“Yes, they do,” he agreed.
It had been a comforting afternoon, with Delroy knitting away on a sweater he had not told her was for Baba. There was something enormously cheerful about knitting in a warm kitchen, a litde dog snoozing at the foot of this white-haired woman’s rocker.
Mrs. House had told him more about her husband, Bolton S. House, PhD. The trouble with him, she had declared, was that he had no interest in anyone he couldn’t teach.
“When we were first married, he taught me everything. He taught me more than I wanted to learn. Serve champagne in a fluted glass, but not wine. Don’t bother opening wine so it can breathe because it can’t breathe unless you decant it. Wine, wine, wine, and then he got after my bracelets. I shouldn’t wear so many bracelets, so much jewelry, just one piece at a time, and just one ring besides my wedding ring! The walls in our house had to be all white! No blue rooms, no pink ones, and no shag rugs or recliners of any kind. Never say “consensus of opinion.” It dismayed him. What didn’t dismay him? That was his favorite word. . . . He ruined my son’s life with his set ways!”
Then she stopped her harangue abruptly, after blurting that out.
“I didn’t know you had a son,” said Delroy.
“He went away. . . . That was what killed Bolton. It hit him in the heart, that loss. But if you don’t mind, I prefer not to speak of my son.” “All right.” Knit one, purl two. Delroy was calm. His new friend could do as she liked. Friends let friends do as they liked.
But obviously Mrs. Myrna House did want to speak of her boy, and Delroy very much wanted to hear what Scotti had been like.
“My poor litde son wanted to be just like Bolton, wanted to know everything Bolton knew. But he was just a child. He should have been out with the other little boys playing ball, not holed up in his room reading books Bolton gave him. On every subject. The poor little tyke learned too much too fast, and I believe that it affected his mind. He had all this information twisted in his head, three years old and he would say to me, ‘Mama, did you know that a piano is a percussion instrument?’ Or ‘Mama, Papa is a noctiphile!’ Can you imagine?”
“A noctiphile?” Delroy looked up from his knitting surprised. “Someone who fancies corpses?”
“Oh, no, no, no. Someone who’s a night owl. . . . But do you see what I mean? What is one and one, Bolton would ask him, and when the poor boy chirped up ‘Two!’ Bolton would say ‘It’s also eleven.’ . . . Education gives you too many choices, Delroy, too many options and answers. Take the weather. Before all these meteorologists got on the television, we had a simple weather report. Rain tomorrow. Sunshine tomorrow. Now they give us all these possibilities and they take five minutes to do it. When they’re done, we still don’t know if we need our umbrellas the next day.” “I never had one,” said Delroy.
“You never had an umbrella?”
“I never had an education.”
“Sometimes I think my poor son would have been better off without one. Bolton taught him and taught him. They were like a pair of scissors. Inseparable. I think my son was afraid to be without him. When he was just a tot he even asked Bolton once if he could marry him when he grew up. You see, he had everything mixed up in his little brain.”
A few seconds of silence as Mrs. House must have perceived that suddenly their talk had taken a very odd turn. Delroy’s knitting needles clicked faster.
He said, “It is hard to talk about missing members of the family, I know that... I don’t even know if Eelan is alive.”
“Your dear sister ... I think she is alive.”
“Mr. Lasher once said that someday that mystery will be solved.”
“No thanks to him! A man with his connections could have found that out for you, Delroy.”
By now, Scotti House was at her writing workshop. Delroy had started a second letter to her after she’d snubbed him on New Year’s Day, but he doubted that he would ever finish it. He was no longer sure that she had snubbed him. She really was working on a novel. Mrs. House complained again and again that her daughter spent very little time with her. She said she was often awakened early mornings when her daughter got up to write. That very day Mrs. House had told Delroy that the coming weekend Scotti was off to the opera, to Tristan und Isolde.
“Of course,” she added, “I’m not invited. I never am.”
