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“Bert, you came! I don’t know how to thank you.”

Kling nodded and smiled.

Bell took his hand. “Come in, come in.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Jeannie’s still here. I’ll introduce you as a cop friend of mine, and then Molly and me’ll take off, okay?”

“Okay,” Kling said. Bell led him to the open doorway. There were still cooking smells in the house, savory smells that heightened Kling’s feeling of nostalgia. The house was warm and secure, welcome after the slight nip there had been in the air outside.

Bell closed the door and called, “Molly!”

The house, Kling saw immediately, was constructed like a railroad flat, one room following the other, so that you had to walk through every room in the house if you wanted to get to the end room. The front door opened into the living room, a small room furnished with a three-piece sofa-and-easy-chair set that had undoubtedly been advertised as a “Living Room Suite” by one of the cheaper furniture stores. There was a mirror on the wall over the sofa. A badly framed landscape hung over one of the easy chairs. The inevitable television set stood in one corner of the room, and a window under which was a radiator occupied the other corner.

“Sit down, Bert,” Bell said. “Molly!” he called again.

“Coming,” a voice called from the other end of the house, an end he suspected was the kitchen.

“She’s doing the dishes,” Bell explained. “She’ll be right in. Sit down, Bert.” Kling sat in one of the easy chairs. Bell hovered over him, being the gracious host. “Can I get you something? A glass of beer? Cigar? Anything?”

“The last time I had a glass of beer,” Kling said, “I got shot right afterward.”

“Well, ain’t nobody going to shoot you here. Come on, have a glass. We’ve got some cold in the Frigidaire.”

“No, thanks anyway,” Kling said politely.

Molly Bell came into the room, drying her hands on a dish towel.

“You must be Bert,” she said. “Peter’s told me all about you.” She gave her right hand a final wipe and then crossed to where Kling had stood up and extended her hand. Kling took it, and she squeezed it warmly. In describing her, Bell had said, “Molly’s no slouch — even now, pregnant and all.” Kling hated to disagree, but he honestly found very little that was attractive in Molly Bell. She might at one time have been a knockout, but those days were gone forever. Even discounting the additional waist-high bulge of the expectant mother, Kling saw only a washed-out blonde with faded blue eyes. The eyes were very tired, and wrinkles radiated from their edges. Her hair had no luster; it hung from her head disconsolately. Her smile did not help, because it happened to be a radiant smile, which served only as a contrast for the otherwise drab face. He was a little shocked, partly because of Bell’s advance publicity, partly because he realized the girl couldn’t have been much older than twenty-four or twenty-five.

“How do you do, Mrs. Bell?” he said.

“Oh, call me Molly. Please.” There was something very warm about Molly, and he found himself liking her immensely and somewhat disliking Bell for giving a buildup, which couldn’t fail to be disappointing. He wondered, too, if Jeannie was the “knockout” Bell had described. He had his doubts now.

“I’ll get you a beer, Bert,” Bell said.

“No, really, I—”

“Come on, come on,” Bell said, overriding him and starting out toward the kitchen.

When he was gone, Molly said, “I’m so glad you could come, Bert. I think your talking to her will do a lot of good.”

“Well, I’ll try,” Kling said. “Where is she?”

“In her room.” Molly gestured with her head toward the other end of the house. “With the door locked.” She shook her head. “That’s what I mean. She behaves so strangely. I was seventeen once, Bert, and I didn’t behave that way. She’s a girl with troubles.”

Kling nodded noncommittally.

Molly sat, her hands folded in her lap, her feet close together. “I was a fun-loving girl when I was seventeen,” Molly said, somewhat wistfully. “You can ask Peter. But Jeannie… I don’t know. She’s a girl with secrets. Secrets, Bert.” She shook her head again. “I try to be a sister and a mother both to her, but she won’t tell me a thing. There’s a wall between us, something that was never there before, and I can’t understand it. Sometimes I think… I think she hates me. Now, why should she hate me? I’ve never done a thing to her, not a thing.” Molly paused, sighing heavily.

“Well,” Kling said diplomatically, “you know how kids are.”

“Yes, I do,” Molly said. “It hasn’t been so long ago that I’ve forgotten. I’m only twenty-four, Bert. I know I look a lot older than that, but taking care of two kids can knock you out — and now another one coming. It isn’t easy. And trying to handle Jeannie, too. It takes a lot out of a woman. But I was seventeen, too, and not so long ago, and I can remember. Jeannie isn’t acting right. Something’s troubling her, Bert. I read so much about teenagers belonging to gangs and what not. I’m afraid. I think she may be in with a bad crowd, kids who are making her do bad things. That’s what’s troubling her, I think. I don’t know. Maybe you can find out.”

“Well, I’ll certainly try.”

“I’d appreciate it. I asked Peter to get a private detective, but he said we couldn’t afford it. He’s right, of course. God knows, I can barely make ends meet with what he brings home.” She sighed again. “But the big thing is Jeannie. If I can just find out what’s wrong with her, what’s made her the way she is now. She didn’t used to be like this, Bert. It’s only… I don’t know… about a year ago now, I suppose. She suddenly became a young lady, and just as suddenly, she… she’s slipped away from me.”

Bell came back into the room, carrying a bottle of beer and a glass.

“Did you want one, honey?” he asked Molly.

“No, I’ve got to be careful.” She turned to Kling. “The doctor says I’m putting on too much weight.”

Bell poured the beer for Kling. He handed him the glass and said, “There’s more in the bottle. I’ll leave it here on the end table for you.”

“Thank you,” Kling said. He lifted his glass. “Well, here’s to the new baby.”

“Thank you,” Molly said, smiling.

“Seems every time I turn around, Molly’s pregnant again,” Bell said. “It’s fantastic.”

“Oh, Peter,” Molly said, still smiling.

“All I have to do is take a deep breath, and Molly’s pregnant. She brought in a specimen of me to the hospital. The doctors told her I had enough there to fertilize the entire female population of China. How do you like that?”

“Well,” Kling said, a little embarrassed.

“Oh, he’s such a man,” Molly said sarcastically. “It’s me who has to carry them around, though.”

“Did she tell you a little more about Jeannie?”

“Yes,” Kling said.

“I’ll get her for you in a few minutes.” He looked at his watch. “I got to be taking the cab out soon, and I’ll drop Molly off at a movie. Then you and Jeannie can talk alone — until our sitter gets here, anyway.”

“You drive a lot at night?” Kling asked, making conversation.

“Three, four times a week. Depends on how good I do during the day. It’s my own cab, and I’m my own boss.”

“I see,” Kling said. He sipped at the beer. It was not as cold as Bell had advertised it. He began to doubt seriously any of Bell’s advance promotion, and he looked forward to meeting Jeannie with vague skepticism.

“I’ll get her,” Bell said.

Kling nodded. Molly tensed where she sat on the edge of the sofa. Bell left the room and walked through the apartment. Kling heard him knocking on the closed door, and then heard his voice saying, “Jeannie? Jeannie?”