wounded once," Tom said. "In a payroll robbery from my grandfather's company. The robbers were shot to death, but the money was never found."

Von Heilitz stopped pacing, and fixed his eyes on the Degas painting of a ballet dancer. He seemed to be listening very intently to the music. "And does that remind you of anything?"

Tom nodded. "It reminds me of lots of stuff. Ha.s.selgard. The Treasury money. But what-"

Von Heilitz whipped around to face him. "Wendell Hasek, who was at Eagle Lake the summer Jeanine Thielman was murdered, came to your house looking for your grandfather. He wanted money, or so it seems. We can speculate that he felt he deserved more money for having been wounded in the payroll robbery, even though he had already been given enough to buy a house. When you turn up a short time later, he is anxious enough to send out his son, and to summon his son's friends, to see what you're doing there. Doesn't that suggest that he is concealing something?" He fixed Tom with his eyes.

"Maybe he organized the robbery," Tom said. "Maybe he was getting money from my grandfather for a deliberate injury."

"Maybe." Von Heilitz leaned against the back of his chair, and looked at Tom with the same excitement in his eyes. He was keeping something to himself, Tom understood: Maybe Maybe hid another possibility, one he wanted Tom to discover for himself. His next words seemed like a deliberate step away from the unspoken subject. "I want you to watch what is going on around you at Eagle Lake very carefully, and to write me whenever you see anything that strikes you. Don't just put your letters in your grandfather's mailbox. Give them to Joe Truehart-Minor's son. He works for the Eagle Lake post office, and he remembers what I did for his father. But don't let anybody see you talking to him. You can't take any unnecessary risks." hid another possibility, one he wanted Tom to discover for himself. His next words seemed like a deliberate step away from the unspoken subject. "I want you to watch what is going on around you at Eagle Lake very carefully, and to write me whenever you see anything that strikes you. Don't just put your letters in your grandfather's mailbox. Give them to Joe Truehart-Minor's son. He works for the Eagle Lake post office, and he remembers what I did for his father. But don't let anybody see you talking to him. You can't take any unnecessary risks."

"All right," Tom said. "But what kind of risks could there be?"