“Okay, okay. Take it easy. I know you think Masters is purity personified. But if he were doing something illegal, wouldn’t he call on you, his trusty henchman, for help? You wouldn’t want him relying on someone else, someone less able than you, would you?”
His face relaxed and he gave a snort of laughter. “You’re outrageous. If you were a man, you couldn’t get away with crap like that.”
“If I were a man, I wouldn’t be lying here,” I pointed out. I held out an arm and pulled him back down into the bed, but I still wondered what he’d been doing Monday morning.
Ralph went off to shower, whistling slightly. I pulled the curtains back to look outside. The air had a faint yellow tinge. Even this early in the morning the city looked slightly baked. The break in the weather was over; we were in for another hot, polluted spell.
I showered and dressed and joined Ralph at the table for a cup of coffee. His apartment included one large room with a half wall making a partially private eating area. The kitchen must have once been a closet: stove, sink, and refrigerator were stacked neatly, allowing room to stand and work, but not enough space even for a chair. It wasn’t a bad-looking place. A large couch faced the front entrance, and a heavy arm-chair stood pulled back from the windows at right angles to it. I’d read somewhere that people who lived in rooms with floor-to-ceiling windows keep the furniture pulled back away from them-some illusion of falling if you’re right up against the glass. A good two feet lay between the chair back and the lightly curtained windows. All the upholstery and the curtains were in the same light floral pattern. Nice for a prefurnished place.
At 7:30 Ralph stood up. “I hear those claims calling me,” he explained. “I’ll get in touch with you tomorrow, Vic.”
“Fine,” I said. We rode down in the elevator in amiable silence. Ralph walked me to my car, which I’d had to park near Lake Shore Drive. “Want a ride downtown?” I asked. He declined, saying he got his exercise walking the mile and a half to Ajax each day.
As I drove off, I could see him moving down the street in my rearview mirror, a jaunty figure despite the close air.
It was only eight when I got back to Lotty’s. She was having toast and coffee in the kitchen. Jill, her oval face alive and expressive, was talking animatedly, a half-drunk glass of milk in front of her. Her innocent good spirits made me feel old and decadent. I made a face at myself.
“Good morning, ladies. It’s a stinker outside.”
“Good morning, Vic,” said Lotty, her face amused. “What a pity you had to work all night.”
I gave her a playful punch on the shoulder. Jill asked, “Were you really working all night?” in a serious, worried voice.
“No, and Lotty knows it. I spent the night at a friend’s place after doing a little work. You have a pleasant evening? How were the enchiladas?”
“Oh, they were great!” Jill said enthusiastically. “Did you know that Carol has been cooking since she was seven?” She giggled. “I don’t know how to do one useful thing, like ironing or even making scrambled eggs. Carol says I’d better marry someone with lots of money.”
“Oh, just marry someone who likes to cook and iron,” I said.
“Well, maybe you can practice on some scrambled eggs tonight,” Lotty suggested. “Are you going to be here tonight?” she asked me.
“Can you make it an early dinner? I’ve got a seven thirty meeting down at the University of Chicago-someone who may be able to help me find Anita.”
“How about it, Jill?” Lotty asked.
Jill made a face. “I think I’ll plan on marrying someone rich.” Lotty and I laughed. “How about peanut butter sandwiches?” she suggested. “I already know how to make those.”
“I’ll make you a fritata, Lotty,” I promised, “if you and Jill will pick up some spinach and onions on your way home.”
Lotty made a face. “Vic is a good cook, but a messy one,” she told Jill. “She’ll make a simple dinner for four in half an hour, but you and I will spend the night cleaning the kitchen.”
“Lotty!” I expostulated. “From a fritata? I promise you-” I thought a minute, then laughed. “No promises. I don’t want to be late for my meeting. Jill, you can clean up.”
Jill looked at me uncertainly: Was I angry because she didn’t want to make dinner? “Look,” I said, “you don’t have to be perfect: Lotty and I will like you even if you have temper tantrums, don’t make your bed, and refuse to cook dinner. Okay?”
“Certainly,” Lotty agreed, amused. “I’ve been Vic’s friend these last fifteen years, and I’ve yet to see her make a bed.”
Jill smiled at that. “Are you going detecting today?”
“Yes, up to the North Side. Looking for a needle in a haystack. I’d like to have lunch with you, but I don’t know what my timetable is going to be like. I’ll call down to the clinic around noon, though.”
I went into the guest room and changed into shorts, T-shirt, and running shoes. Jill came in as I was halfway through my warm-up stretches. My muscles had tightened up in response to their abuse, and I was having to go more slowly and carefully than normal. When Jill came in, I was sweating a little, not from exertion, but from the residual pain. She stood watching me for a minute. “Mind if I get dressed while you’re in here?” she asked finally.
“No,” I grunted. “Unless-you’d feel more-comfortable-alone.” I pulled myself upright. “You thought about calling your mother?”
She made a face. “Lotty had the same idea. I’ve decided to be a runaway and stay down here.” She put on her jeans and one of her man-sized shirts. “I like it here.”
“It’s just the novelty. You’ll get lonesome for your private beach after a while.” I gave her a quick hug. “But I invite you to stay at Lotty’s for as long as you like.”
She laughed at that. “Okay, I’ll call my mom.”
“Atta girl. ‘Bye, Lotty,” I called, and started out the door. Sheffield Avenue is about a mile from the lake. I figured if I ran over to the lake, eight blocks down to Diversey and back again, that would give me close to four miles. I went slowly, partly to ease my muscles and partly because of the stifling weather. I usually run seven-and-a-half-minute miles, but I tried to pace it at about nine minutes this morning. I was sweating freely by the time I got to Diversey, and my legs felt wobbly. I cut the pace going north, but I was so tired I wasn’t paying too much attention to the traffic around me. As I left the lake path, a squad car pulled out in front of me. Sergeant McGonnigal was sitting in the passenger seat.
“Good morning, Miss Warshawski.”
“Morning, Sergeant,” I said, trying to breathe evenly.
“Lieutenant Mallory asked me to find you,” he said, getting out of the car. “He got a call yesterday from the Winnetka police. Seems you fast-talked your way past them to get into the Thayer house.”
“Oh, yeah?” I said. “Nice to see so much cooperation between the suburban and the city forces.” I did a few toe touches to keep my leg muscles from stiffening.
“They’re concerned about the Thayer girl. They think she should be home with her mother.”
“That’s thoughtful of them. They can call her at Dr. Herschel’s and suggest that to her. Is that why you tracked me down?”
“Not entirely. The Winnetka police finally turned up a witness to the shooter’s car, though not to the shooting.” He paused.
“Oh, yeah? Enough of an ID to make an arrest?”
“Unfortunately the witness is only five years old. He’s scared silly and his parents have roped him around with lawyers and guards. Seems he’d been playing in the ditch alongside Sheridan Road, which was a no-no, but his folks were asleep, so he sneaked out. That’s apparently why he went-because it’s off limits. He was playing some crazy game, you know how kids are, thought he was stalking Darth Vader or something, when he saw the car. Big, black car, he says, sitting outside the Thayer house. He decided to stalk it when he saw a guy in the passenger seat who scared the daylights out of him.”