It was the only opera Aunt Sade had ever taken Delroy to, one night when Mr. Witt could not attend. Delroy still remembered how moved he’d been by it. Afterward, Sade had bought die tape and played and played it.
Delroy said, “I should have asked Mr. Lasher to help me find Eelan. I don’t know why I didn’t.”
“You didn’t because you knew instinctively that people like that just don’t care.”
“Maybe . . . maybe . . . well, tomorrow it will be all over.”
“Really? Is tomorrow^ the day, Delroy?”
“I shouldn’t say.”
“Then it is! I don’t envy you, dear.”
“Mr. Lasher has taken care of everything. The doctor provided the pills. He’ll sign the death certificate. I won’t be blamed. Don’t worry about that.”
“I still wouldn’t want it on my conscience,” said Mrs. House, bending over to pick up Baba. “It’s not for us to decide such things, is it, Baba? It’s not for Mr. Lasher or the doctor to decide such things.”
“I’ve thought of that.”
Baba licked her face as she continued. “Of course you’ve thought of that. With your religious background, how could you not? Say all you want about growing up and changing, but the early years are stamped on your soul, aren’t they, Baba?”
“I know they are, ma’am. Eelan could never escape the Amish, even though she ran from them.”
“Eelan haunts you, doesn’t she?”
“Well, I have no one else.”
Mrs. House shook her head, pet Baba with eyes closed, rocking slowly. “Oh Delroy, the things you say sometimes.”
“What about the things I say, ma’am?”
“You are such a lonely young man.” She looked down at the bulldog on her lap. “Baba? Tell Delroy he has us. Tell him we’re his family. We even gave up smoking for him.”
“You did, ma’am? For me?”
“Tell him, Baba. Tell Delroy we decided never to have another cigarette because God put a new friend in our lives.”
Baba looked up, drool on his hairy chin, a tooth missing.
“Baba wants to go back to sleep,” Delroy said in a fresh, peppy tone, which belied the thick emotion flooding through him. Tears burning behind his eyes, Delroy popped his knitting into the brown paper bag, jumped to his feet, and called out in a voice too light and gay, “And I have to run along, that’s what I have to do. Toodle-loo, toodle-loo!”
He climbed into the Jeep and blew his nose, overwhelmed by what Mrs. House had said to him. He had the new can of Vassilaros coffee he had found for Scotti at Citarella, but he had not taken it inside when he arrived because her car was not in the driveway. He wanted to give it to her personally. Another time.
Driving away he thought of Scotti at the opera, wondering what she would wear, if she would sit where everyone dressed itp, if she would be with the young man she was with on Thanksgiving Day.
The night he went to that opera with Sade, Sade said she was almost glad Mr. Witt could not attend with her, for if he had been beside her when they played the love music, she would surely have passed out. . . . “From drinking?” Delroy had asked. Sade had replied, “From desire. Sometimes you swoon from it.”
THIRTY-FOUR
Nell Slack had placed the gold Cartier locket which Deanie Lasher had worn in a small black Sportsac. She had put it in the mailbox on Maritime Way, where Liam had picked it up.
There was this note inside the Sportsac, printed out from a computer.
Your daughter could be wearing this locket again tomorrow if you follow our instructions. REMEMBER IF THE POLICE BECOME INVOLVED, OR IF YOU FAIL TO DO EXACTLY AS YOU’RE TOLD, SHE WILL NEVER W
EAR IT AGAIN. We are not amateurs and we expect The Lucky We to be the one and only. If it is then the girl is safe. Our next communication will be this evening after ten.
Then Liam had Scotch-taped a twenty-dollar bill to the Sportsac, put the Lashers’ address on the tag, and left it on the doorstep of the East Hampton Library, inside a white Gap shopping bag. En route to the library he had called Joe’s Taxi in Amagansett.
“I’m on the jitney,” he said, “and I did not have a chance to drop off a shopping bag at the Lashers’ on The Highway Behind The Pond. Can you pick it up now at the East Hampton Library and take it there? I’ve left money with it.”
