I was. When I had showered and looked at my beard in the bathroom mirror and put on the same dirty clothes, I strolled across the lawn to Marjorie’s bungalow. It was a dazzling morning. The grass looked as fresh as paint. Beyond a palm-leaf fence at the rear of the enclosure, a red tractor was pulling a cultivator up and down through a grove of date-palms that stood squat against the sky. High above them in ultramarine space, too high to be identified, a single bird circled on still wings. I thought it was an eagle or a hawk, and I thought of Galley.
Marjorie was breakfasting alfresco under a striped orange beach umbrella. She had on a Japanese kimono that harmonized with the umbrella, if nothing else. At the table with her a gray-headed man in shorts was munching diligently on a piece of toast.
She glanced up brightly when I approached, her round face glowing with sunburn and Gemutlichkeit: “Why, Mr. Archer, what a nice surprise! We were just talking about you, and wondering where you were.”
“I slept here last night. Checked in late, and thought I wouldn’t disturb you.”
“Now wasn’t that thoughtful,” she said to the gray-headed man. “George, this is Mr. Archer. My husband, Mr. Archer – my ex, I guess I should say.” Surprisingly, the large kimonoed body produced a girlish titter.
George stood up and gave me a brisk hand-shake. “Glad to know you, Archer. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He had a thin flat chest, a sedentary stomach, a kind bewildered face. “I’ve heard a lot about you. From Marjorie.”
“You have?”
He bestowed a loving look on the top of her head. “I feel darn silly in these shorts. She made me wear ’em. Oh well, as long as there’s nobody here from Toledo–” He gazed shortsightedly around him, seeking spies.
“You look handsome in them, George. Pull in your stomach now. I love you in them.” She turned to me with a queenly graciousness: “Please sit down, Mr. Archer. Have you had your breakfast? Let me order you some. George, bring Mr. Archer a chair from the porch and order more ham and eggs.” George marched away with his stomach held tautly in, his head held high.
“I didn’t expect to find him here.”
“Neither did I. Isn’t it wonderful? He saw my name in the papers and flew right down from Toledo on the first plane, just like a movie hero. I almost fainted yesterday when he walked in. To think that he really cares! Of course it was somewhat embarrassing last night. He had to sleep in a separate bungalow because we’re not legally married yet.”
“Yet? Don’t you mean ‘any more’?”
“Yes.” She blushed rosier. “We’re flying to San Francisco at noon to pick up the car there, and then we’ll drive over to Reno and be married. They don’t make you wait in Reno and George says he won’t wait a single minute longer than necessary.”
“Congratulations, but won’t there be legal difficulties? You can have your marriage to Speed annulled, of course, since he married you under a false name. Only that will take time, even in Nevada.”
“Haven’t you heard?” Her face, blank and unsmiling now, showed the strain she was under. “The San Francisco police recovered my Cadillac last night. He left it in the middle of the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“No.”
“Yes, he’s dead. Several persons saw him jump.”
It hit me hard, though Speed meant nothing to me. Now there were four men violently dead, five if I counted Mosquito. Galley and I between us had swept the board clean.
“You didn’t find him, did you?” she was saying. “You didn’t reach him?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I mean, you had nothing to do with his suicide? If I thought he did it because I hunted him down – it would be dreadful, wouldn’t it? I couldn’t face it.” She shut her eyes and looked like a well-fed baby blown up huge.
There was only one possible answer: “I didn’t find him.”
She breathed out. “I’m so relieved, so glad. I don’t give a hang for the money, now that I’ve got George back. I suppose it was swept out to sea with his body. George says we can probably deduct it from our income tax anyway.”
George stepped off the porch with a deck-chair. “Is somebody using my name in vain?” he called out cheerfully.
She smiled in response: “I was just telling Mr. Archer how wonderful it is to have you back, darling. It’s like waking up from a nightmare. Did you order the food?”
“Coming right up.”
“I’m afraid I can’t stay,” I said.
They were nice people, hospitable and rich. I couldn’t stand their company for some reason, or eat their food. My mind was still fixed on death, caught deep in its shadow. If I stayed I’d have to tell them things that they wouldn’t like. Things that would spoil their fun, if anything could spoil their fun.
“Must you go? I’m sorry.” She was already reaching for her bag. “Anyway, you must let me pay you for your time and trouble.”
“Fine. A hundred dollars will do it.”
“I’m sorry it turned out the way it did. It’s hardly fair to you.” She rose and pressed the money into my hand.
“Marjorie’s taken quite a shine to you, Archer. She’s actually a very remarkable women. I never realised before what a very remarkable woman Marjorie is.”
“Go on with you.” She pushed George playfully.
“You are. You know you are.” He pushed her back.
“I’m the silliest fat old woman in the world.” She tried to push him again but he clung to her hand.
“Good-bye. Good luck. Give my regards to Toledo.”
I left them playing and laughing like happy children. Above the date-palms, half-hidden in space, the unknown bird described its dark circles.
The case ended where it began, among the furniture in Mrs. Lawrence’s sitting room. It was noon by then. The dim little room was pleasant after the heat of the desert. Mrs. Lawrence herself was pleasant enough, though she looked haggard. The police had come and gone.
We sat together like strangers mourning at the funeral of a common friend. She was wearing a rusty black dress. Even her stockings were black. Her drawn and sallow cheeks were spottily coated with white powder. She offered me tea which I refused because I had just eaten. Her speech and movements were slower but she hadn’t changed. Nothing would change her. She sat like a monument with her fists clenched on her knees: “My daughter is perfectly innocent, of course. As I told Lieutenant Gary this morning, she wouldn’t hurt a hair of anyone’s head. When she was a child, I couldn’t even force her to swat a fly, not if her life depended on it.” Her eyes were sunk deep in her head, under brows like stony caverns. “You believe her innocent.” It was a statement.
“I hope she is.”
“Of course. She’s never been well-liked. Girls who are pretty and clever are never well-liked. After her father died and our money went, she withdrew more and more into herself. She lived a dream-life all through high school and that didn’t help to make her popular. It earned her enemies, in fact. More than once they tried to get her into trouble. Even in the hospital it happened. There were unfounded accusations from various people who resented Galley’s having had a distinguished father–”
“What sort of accusations?”
“I wouldn’t taint my tongue with them, or offend your ears, Mr. Archer. I know that Galley is inherently good, and that’s enough. She always has been good, and she is now. I learned many years ago to close my ears to the base lying chatter of the world.” Her mouth was like iron.
“I’m afraid your conviction isn’t enough. Your daughter is in a cell with a great deal of firm evidence against her.”
“Evidence! A wild fabrication the police made up to conceal their own incompetence. They shan’t use my daughter for a scapegoat.”