Take care of yourself, dear. Love,
“Christmas card list,” Dodd said without expression. “This is September.”
“I taught Amy — that is, we were both brought up to attend to such matters well in advance.”
“Isn’t this overdoing it a bit?”
Gill knew it was, but he asked, “What do you mean?”
“It sounds to me as if she doesn’t intend to be home for Christmas and is trying to tell you in a nice way.”
“I can’t believe that.”
“Well, you don’t have to,” Dodd said cheerfully. “Maybe it’s not true. Have you talked it over with your brother- in-law?”
“No.”
“I suggest you do. He’s probably better acquainted with his wife than you are.”
“I doubt that. Besides, Rupert and I are not exactly on the best of terms.”
“Family friction, eh? Maybe that’s the real reason Amy decided to leave town.”
“There was no family friction until she left. Some has developed since, of course.”
“Why ‘of course’?” When Gill didn’t answer, Dodd went on, “Cases like this are a lot commoner than you might imagine, Mr. Brandon. Most of them don’t get as far as the police files or the newspapers; they’re kept within the family. A lady gets bored or disgusted or both, and off she goes on a bit of a wingding. When the wingding is over, she comes home. The neighbors think she’s been on a holiday, so nobody’s any the wiser. Except maybe her. Wingdings can be rough on a lady.”
Dodd was an expert on wingdings, without owning any books on the subject.
“My sister,” Gill said, “is not the kind of woman who would be interested in wingdings.” He coughed over the unfamiliar word as if it had stuck in his throat like a fishbone. When he had finished coughing he wiped his mouth and stared at Dodd, suddenly hating the bushy-haired little man with his metallic eyes and his tarnished, keyhole views of the back bedrooms of life.
He rose without speaking, not trusting his voice, and reached for the letters on Dodd’s desk.
“No offense intended,” Dodd said, observing Gill’s trembling hands and the bulging veins in his temples with detachment. “And none given, I trust?”
“Good day.”
“Good day, Mr. Brandon.”
That night at dinner Dodd’s wife asked, “How was business today?”
“Fine.”
“Blond and beautiful?”
“That’s strictly in books, sweetheart.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Mr. Brandon is neither blond nor beautiful,” Dodd said, “but he’s interesting.”
“How so?”
“He has a problem. He thinks his sister was murdered by her husband.”
“And what do you think?”
“Nobody’s paid me to think,” Dodd said. “Yet.”
8.
On Sunday, the twenty-eighth of September, three days after Gill’s visit to Dodd, the Kellogg’s maid, Gerda Lundquist returned from her month’s vacation in Yellowstone National Park.
She called Rupert from the bus depot in the hope that, since it was Sunday and he wouldn’t be working, he might offer to come and pick her up. No one answered the telephone so she grudgingly took a taxi. The vacation had been hard on her pocketbook, and on her nerves too, especially toward the end when the snows began and people swarmed out of the park, leaving it to the bears and the chipmunks and the antelopes for the winter. Gerda was looking forward to a nice pay check and some warm, cozy evenings in front of the television set the Kelloggs had given her the previous Christmas. Television was so restful she often went to sleep watching it, and Mrs. Kellogg would come to her door and rap softly and ask, “Gerda? Did you forget to turn off the television, Gerda?” Mrs. Kellogg never commanded, never gave a direct order. She asked politely, “Would you mind...” or “What do you think of...” as if she respected Gerda’s superior age and wider experience in life.
She let herself into the house with her latchkey and went immediately out to the kitchen where she filled the teakettle with water to heat for some postum and a boiled egg. The kitchen was very clean, the dishes washed, the sink shining, signs that Mrs. Kellogg must be home from Mexico. Mr. Kellogg was more willing than able around the kitchen.
As the kettle began to hum, so did Gerda, an old song from her childhood in Minnesota, the words of which had long since been forgotten. She did not hear Rupert come in, she was only aware of a sudden change in the room, and she turned and saw him standing in the doorway to the hall. His hair was disheveled, and his face and ears were pink with wind as if he’d been running in the park with Mack.
He stared at her in silence for a few seconds. He seemed to be trying to figure out who she was and what she was doing in his house. Then he said, “Good evening, Gerda,” in a flat voice with no welcome in it.
“Good evening, Mr. Kellogg.”
“How was the vacation?”
“Oh, it was grand. But I don’t mind telling you it’s good to be back home.”
“I’m glad to have you back.”
But he didn’t sound glad or look glad, and Gerda wondered what she had done to displease him. How could I have done anything? I was in Yellowstone. Ach, it’s just one of his moods. Not many people know about his moods. “How’s Mrs. Kellogg?” she said carefully. “And Mack?”
“Mrs. Kellogg is away on another holiday. She took Mack with her.”
“But...” The kettle began to whistle as if in warning. Gerda compressed her lips and busied herself at the stove, trying not to look at the wooden peg beside the back door where Mack’s red and black plaid leash was hanging. She could feel Mr. Kellogg’s eyes pointing at her back like a double-barreled gun.
“But what, Gerda? Go on.”
“I wasn’t about to say anything. Would you care for an egg, Mr. Kellogg?”
“No thanks. I’ve had supper.”
“Eating in restaurants for so long like I did makes you hungry for something real homey like a soft-boiled egg.”
The egg cracked in the boiling water. Gerda added a pinch of salt to the water so the egg white wouldn’t all drool out of the shell. Her hand was shaking and some of the salt spilled on the stove, turning the blue flame of gas momentarily to orange. That’s Mack’s leash hanging by the door. He’s a well-behaved dog, the best, but no one would ever take him out without his leash because of the traffic. Especially not Mrs. Kellogg. She’s nervous about cars. She’s never even learned to drive. She said aloud, “Have you been eating in restaurants or at home while Mrs. Kellogg is away?”
“Half and half.”
“I must say you’ve kept the kitchen real nice and neat.”
“Miss Burton dropped by this morning on her way home from church and helped clean up.”
“Oh,” Gerda said. Miss Burton, that creature with the dyed hair. On her way home from church, was she, and what were the churches coming to these days, pray tell?
She took the egg out of the saucepan and put it in an egg cup. Then she buttered a piece of bread and sat down at the table to eat. Mr. Kellogg was still standing in the doorway watching her with that funny expression in his eyes. It made her so nervous she could hardly swallow.
“By the way,” Rupert said, “you’ll be interested to know that Mack left in high style. My wife brought him a new leash from Mexico, one of those fancy, hand-tooled leather jobs.”
“Well, isn’t that nice.”
“Mack thought so.”
“I bet he looked too cute for words.”
“Yes.” Rupert stepped back with a grimace as if he’d had a sudden twinge of pain. “When you’ve finished eating, I’d like to have a talk with you, Gerda. I’ll be in the den.”