“Do you mean did she hold a job?” May asked with her slightly clipped accent.
“Yes, did she hold down a job?”
“Not so far as I know.”
Jackson took a few strides in front of the witness stand. “Did the Anthonys entertain often? Did they often have guests for the weekends, for dinner?”
“Very often. On some weekends we had as many as 20 people out.”
“You were the only maid?”
“Yes.”
“Seems you had quite a lot of work. Did Mrs. Anthony often help you with the cooking or serving?”
“No.”
“Did you do the shopping, too?”
“I did.”
“Did you see Mr. Anthony drink much?”
“I saw him take a drink only now and then, especially when guests were drinking.”
“Miss Fitzgerald, you have stated that you often heard the Anthonys argue. Do you mean Mrs. Anthony nagged him?”
“Yes.”
“Over what?”
“Over everything. Money, his drinking and his swimming —not watching his heart. She had a sharp tongue.”
Jackson stopped his walking. “Did you say she had a sharp tongue?”
“I did.”
Wagner seemed undecided whether to object or not, let it go.
“What does a sharp tongue mean, Miss Fitzgerald?”
“Well, she was not gentle in her comments, she was a blunt woman.”
Jackson solemnly nodded, as if in agreement that this was a horror. Then he asked, “Did Mr. Anthony use his house for both a home and an office?”
“He wrote every day.”
“In the house?”
“Yes.”
“Did he have any other office, any other place where he worked?”
“Not that I know of. Every day he went to his den and worked.”
“Would you say Mrs. Anthony nagged him every day, every other day, or every week?”
“Oh, I'd say every day.”
Jackson said that would be all. Wagner stood up and asked, “Miss Fitzgerald, did Mr. Anthony nag his wife every day, too?”
“Well... it takes two to tango,” May said to faint laughter in the courtroom.
When May stepped out of the witness box the judge announced the court was recessed for lunch. I waited for the others to come out. I shook hands with Brown and asked how things were. He said, “I have a good job as a mathematician with a manufacturer out West—non-defense production. At least I had it before the trial started.”
“Have lunch with me,” I said, keeping an eye out for the Hunters.
“No, I think it best I duck reporters and people.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I haven't been able to locate a room yet. Most places are filled.
“I'm at the motel up on the hill. Twin beds in the room if you want one.”
“Young man, I keep telling you it's risky to be seen with me if—”
“Nonsense, Hank.”
“Thank you for the kind offer. I may take it. I'll see you later, Norman.”
Joel came out with May and Wilma. Joel said, “Come with as, I need a drink something awful.”
I nodded at the women and we headed for a restaurant across the street. A photographer begged us—or rather Joel and May—to pose for a picture but Joel refused, practically ran across the street and into the restaurant. Wilma squeezed my arm, asked, “I thought you were going to call us?”
“I did one Saturday afternoon, but no answer,” I lied. “We've been busy—fixing up a house in the country. Soon as it's presentable, I intend to ask you and Joel up.”
“Careful, you know what happened the last time we were house guests.”
We found a corner table and several people stared at us. We ordered cocktails and lunch. Joel said bitterly, “Oh, that Wagner, that cool sonofabitch, why did he have to make me the star witness?”
“Well, you should have stood up to him instead of acting so mealy-mouthed,” Wilma said.
“Oh, that would have been dandy, get me reams of publicity, all lousy! 'Joel Hunter, writer of juveniles, balks D.A.' The libraries would love that! Oh my God, what will my editor say when she sees me on the front pages tonight.”
Wilma reached across the table and patted his hand, a motherly gesture. “Honey, you did fine. Say, isn't that Clair an odd one? What a homely face, and so attractive.”
“Norm, you know about these things, will this hurt my sales?”
“I hardly think so. You know the old saw: nothing as old as yesterday's headlines.”
“You were only a witness, not involved,” May said.
The waiter brought the drinks and Joel took his down in a gulp, ordered a second. “Well, it's almost over. They'll probably be done with Wilma this afternoon. I wish it was Wednesday already and we're on the plane.”
“Going away?” I asked, like a polite idiot.
“Barbados. I got a break and—” Joel turned to May. “You know anybody on that island? We want a cheap room, way from all the usual tourist slop.”
“No, I don't. But if you look around, after a few days you'll find something.”
“They're using the characters in one of his Joe and Eddie, the Bunny Boys books for a kid TV series,” Wilma said. “I tried to egg Joel into asking for the scripting job, too, but he was so blinded by the few bucks, his tongue got tied.”
Joel winked happily at me. “I want to get away fast. Even the option money should keep us down there for a few months. A hell of a fine break, and so unexpected.”
Wilma said, “I liked the simplicity of your ads, and of course the items in the columns. Is the book selling well?”
“About better than we expected.”
The food came and we all ate in silence. Then I asked May about the house and she said as far as she knew it was still unsold. A neighbor was taking care of the poodle. May had received most of her back wages and was now going to NYU, working in a phone answering service nights.
Wilma lit a cigarette, said, “Who else can the State call except me, Brown, and that horrible detective? I don't see how Wagner has a case for murder. Did you dig that hick suit he's sporting?”
“He frightens me,” May said. “He's so sure of himself, so cool.”
“Matt doesn't seem concerned,” Joel said. “I almost think he's enjoying the circus. I hope he understands I did my best for him.”
“Is it true he's writing a book while in court?” Wilma asked me.
“Yes. I haven't read the first few chapters, but I understand they're in the house. Novel idea, the suspect's view of his own trial. Matt insists the last chapter will be sensational. What that means, I don't know.”
“Damn, you have to hand it to the big boy,” Joel said happily, “He's a true pro.”
“I bet he'd never pass up a TV scripting job,” Wilma put in.
“Oh, stop it I don't know a damn thing about it, never tried TV. After all, they didn't even ask for me and I hate begging. You're greedy, Wilma.”
“Greedy is being a pro, dear. Let me go to the John, I don't want to wet up the witness chair. Coming, May?”
I insisted upon paying the check, told Joel it would go on my expense account. When we reached the courtroom it was pretty well filled up. I suppose most people hadn't left their seats to eat Joel and Wilma found seats down front, while May and I found singles on opposite sides of the room. Brown was in the second row, reading a book.
It was nearly an hour later before the judge returned and I had a rough time keeping awake in the stuffy courtroom. To my surprise, Wilma was the next witness. Somehow I had expected Wagner to call Brown. Matt still had the tiny smile on his big face, as if enjoying a private joke. He was writing rapidly once more but he seemed to be suffering from indigestion, patting his stomach now and then, throwing pills into his mouth.
Wagner quickly placed Wilma at the Anthony house. Wilma's answers were abrupt, her pop eyes staring boldly at Wagner as he concentrated on the threat. She repeated exactly what Joel had said. The prosecutor asked, “Now, Mrs. Hunter, when Mr. Anthony shouted, 'I'll kill you!' was there anger in his voice?”