They could.
They did.
Liam watched them do it from the Ford, across the street in front of Guild Hall. He had placed the rotating cherry and the wire screen that separated die front seat from the back in the trunk. He had peeled off the gold medallion and die blue stripes from the sides of their Ford and burned them in the trash. When he returned to the house, he called Nell.
“Everything okay there?”
“She’s waking up. Very groggy.”
“Tied?”
“Yes.”
“Keep her in that one room.”
“Don’t forget to bring the books I bought to read to her.”
“They’re in my car. Anything else?”
“When will you be here?”
“As soon as I call them from the pay phone at ten o’clock.”
“I don’t like it here alone, Liam.”
“I’ll be there by ten-fifteen at the latest.”
“Okay.”
“I love you.”
“Yeah.”
“What kind of an answer is ‘yeah’?”
“I’m nervous.”
“Relax, love.”
“All right. Good-bye.”
He had parked the Ford behind the house on Newtown Lane. Their landlady, who occupied the upstairs apartment, was in Florida.
The police clothes and visor cap were stored in Liam’s closet behind his pants, shirts, and shoes.
He looked in Nell’s closet.
True to her word, she’d packed up. Everything was gone but the hangers and an empty shoe bag. She’d put it all into the trunk of her Buick, determined never to return to East Hampton once the child was delivered to her parents.
Okay, let her have her way. Liam intended to come back without her. They would sublet a place for a few months in Soho. She could stay there while he took care of any Homesafe obligations. She wouldn’t be missed locally. Mario Rome could eat his heart out, but she had no other connection with anyone in the Hamptons.
Liam showered and shaved. He put his toilet kit and some underwear and shirts in a bag.
The phone rang while he was urinating and he let the machine take the call. Nell would never call him. The only calls he ever got were from the few clients he still had. Sometimes they wanted him to ready their houses. Sometimes they asked him to send something they needed from the house. In bad weather they wanted to know things were all right at the house, but there had not been any big storms so far that year.
He zipped up his trousers and walked into the living room while Nell’s recorded voice announced: “You’ve reached Homesafe. Please leave a message and a number and we’ll get back to you.”
A male voice that Liam did not recognize said, “Nell? This is Ginny. Same number when you get to New York. Be thine own palace or the world’s thy jail. Remember? Can’t wait to see you.”
What the hell was that about?
Liam went across to the machine and played back the message.
He could not believe what he heard.
Jimmy ... jail... It took a few seconds for that crooked grin to come to Liam’s mind, the dark laughing eyes, and one of those spiffy little bow ties Jimmy Rainbow always wore.
On Main Street Delroy heard the wail of the police siren and pulled over.
He knew the officer. Sergeant Sam Bratski. He’d gone to school with him, in Sag Harbor.
“Where you headed, Delroy?”
“I’m going to the Lashers’ and I’m late, Sam.”
“I know. They’ve been worried about you.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I think they wondered if you were planning to return the Jeep?” “No, Sam, I’m going to steal it.”
“I guess you forgot to tell Mr. Lasher you were borrowing it.”
“Jack Burlingame gave me permission to take it. He’s their houseguest.” “Where have you been, Delroy?”
“What are you asking me all these questions for?”
“Because Mrs. Lasher asked me to find you, find out where you took her car, and to be sure you return it.”
“Did she think I stole it?”
“She used the word borrow, Delroy.”
“And she called the police?”
“She was worried, I guess. Where were you?”
“I was at Myrna House’s, up on Tulip Path.”
“Don’t get excited, Delroy. I’m just doing my job.”
“Don’t get excited? I work for them and she calls the police because I’m late returning one of their half-dozen cars?”
“Maybe she was worried about you, Delroy.”
“That would be news.”
“What’s in the bag on the seat?”
“Something of mine.”
“May I see it, please, Delroy?”
“Why?”
“Because it might be important.”
With an exasperated sigh Delroy handed him the paper bag.
