“Kitty,” she said.
“I’m still not sure why you asked me to come here tonight.”
She hesitated for a long time. Then she said, “Because you’re George’s lawyer.”
“And?”
“And I heard what you said to him tonight on television, and I thought, if he does call you...”
“Yes?”
“You could tell him I had nothing to do with it.”
“With what, Miss Reynolds?”
“With starting it.”
“Starting what?”
“Well, you just tell him. Whatever he’s thinking—”
“What do you think he’s thinking?”
“I think he found out, and he’s...” She shook her head. “Forget it,” she said.
“Found out what?”
“Nothing. Just tell him. If he’s out to get all of us, I don’t want to be the next one.”
“Who do you mean by all of us?”
“The women.”
“What women?”
“In the... our friends, do you know?”
“No, I don’t. What friends?”
“Those of us who were friends. Before the divorce. Before Sally and Andrew split up.”
“And you think George... or whoever killed Sally and Michelle—”
“It was George,” she said.
“How do you know that?”
“Who else could it be?”
“You think George, then, might be after all the friends you and Andrew Owen used to have?”
“Well... yes.”
“That doesn’t make sense to me. Why would he—”
“If you don’t understand what I’m trying to tell you—”
“I don’t.”
“Then forget it, okay?”
“Why don’t you just tell me?” I said. “Whatever the hell it is, just come out and say it.”
“I’ve said enough.”
“You really are frightened, aren’t you?” I said.
“Yes.” She was staring into the wide bowl of the snifter. Her voice was very small.
“Maybe you’d better call the police.”
“No,” she said, looking up sharply. “In this town? After what happened to Jerry? No, sir, no damn police.”
“Well,” I said, and sighed, and got up from where I was sitting. “If there’s anything else you want to tell me, you know where to reach me. If not—”
“Just tell George, okay? When you talk to him.”
“If I talk to him.”
“I’ll let you out,” she said, and rose suddenly, the peignoir parting over her legs. She pulled the flap closed, walked swiftly to the door, unlocked it, and said, “Good night, Mr. Hope. Thanks for coming here.”
“Good night,” I said, and stepped out into the first of the Weather Lady’s promised rain, a light drizzle sifting gently from the black sky overhead. Behind me, I heard the lock tumblers falling with a small oiled click.
It was a quarter past one when I got home.
I put the Ghia in the garage, rolled the door down behind me, opened the door leading from the garage into the kitchen, turned out the garage lights behind me, turned on the kitchen lights ahead of me, and then closed and locked the kitchen-garage door. I didn’t know whether I wanted another martini or a glass of milk. I opted for the milk. I went to the refrigerator, took out the bottle, poured myself a glassful, returned the bottle to the refrigerator, and was starting into the living room with the glass in my hand when I got the fright of my life.
George Harper was sitting in the dark there.
“Jesus!” I said, and snapped on the light.
“How you doin, Mr. Hope?” he said.
His huge hands were clasped in his lap; he sat as still as death in a wingback chair near the fire, facing the arched entry to the kitchen where I stood with the glass of milk in my hand. My hand was shaking.
“How’d you get in here?” I said.
“Back door was open,” he said.
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Well, then, I guess I forced it open,” he said.
“You scared the hell out of me. Where have you been?”
“Miami.”
“Doing what?”
“Went t’see my mama.”
“Broke jail to go see your ‘mama,’ huh?”
“Thass right, Mr. Hope. Missed her somethin terrible.”
“Do you know Sally Owen’s been murdered?”
“Yessir, I heard about it.”
“Did you kill her?”
“Nossir.”
“Do you know your hammer was found at the scene?”
“Yessir.”
“With your fingerprints on it?”
“So I unnerstan.”
“Got any idea how it got there?”
“Nossir.”
“Anybody but you and Michelle have a key to your house?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Was there a spare key outside?”
“Nossir.”
“Then how’d that hammer get out of the garage?”
“I can’t say, Mr. Hope.”
“Do you know what kind of trouble you’re in?”
“I reckon so.”
“Why’d you do a damn fool thing like breaking jail?”
“Tole you. Had to see my mama.”
“What about?”
“Business.”
“What kind of business?”
“Personal, Mr. Hope.”
“Listen to me, Mr. Harper. You’d better get off this goddamn personal shit, you hear me? If you want me to help you, then nothing’s personal anymore. Everything’s out in the open, we’re partners, understand?”
“Never did like the idea of bein partners with anybody,” Harper said.
“No, huh? How do you like the idea of the electric chair? Does that appeal to you?”
“Not much. But whut’s gotta be’s gotta be.”
“Nothing’s got to be, Mr. Harper. Not if we don’t want it to be.”
“Well, some things just gotta be,” he said.
“You broke jail last Thursday,” I said. “Have you been in Miami all this time?”
“Yessir. Got back to Calusa tonight, thought I’d better come see you.”
“Where were you when you heard me on television?”
“Whut?”
“Aren’t you here because—”
“Whut?” he said again.
“Didn’t you hear me on television?”
“Nossir.”
“Then why’d you come here?”
“You’re my lawyer, ain’t you? Thought I’d find out how the case was comin along.”
“Oh, the case is coming along just dandy. Every cop in the state is ready to shoot you on sight. They think you killed two people, they know you’ve broken jail, they know you’ve got a shotgun in your — have you still got that shotgun?”
“Yessir.”
“Where is it?”
“In the car.”
“What car?”
“Car I picked up.”
“A car you stole?”
“Yessir.”
“Terrific,” I said.
“Needed a car,” Harper said, and shrugged.
“Where is it?”
“Parked up the street. Dinn want t’block your driveway, figgered you’d have to get in your garage.”
“Thank you, that was very considerate.”
Harper said nothing.
“I want you to turn yourself in,” I said.
“Nossir, I ain’t about to do that.”
“If you didn’t kill your wife—”
“I din’t.”
“If you didn’t kill Sally Owen—”
“Her neither.”
“Then why the hell are you running?”
“Ain’t runnin, Mr. Hope.”