The blazing smile again. "Indescribable. I hadn't realized how much pressure I'd let build up inside, but Tuck was right. A vacation in the sun with him was all I really needed."
"Good weather, then?"
"Perfect. We stayed at a place called Little Bay Beach Hotel, around a point from the Dutch capital. Early mornings until the tournament started, we'd snorkel out to the point. Just light enough to see but before everyone else was up. Huge boulders covered with sea urchins, black pin cushions with glass spines you have to avoid. All kinds of other reef life: fish, stingrays, even what Tuck called a 'rogue barracuda.' My God, it must have been five feet long, hanging in the water, inches under the surface. Tuck said it was nothing to worry about, that it was just waiting for us to kill something it could share."
Andrus shivered, rubbing the back of her neck through the cotton.
"Most days, we stretched out on lounge chairs, sometimes in the sunshine, sometimes back under thatched roofs on poles. I drank when I wanted and devoured twenty thick paperbacks just for fun. We wandered all over the island. The French side is more pastoral, with sort of country restaurants, the Dutch side more glitzy, with casinos and discotheques. I'd never go dancing at one of those in Boston, my students would be all over it. But down there we partied till sunrise, especially with the tournament people. Tuck and his partner finished third in the Celebrity Doubles part, and I ate the most spectacular things, including roast shank of ostrich at a restaurant Tuck scouted out for our last dinner."
Andrus was gushing a little, but I didn't want to interrupt with business until she turned to it herself. The waiter provided a convenient break by bringing our meals.
In between bites of an omelette, she said, "Any progress on my case?"
I condensed what I'd learned since the drive to the airport, including Gunther Yary. I came down hard on the last note at the law school and Hebert's dismissal on the phone.
"I'm sorry about Tuck, John, but he was doing only what he thought was best, and he was right. Inés showed me that note when I got back, and you know what? It didn't shake me. Not in the least. I feel recharged, reborn."
Andrus rubbed the back of her neck again.
I said, "Sunburn?"
"No. No, some damned insect got me in bed, our last night on the island. I can't even see the infection without being a contortionist. Inés scraped it and applied some Bacitracin." Andrus shivered again. "I hate that stuff, like somebody's spit on you. Plus it itches like poison ivy."
"Probably a sign it's healing."
"That's what Enrique used to say." Andrus left her neck alone, a bittersweet smile crossing her face. "You know, I've been quite lucky that way, really. The two men I've been with the most have been the best men I've known."
Her eyes refocused, and I think Andrus suddenly realized I was still a widower.
Brusquely, she said, "So, we'll be leaving in a day or two for California. I'll be back in mid-February for a lecture, but only briefly. What, if anything, do you think you need to do in the interim?"
"That depends. Who's going with you?"
"Tuck, of course. Inés is staying here. I'll be mostly speaking and networking out there, not writing."
"Manolo?"
Andrus sighed. "He was terribly moody when we got back. Like a neglected cat, if that doesn't sound inhumane. I think we'll have to bring him with us, but more for his sake than as a bodyguard."
"That last note. It went through the school's interoffice mail."
"Yes?"
"It's possible that some of the outsiders, like Louis Doleman – "
"Who?"
"The man whose daughter took her life after reading your book."
"Oh. Yes, sorry. Go on."
"It's possible that someone like Doleman or Gunther Yary could have figured out how that works, but more likely it's somebody closer."
Andrus waved impatiently. "And therefore?"
"Something a cop said that I've been thinking about. People who get their kicks scaring other people like to use the phone for threats."
"Why?"
"It's more direct. More personal."
"But this one sends notes."
"Yeah. Why'?"
"Why notes, you mean?"
"Uh – huh."
Andrus caught the waiter's eye and placed her utensils at two o'clock on the plate. "I have no idea."
"Maybe it's because you'd know his voice on the phone."
"A possibility, to be sure."
"Professor, be sure of another thing, okay'?"
"What's that?"
"Maybe our boy doesn't use the phone because he doesn't have any voice at all."
Andrus looked at me strangely, then brayed a laugh loud enough to turn heads.
Walking from the Ritz in a snow Hurry toward my office, I realized that neither Maisy Andrus nor I had mentioned Alec Bacall. At Charles Street I turned right instead of continuing through the Common. I couldn't remember hearing Bacall's address, so I had to check three lobby directories on Boylston before finding his building. Prewar (almost any war), it was opposite one of the oldest burying grounds in Boston, a fenced square of gravestones dating from colonial times.
Taking the elevator to the fourth floor, I knocked on the door marked BACALL OFFICE HELP. Del Wonsley's voice sang out. Wonsley was sitting at the reception desk in a tasteful waiting area, holding a telephone receiver to his sweatered chest. "Hello, John Cuddy."
"How are you?"
"Fine, fine."
"Is Alec in?"
Wonsley's tongue made a pass between his lips. "Just a second."
Into the receiver he said, "Kyle? Kyle, I'm going to have to put you on hold for just a moment. Okay." Pushing one button, then another, Wonsley took a breath and said, "Alec, John Cuddy's here. Do you… right. Right, I will."
Wonsley pushed only one button this time and didn't muffle the receiver. "Go ahead. And try to be… up, okay?"
I said, "Okay."
Opening the inner door, I could see Bacall rising behind a magnificent cherry desk. The flakes fell lightly outside a tall bay window framing the Common across the street. There was a large Kurdistan rug on the floor, a smaller one hanging on a wall.
Even though the room was very warm, Bacall wore a cable sweater and his trademark double-pleated slacks. From a distance of twenty feet, he looked stooped still but boyish, with color in his cheeks and no bags under his eyes.
He said, "John. Good to see you."
Wonsley's comment about "being up" kept me to "Same here" instead of a relieved "You're looking well." Fortunately, too, because at close range the illusion became transparent. The handshake was still like steel, but awfully dry and almost brittle. And the face…
"Is there some development regarding Maisy's case'?"
We took our seats, and I filled him in. Four times in five minutes Bacall coughed deeply into a handkerchief.
After I finished, he said, "It sounds as if you've worked diligently without flushing anything to wing."
"That's about right."
Bacall coughed again, harder and longer than before. He tossed the handkerchief into the wastebasket and took another from a side drawer of the desk. "Kleenex would be more sensible, but I've always preferred cloth." He pursed his lips. "Did Del say anything
to you?"
"No."
A wry smile. "Oh, my, John, I do hope you lie better to those who don't know you. After we saw you and… Nancy?"
"Right."
"After we saw you and Nancy at First Night, I had a series of tests. They came back positive."
"Positive."
"Yes. The clinic was very good about it. They've had a lot of practice in being very good. They should do something about using the word 'positive' though, don't you think? I mean, 'positive' really shouldn't mean what they use it to mean, if you'll forgive the redundancy."
"When you say the tests came back…"
"The tests showed AIDS, John. Not just exposure, not just AIDS-Related Complex."
"Alec, I'm sorry."
"John, I'm sorry to spring this on you. But I couldn't believe you hadn't noticed anything New Year's Eve, and I wanted you to hear it, or most of it, from me."