“Alia! You’re still knitting. I’d forgotten about that, Needles. And some coffee, hnimm? Vassilaros.”
“What are you doing, Sam?”
“Just my job. If I get called to investigate anything, I investigate it.” Bratski handed the bag back to Delroy, who was blushing angrily.
Bratski said, “You just head down to the Lashers’ and I’ll follow you as far as the gate. Okay?”
“What is this?”
“I just want to be sure you and the Jeep get home safely.”
“It’s not my home, it’s their home.”
“Don’t take this personally, Delroy,” said Sam Bratski with a twofingered salute.
But Delroy did take it personally.
There wasn’t any other way to take it.
Lara was using Len’s private phone to talk with Dr. Mannerheim.
She had not asked Jack to leave the room, but he finally did after ten minutes of listening to a one-sided conversation that went like this:
“Isn’t it also a form of denial if I disobey this kidnapper and put Deanie in even greater jeopardy?
“Because I don’t trust the police!
“How can you call it denial?
“Yes, I remember we talked about that.
“I called you because I want some input, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to do as you say, Dr. Mannerheim. She’s not your daughter.”
On and on while she clutched Deanie’s gold locket and watched the clock.
Mario was in the kitchen warming up a chicken casserole the cook had left for them.
Mrs. Metcalf was upstairs sitting with Len, watching an old Gary Cooper movie on AMC. Len was asleep.
Jack went from there to the enormous closet just outside Len’s door, which Lara had converted into a nook for Delroy. There Delroy could be within seeing and hearing distance of Len.
There was a large leather chair with a footstool, a bookcase with a TV built into it, and a small refrigerator filled with Stewart’s root beer. Delroy used the Queen Anne cherry dressing table as a desk.
There was a pile of the latest magazines stacked on top.
One of Delroy’s duties was to remove all the blow-in advertising cards before he put the magazines downstairs on the living room table. If he missed one and it fell out while Lara was looking through them, she went ballistic.
There were a few mystery books with yellow Post-it flags marking the p
laces Delroy had stopped reading. There was a well-thumbed Bible. At the back of the Bible was a withered rose and a photograph of a young girl with “Eelan” printed on the back. There was an envelope with “Scotti House” printed across the front.
Jack opened it, took out the paper inside, and read an unfinished letter that said at the top right-hand corner: “New Year’s Day Evening.”
Dear Scotti House,
Why did you act so nervous this afternoon ? I have not told your mother our little secret, if that’s what you think. Rest assured no one knows.
I have been thinking, Ms. House, and I That was all.
Jack returned the envelope to the Bible and put the letter in his back pocket.
Mrs. Metcalf poked her head around the corner and said, “Where’s Delroy tonight, Mr. Burlingame?”
“We just found him. He’ll be along any minute.”
“Because I can’t stay over tonight.”
“We know that. Don’t worry.”
Then Jack went back downstairs and opened the study door.
“The police located Delroy and he’s on his way back here but I didn’t tell him a thing. I shouldn’t, should I? I can trust him for sure, and perhaps it’s best if I—”
She was still on Len’s phone with her shrink. It was agreed that after ten, when the house phone rang, Mario would take the call. Jack would be on the extension in the kitchen.
Jack went into the kitchen.
“What’s up?” Mario had finished his dinner and was sitting smoking, reading a paperback.
“Who did you say you had a date with tonight?” Jack asked him.
“Her name is Scotti House.”
“That’s what I thought you said. House.”
“Scotti House. She’s in my class.”
Jack reached in his back pocket for Delroy’s letter. “Read this,” he said.
“Where were you?” she said.
“I couldn’t make class, Scotti.”
“I know that, but what happened?”
“I left a message with your mother.”
“I haven’t been home since early this morning. I was in New York.”
“Leave your car here and we’ll take my van,” Mario said.
“Okay.”
In the headlights he watched her lock the Saturn, which was parked in front of Ashawagh Hall.
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