“Oh. I hadn’t realized.”
“It’s been almost two years, now. I could say a drunk crashed into her, and it would be true, but she was pretty loaded herself.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yes.” Her face is amazing. Even when she was holding back any expression I could almost read her feelings like words on a page. I can’t help comparing her to Jill, whose face is dead, or Kellem, who hardly ever lets her feelings show. Except anger. Kellem has always been willing to show anger.
I studied Susan’s face and said, “But you’ve recovered from her death, I think.”
“Yes.”
“How?
She considered this. “Vivian was one of the wittiest people I’ve ever known, and one of the wisest. I wrote down everything I could remember that she’d ever said, and every once in a while I read through things, and I quote her from time to time.”
“You’re keeping her with you.”
“Yes.”
“You are very beautiful.”
She stood up and I held her, but that is all I did, then, because it wouldn’t have felt right to do more. I did kiss her once, lightly, as I was leaving. She said, “Your lips are always so cold.”
I started to say “Like my heart,” but I didn’t, for fear that she might believe me.
An altogether splendid evening; although, consequently and ironically, there is little to say about it. But it has gotten me back to work on the typewriting machine. I woke up completely recovered, and, in fact, feeling rather better than I have in some time. I took the opportunity to visit Susan, who was looking slightly wan but seemed to be in fine spirits.
After checking on Jill, who was doing better, we went off and saw a play at a little private theater in the Tunnel. The theater is called the Clubhouse, and the play itself was a fairly recent work by someone I’d never heard of that was about three generations of women and concerned itself with insanity, spelling bees, and all manner of subjects in between. It was both written and performed with a good deal of humor and genuine pathos.
Susan laughed up until the end, when she cried, and then I took her home, kissed her hand at the door and bid good evening to her surprised, slightly disappointed, but seemingly charmed countenance.
Even the weather has conspired to make this a pleasant night, because, although it was cold, it was also a beautiful clear night without wind, and the sliver of moon was sharp and fine before she fell into the western skyline. The lack of wind is also serving to keep this room more snug than usual.
I feel very much like having a nice chat with Jim, so I believe that I will.
Kellem has started the game.
My spirits have improved, now that it has begun; I still don’t know precisely what she has planned, but at least I know she has started. I am more relaxed than I have been in quite some time.
I had came out of the shower; I was naked except for a towel wrapped around my head; when Jim walked up to me silently and said without preamble, “The police were here today.”
I pulled the towel away and looked at him. He was staring at the steamy bathroom over my shoulder. “Ah,” I said.
“It was about nine o’clock this morning. They knocked on the door, then broke it down.”
“You didn’t let them in?”
Jim, apparently, didn’t think that was very funny. “There were seven of them, six in uniform and one in plainclothes.”
“How were they armed?”
“Two had shotguns, the rest weren’t carrying anything.”
“I don’t like shotguns.”
“I know.”
“In the future, don’t allow them in the house.”
He barely smiled.
I said, “Did they search?”
“Oh, yes. Up one side and down the other. They were at it a good five, six hours.”
“What did they find?”
“Well, they didn’t find you.”
“I’d sort of figured that out already. What did they find?”
He almost laughed. “Some dirty laundry.”
“Did they take it?”
“I’m afraid so.”
I tried to remember what I’d left out so I could determine how annoyed I ought to be. When a place has a nice hideyhole like this one does, I tend to make sure everything is there before I sleep (including these papers, by the way). I remembered that there was a nice silk shirt that I’d miss, but everything else was easily replaceable. If they had come two days earlier, they’d have found a week’s worth of dirty laundry. “Much joy may it bring them,” I said. “What did they say?”
“Most of what they talked about didn’t have anything to do with their search, and I don’t really care to repeat it.”
“Ah.”
“But they did learn that someone had been staying here, both from the laundry and from the burned candles and the ash in the fireplace.”
“Did they check for fingerprints?”
“All over.”
“Okay. They won’t match anything anyway.”
He looked startled. “You’ve never had your prints taken before?”
“Now, Jim,” I said. “You know I try to stay on the right side of the law.”
That time he laughed, though I think it was a bit forced. “What do you think they were after?”
“After?” I said. “Me, of course.”
“Well, yes, but why?”
“With that many of them? They probably think I’m dangerous. I would imagine Kellem arranged this in hopes they’d find me while I slept.”
He shook his head. “I thought you said she wouldn’t want that.”
“Well, yes, but apparently I was wrong. Unless you think it’s coincidence.”
“Not hardly,” said Jim. “What are you going to do about it?”
“After this,” I said. “I’m going to pick up my dirty laundry.”
I got dressed in what used to be the master bedroom. This has become a habit with me, to stand in front of the fireplace, dry myself off as if there were a fire going, then go over to the dressing room attached to it and put on whatever I’ve chosen to wear that day. Today, for the record, I’m wearing black zip boots, black pants, a navy blue turtleneck shirt and a brown corduroy sports coat. And my pendant, of course; I’ve had it for a long, long time, and it has become a sort of good-luck piece for me, although I’m not really superstitious. (I used to be very superstitious, but then I learned it was bad luck. A little joke there, Jim). It was Kellem who gave me the pendant, now that I think of it. She said it reminded her of me. I didn’t know what she meant, and, come to that, I still don’t; she probably just said it for effect. In any case, while I don’t pay a great deal of attention to my dress, and I tend to leave almost everything when I move, I do like to look presentable. The shoes, by the way, haven’t quite broken in and they hurt just a little.
It’s time to get serious about this; the game’s afoot, Watson, I need you. I’m going to take those papers out again and go through them once more.
Completely frustrated. I’ve been able to eliminate a few cases, but not enough to help. It seems Kellem ought to have been polite enough to leave some sort of signs on her kills. Is this what she calls being obvious? I suppose I could tell her that she’s overreacting, but the last time I tried to talk to her it didn’t work out so well.
I am tempted to try to get into the police station and go through their files, but that does seem like asking for trouble. What if they have a description of me, and I’m spotted the instant I go in?
I would love to be able to talk to Susan about this. Not that I think she could help, but it would be pleasant to be able to unload my frustration on her. Still, there’s always Jim, who has been very patient with me.
I’m not sure what to do next. Ignore everything and hope something comes up? Wait for inspiration to strike? Track down Kellem at her lair? And then what? At least I no longer have to worry about Jill or Don.
Although, now that I think of it, how did Don know what to do? Even if he’d watched a few movies and read a few novels, his knowledge seemed far too complete. There’s a mystery there. I might have been too hasty with him; although it is certainly too late to worry about that now. But perhaps I ought to try to find the source of his knowledge. At any rate, that will give me something to do.