“Of course,” he said. “I’m sorry, Kari. If there’s anything I can do—”
“There’s nothing. What could anyone do? Paul is dead. His name is a disgrace to the nation.”
There was nothing he could say. The grief and shock behind her calm face was too deep to touch. And then she smiled.
“It’s all right, Barney. I’m sorry about it, too. I always meant to tell you about Paul and myself, but when all the trouble started, I knew it wasn’t the right time. We never know how little time we do have, do we? I didn’t know what Paul was doing. I never suspected—”
“I know you didn’t,” he said.
“I wouldn’t want you to think of me as—”
“No, Kari.”
She smiled again. “You’d better go now. I’m sure she’s waiting for you somewhere.”
He walked with a quick, light step down the road to Pheeney’s Landing. The tourist camp was dark and asleep in the moonlight. The Chesapeake was quiet. He walked faster, a tight anxiety in him, mingled with relief at the outcome of his visit to Kari. That was all over. There was something else that had just begun, however.
The cabin where Rulov had been killed was empty and dark. In the confusion following Evarts’ death, Cornell had lost track of Sally. He should have realized that she wouldn’t come back here, where Rulov had died. He felt a sudden panic, wondering where she had gone, realizing he did not know where in Washington to look for her.
There was light still on in Kelly’s Bar. Cornell crossed the clearing toward the shed. The hard-packed earth was littered with the debris of the earlier riot, but now there was only the soft thumping of the juke box as he pushed open the screen door. Gootsie Thomas was the only occupant. He sprawled at a table in the rear, six large bottles of beer lined up before him. He was happily and gloriously drunk. But not too drunk to see Cornell.
“Not here!” he grumbled. “She’s gone.”
Cornell shook him hard. “Where is she?”
“You really wanna see Sally, pal?”
“Where is she?”
Gootsie Wearily surveyed his bottles and chuckled. “My place,” he said. “I’m here for the night.”
The road to Gootsie’s cabin was familiar. He all but ran the last few steps, until he turned a bend and crossed the rattly wooden bridge to the trim little cottage. Sally’s car was here. The windows were dark. He paused, wondering at the excitement in him, but not surprised. The cabin door was unlocked. He rapped softly, then thumbed the latch and stepped into the warm darkness.
Moonlight shone through the windows facing the bay. He heard Sally’s voice before he saw her.
“Here I am, Barney.”
She had been crying. For a moment her small face seemed to crumple at the sight of him, and then she turned her head aside. He lifted her chin with his cupped hand.
“Sally. Didn’t you think I’d look for you?”
“I didn’t know,” she whispered.
“But you wanted me to?”
“Of course. You know how I feel. You know too much about me, as it is. It was a mistake to tell you.”
“No, not a mistake.”
She kept her face averted. “Did you see her?” She looked up, and there was a clear innocence about her that warmed him. Then her glance was averted again and she whispered, “Barney, did you?”
“Kari? Yes. She was—she was in love with Evarts.”
“I guessed that,” Sally said.
“There’s nothing in it for you to think about, Sally.”
“But you went to see her.”
“To say good-by,” Cornell said. “That was all.”
He shook her gently, his hands on her slim shoulders. She was wearing a gray flannel robe twice too large for her, and obviously borrowed from Gootsie. She was shivering. This time she lifted her head and kept looking at him. Her eyes were luminous in the moonlight.
“Why did you come here for me, Barney?” she whispered. “I want you to tell me.”
Suddenly everything was all right.
“Because I love you,” he said. “Because I want to make an honest woman out of you.”
Everything was fine. Dandy. Peachy. Perfect.
State Department Murders Page 17
