“Ride home?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It’s only a block and I have to stop at the store. What was your father bawling you out about? One of the copy boys told me they could hear it clear in the city room.”
He grinned sourly. “Betty Case was arrested this morning, then released. I sat on the story.”
“I heard that. I thought perhaps it was just a rumor.”
“I guess Dad wouldn’t have printed it anyway, but he resented the usurpation of his editorial prerogative.”
“Why’d they arrest her?” Lydia asked.
“It turned out the rope on the roof was from her garage and the screen had been cut from inside.”
Lydia’s eyes widened.
“She’s only temporarily released,” Marshall said. “Henry Quillan guaranteed her appearance at a preliminary hearing. Arn Ross intends to charge her with first-degree murder.”
She gazed at him for several moments. “She didn’t do it, did she?” she said finally.
He looked surprised. “I don’t think so, but why did you jump to that conclusion? You hardly know her.”
“If you think she’s innocent, I’m sure she is. I have faith in your judgment. You’re still rather fond of her, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
She smiled with a touch of ruefulness. “Then I hope she beats the rap.”
“You sound like a gun moll,” he said, suddenly grinning. “Where’d you pick up that expression?”
“From television.”
On sudden impulse he said, “I have to drop by the funeral parlor tonight, but I should get away by eight. Going to be home?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll drop by then. I feel the need to talk this thing over with somebody understanding.”
“My shoulder is always available,” she said. “I’ll be expecting you.”
Chapter X
Marshall arrived at the funeral home at a quarter of eight. He was directed by a soft-voiced attendant to the room on the right.
The casket was at one end of the room, banked by flowers, and there was a row of chairs along the wall opposite the archway by which Marshall had entered. Betty and Audrey Reed were seated in the two center chairs. There was no sign of George Reed. Marshall assumed he was at home supervising Bud.
People were stopping to speak to Betty, then moving on to file past the casket. She sat with shoulders squared and her face expressionless, quietly thanking each person for coming as the line moved past her.
She knew what they were thinking, he realized, and was infinitely proud of the brave manner in which she faced the ordeal.
He waited until there was a momentary lull in visitors and the two women were alone. Then he went over.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
Betty gave him a wan smile. “Some are here honestly to pay their respects, I suppose. Others came for the same reason people visit side shows.”
Audrey Reed said, “You can tell the ones who came out of morbid curiosity by the way they look at her. I stare right in their faces so they know they aren’t fooling me.”
“It’s a small town,” he said. “Other people’s business is the main recreation. You’ll just have to bear it.”
“Oh, I’ll get through it,” Betty said. “At least so far all they’ve heard is rumors. Henry says he thinks he can talk Arn Ross into holding off my arrest until after the funeral.”
Mention of the district attorney brought a resurgence of the anger he had felt that morning. But there was no point in adding to Betty’s discomfort by relating what Arnold Ross had said.
He told her to keep her head up, moved on past the casket and then back through the archway. He signed the visitors’ book on the way out.
Lydia was fully dressed when she answered the door this time, if you could call a skirt and a sweater under which there was obviously no brassiere fully dressed. From previous experience he supposed she wore no panties either. When they had no plans for going out, she liked to be prepared for quick action just in case he happened to be in the mood.
She was perceptive enough to sense the instant he walked in that he wasn’t in that sort of mood at this precise moment, however. She gave him a mere peck of greeting and remained standing when he seated himself on the sofa.
“Drink?” she asked.
“Maybe a beer. I don’t feel like any whisky.”
Going into the kitchen, she returned with two glasses and two opened bottles of beer. She set his on the cocktail table before him and seated herself in the chair directly opposite him. Both silently went through the ritual of pouring beer and sampling it.
Then she asked, “How is she standing up?”
“All right. She isn’t going to let it throw her.”
“Was it pretty awful?”
“Well, you know how the town is. It isn’t easy for her, but she’s facing them down. It’s going to get worse, but I didn’t tell her. I figured she had enough troubles.”
“How do you mean?”
“Arn Ross is planning to use me as the motive for the shooting.”
“You!”
“I played golf with Betty last Sunday when you broke out date. Bruce was in the bar with Doc Derring when we got back. He made some snide remarks about her catting around with me; Betty walked out and I offered to knock Bruce off his stool. He ended up apologizing, but it was quite a scene and the bar was pretty well populated. It got back to Arn and he has it all figured out that Betty knocked off her husband to make herself free for me.”
“Oh boy!” Lydia said. “The gossips will have a field day with that.”
For a few moments they sipped their beer in silence. Presently he said, “Just what do you think of me, Lydia?”
She cocked a quizzical eyebrow. “You ought to know by now, by the way I tumble into bed at your least hint.”
He made a dismissing gesture. “Sex isn’t everything. We’ve never discussed what emotions, if any, we feel for each other, or where we’re going from here.”
A waiting expression formed on her face. “You mean you want to talk about it?”
“I want to clear the air. I don’t want to act like a heel and do things behind your back.”
“Oh,” she said. “This sounds like the beginning of a gentle letdown.”
“It isn’t anything of the sort. I’m just all mixed up. I thought we were close enough so that I could discuss it with you frankly.”
“All right,” she said agreeably. “I’ll listen.”
“You know I used to go with Betty years back, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“We were sweethearts all through high school. We planned to be married as soon as we were both through college. I don’t suppose you’ve been here long enough to have heard what happened.”
She shook her head. “No one ever mentioned it to me.”
“It was quite a scandal at the time, but it was nine years old by the time you moved to town. And gossip doesn’t live that long, even in this town. Unfortunately we went to different schools. When Betty was a sophomore at Bryn Mawr, she met Bruce and got pregnant. So they had a runaway marriage. It threw me for a loop.”
“And you’ve never quite recovered?”
“Oh, I recovered. You can’t go on pining for another man’s wife forever. But it left me a little wary of women in general. I carried a torch for a long time.”
“I see. And now the fire has rekindled?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just because she’s in trouble and I feel the need to protect her. When she’s out of this jam I may decide that warmed-over love isn’t any more appetizing than warmed-over pancakes. Or it may turn out to be the real thing. The trouble is that all the while I’m stewing about Betty, I’m still as fond of you as I ever was. I told you I was all mixed up.”