I took her hand in mine and gently said, “You know what I really think?”
“What?”
“That we should go get some lunch.”
She jerked her hand away. “Coward.”
“Damn right I’m a coward. I have three fewer friends today because I advised them on their affairs of the heart. They won’t speak to me.
Now, let’s go.”
The wading pool in the town square was packed with tots. You could hear them squealing, summer music on a summer breeze. There was a drowsy, siesta feeling such as you always read about in the western novels of Mr. Max Brand, for whom I’d formed a real affection. I’d read two of his when I was twelve and then kept on reading. His heroes were always brooders and mourners and failures and daydreamers and that lent his stories a uniqueness and depth most westerns just don’t have, John Wayne forgive me. He was especially great at describing Mexico. And that, at least in my imagination, was how our little town felt at this noontime. Some dusty Mexican pueblo where this really neat-looking short guy rides in on a white horse and all the se@noritas come running. It was so hot here today tires were losing tread simply by revolving against the steamy pavement.
Kylie spotted them before I did. On the windshield of a pink-and-white Nash rambler. And on the windshield of a nice new Pontiac convertible. And on the window of a Dairy Queen panel truck.
Flyers.
She snatched one up. Glanced at it.
Flicked it in my face.
Why The Jews Want Jfk
To Win!
The Zionist Powers Behind The
Kennedys!
The rest you can imagine for yourself.
“But didn’t old man Kennedy hang around with Hitler?” she asked.
“Liked the man very much. Considered him a friend.
That’s one of the reasons the Kennedys have to keep old Joe out of sight. A lot of people still resent the old bastard.”
“Then why do they think the Jews are behind Kennedy?”
“I guess I don’t know,” I said.
“Maybe for the same reasons the Jews are stashing all their guns in church basements.”
“These people are nuts!” she said with great authority. “As my folks always pointed out.”
Her folks were (a) university professors and (but) Jewish, in a time when it was not universally fashionable to be either. Kylie’d grown up in Madison, Wisconsin, one of the most lovely and exciting cities in the U.S.
“Well, they get to economize on this election, anyway,” I said.
We started walking again. She started fanning herself with her fingers. She had wonderful long fingers. Artistic, I guess you’d say. She also had a very artistic ass.
“How are they economizing?”
“Well, when the Klan and the other crazies get all riled up around election time, they usually take the Jews and the Catholics on separately. But since Kennedy has a lot of Jewish advisers, they’ve decided they can save on their printing bills by doubling up. The only thing they didn’t get to is the
Eleanor-Roosevelt-is-a-lesbo-thing.”
“Eleanor Roosevelt is a lesbian?”
“That’s what all the pamphlets say. Say, I wonder if Kenny Thibodeau has heard that one. There’s a political novel in it for him.
Lesbo Legislators.”
She laughed. “He’s actually an interesting guy.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“He goes away to all these big cities and comes back and tells us what’s going on. You know, trends and stuff. I even read a couple of his novels.”
“Shameless hussy,” I said.
“He can write people well. I was surprised.
I asked him why he doesn’t write a serious book and you know what he told me?”
“What?”
“He said that every time he tries, he freezes up. Blocks. But that he can write his porno just fine because he knows it’s just trash and doesn’t matter. I sort of feel sorry for him.”
“You feel sorry for everybody.”
“Look who’s talking.”
Al Monahan has two bus-stop benches on either side of the entrance to his caf@e. Nice for eating outdoors on hot days, which we did.
I had iced tea and a cheeseburger. She had iced tea.
“I thought you wanted some lunch.”
“Iced tea is lunch,” she said defensively.
“I’d hate to hear you argue that in court.”
“Want to take the case?”
“You should eat,” I said.
“You should stop being a mother hen.”
“That’s the most effective diet in the world.
Heartbreak.”
“It sure is.”
“When’s the last time you ate?”
“Last night. A piece of pizza.”
I was about to do a little more mother-henning when I saw them.
Sara and Dierdre Hall. Jaywalking from the other side of the street.
“Be right back,” I said and jumped up, setting my lunch down.
I caught them just as they reached their baby-blue DeSoto convertible. They were dressed pretty much the same-pink summer blouses, white pedal pushers, white dressy sandals. And the darkest sunglasses this side of Elizabeth Taylor.
They looked alike, too. Quiet beauty all the richer the longer you studied it.
“Hi, Sara, I wondered if I could call you this afternoon.”
“Get in the car, Dierdre.”
“Mom, didn’t you hear him?”
“Didn’t you hear me, Dierdre? I said to get in the car.”
“Sara, we really do need to sit down and talk.”
“Mom, do you have any idea how embarrassing this is? Why don’t you at least answer him?”
“I’ll answer him when you get in the car.”
“This is very embarrassing, Mr.
McCain. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Your mom’s obviously having a bad day.”
“My mom’s always having a bad day.”
Dierdre got in the car. Crossed her arms across her chest.
“I have nothing to say to you,” Sara Hall said to me.
“I’m trying to help you, Sara.”
“How noble.”
“Would you prefer if I just started talking right here? In front of your daughter?”
“Yes, Mother,” Dierdre said. “That’d be fun, wouldn’t it?”
“I resent this,” Sara Hall said.
“So do I. You owe me some answers.”
“I don’t owe you anything. And I plan to take this up with Judge Whitney, believe me.”
I knew better than to say that the Judge already knew I’d be talking to Sara. “I’d appreciate it if you’d be at my office at four o’clock.”
“If she isn’t there, I will be, Mr.
McCain.”
That was another point I’d make on my list.
Muldaur’s daughter and Hall’s daughter offering to cooperate even though their mothers refused to.
“I’ll see you at four,” Sara Hall said, and got into her car.
I could see them pantomiming an argument as the swept-fin convertible swept away. I had the sense that it was an argument they’d had many times. I wondered what it was about. I felt sure it had some bearing on the murders.
“Ah,” I said, sitting down next to Kylie on the bench again and picking up my lunch. “Just the way I like it. My cheeseburger’s cold and my iced tea’s hot.”
“I’m now a black-belt in fly-shooing. It looked like Pearl Harbor on your burger.” She sipped her iced tea. “So, did you learn anything?”
“Just that Sara and Dierdre Hall don’t seem to get along very well.”
“Any idea why?”
“Not yet.”
“Meaning you plan to find out?”
“Of course. Before Richard Milhous
Nixon gets here and finds out that we have murders just like everybody else.”
“He says he’s not sure if he loves her.”
“I take it we’re not talking about Nixon anymore.”
“He says he knows he’s being unfair to me and he wouldn’t blame me if I just walked out.
We really got into a terrible argument-the people downstairs were banging on the wall and everything-and then we ended up making love practically all night. And then when he was leaving for school this morning-even though he doesn’t have any classes today-I asked him if I’d see him tonight and he said that he had a date with her.”