“What are you doing up?”
“I've always been a light sleeper. Danny and Andy— take a bomb to wake them.”
“What did you have to send for Dan for?”
“You have me worried, Matt. Danny says you're going out with this Jane Endin today. Any danger?”
I laughed. “That's what you've wanted, me to take her out. No danger, we're merely going around and asking a few questions.”
“So early in the morning?”
“Okay, take me off the witness stand. Can you make some of that thick Turkish coffee? It will stay with me awhile.”
“Certainly. How about toast, eggs?”
“Just coffee.”
I went into my room and watching the sleeping boy, I hid my empty gun. The kid had a big knife in his fishing box, but I didn't know much about using a knife.
I was sipping a tiny cup of the thick, soupy coffee when a car pulled up outside. I went out and asked Jane if she wanted coffee. The dim light from the dashboard hit the planes of her face at an odd angle, making it look like a long soft mask. She was wearing slacks, a tight white blouse with a big jade pin at the neck, and a short suede jacket. The tightness of the blouse said she was a bigger woman than I'd imagined. She hesitated, then said she would take a cup. We walked to the house and I introduced her to Bessie—for a second they looked each other over like pugs listening to the ref's instructions. Jane drank her coffee in silence, and drank it fast. Then she stood up, told Bessie, “I never had anything like that before. It's very good. Thank you.” She turned to me. “It's getting late.” She walked toward the door, the odd, stiff-legged walk, her thick braid doing a saucy dance on her back.
I put on Danny's too-big windbreaker, told Bessie I'd probably be back in the afternoon but not to worry if it was later. Bessie put her lips to my ear and whispered a single word:
“Wow!”
As we drove toward Riverside and Patchogue the sky was bright with pale stars and the road spotted with fog pockets. Jane was a good driver, real good. After a while she said, “Your daughter-in-law is a very attractive woman. It must be a joy to have children, visit with them.”
“I don't know. After kids grow up they should stay out of their parents' way, and vice versa. I don't think they want to be bothered with an old man. And I didn't want to come out here. I have a better time alone in the city.”
“That's a strange thing to say.”
“Why? I'm old, set in my ways, and I know it. Next week I have to go up to the mountains to see my daughter Signe and her kids. It's a routine. Another crowded, noisy cottage. I won't get any rest there and neither will Signe.”
“The fortunate are not always aware of their fortune.”
I didn't know if that was supposed to be an old Indian saying or not, and didn't ask. “Shouldn't we see if Anderson has pulled out with his truck?”
“He's left. We'll pick him up at Patchogue. He never makes any stops until he starts back. He'll return to the Harbor by nine, then take out his station wagon to deliver the mail. About ten-thirty he'll pick up his truck, head out toward Montauk.”
My mind began to wrinkle with doubts as I wondered how often Jane had tailed Anderson before—or driven with him?
“That was an odd coffee Mrs. Lund served. I hear she makes an interesting wine pudding.”
I turned and stared at her. “How did you know that?”
“Just heard it.”
“Hasn't anybody in the Harbor anything to do but snoop on...?” I saw her face tighten up and added. “What I mean, exactly how does this village gossip work?”
“Very simple. Mrs. Lund asked Charley, who has the store as you turn into Main Street, for grapes, said she was going to mash them. Naturally he asked why and she told him about the wine pudding. I happened to be in the store later in the afternoon when he was repeating the recipe to some other woman. Don't people talk to each other in New York?”
“I suppose so, but there's so many people it's hard to tell.”
The roads were empty and she kept the car at fifty, only slowing down as we went through Riverside, and as we neared Patchogue an hour later, in a lot of truck traffic.
It was starting to turn light as she pulled up before some old buildings, nodded down the street. There were lights on in a warehouse beside a railroad siding, and several trucks were backed up to a loading platform. Anderson was watching two colored men loading his neat truck.
“What do we do now?”
“Wait,” I said, reaching into a pocket for my lost pipe and a notebook. I borrowed one of her cigarettes as I wrote down the name of the wholesaler and the time. Jane sat there, staring at nothing; she made me uneasy. I couldn't entirely lose the feeling I was walking into a trap.
At six forty-eight, the day starting bright and sunny, Anderson headed back toward the Harbor. I nudged her knee, told her not to stay too close. If I'd had my wits about me, I would have brought the glasses along. But there were more cars on the road and it wasn't any trick tailing the big green truck. Anderson drove some twenty miles before he stopped at a village of two stores; a hardware shop and a general store. The owner of the general store helped Larry unload a few crates of stuff. Although we were parked behind a bend down the road, I could make out a kind of mild argument—the storekeeper evidently wanted Anderson to take back a small basket of tomatoes. Finally Anderson was paid and drove off.
I made a note of the store and time, told Jane to drive on. She asked, “I thought you were going to talk to the man in the store?”
“We'll return later. You know Anderson's route, don't you?”
“No. From here on he'll make a lot of stops. Suppose you get out and talk to this man, while I follow Larry? Takes him five or ten minutes at each stop, and when I find where he's stopping, I'll come back and get you.”
“We can return here later in the day....”
“I'd like to get this over quickly. I don't like spying on people.”
“But suppose we lose him?”
“Island's so narrow here if we cruised about for ten minutes, we'd run into him,” Jane said, opening the door for me.
There wasn't anything for me to do but get out. I told her, “If you don't see me when you come back, honk your horn twice. And park a ways down from the store.” She nodded and drove off. I knew I was making a rock play. Why had she practically put me out of the car? Was she warning Larry? But she could have done that last night, or refused to come with me, or give me her car.
The storekeeper was a pudgy Italian, or maybe a Syrian, with a very straight large nose and dark eyes. He was opening a crate of melons, feeling each one, as I walked in.
I bought a corncob pipe and some tobacco. He gave me the “Now I know summer is really here, seeing you. Stopping at the Fan Tail Hotel, sir?”
“No, I'm staying at End Harbor, merely riding around this morning.”