developed some kind of fixation on Marla. It’s not because of anything she’s done.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Wallace said.
“Some men have that compulsion and settle on a particular woman for their own reasons. Marla said she didn’t even know who Brant was until he started harassing her. Have either of you ever heard of him?”
“I haven’t,” Sybil said.
“We wouldn’t know Marla’s friends,” Wallace said.
He picked up a potato chip from a bowl Carver hadn’t noticed on a counter within reach of the table, then bit into it almost savagely and began chewing noisily. When he’d bent over to reach the bowl, Carver could see behind him into the kitchen, where what looked like a complicated water filter with coiled white hoses was attached to the sink faucet. The Cloys seemed adequately protected from impurities.
“We’re very proud of Marla,” Sybil said. “We read all her work whenever it’s published, and last year she gave us that photograph.” She pointed behind Carver, and he turned around and saw an oak desk with a brass-framed color photo of Marla propped on it. It was a head shot, tilted so she appeared to be peeking around a corner while smiling. She was wearing makeup and had her hair styled in bangs. The Marla in the photo was wearing a demure white sweater and looked much younger and even prettier than the Marla that Carver knew. Prom queen material.
“Has Marla ever had any other problems with men harassing her?” he asked.
“She’s been harassed some, but no more than any other pretty girl,” Sybil said.
“She don’t send out the kinda vibes that’d turn a man onto her like that.” Wallace attacked another chip, then took a sip of beer to wash down the wreckage.
“Does she have any severe money problems that you know of?”
“What’s that got to do with it?” Wallace asked.
“Probably nothing.”
“We help her out now and then,” Sybil said. “She doesn’t ask often. She’s trying to make her living in a very difficult business.”
“Has she asked for financial help lately?”
“No. Not in over a year.”
“Has a man phoned here for her recently?”
“Men don’t phone here for her at all,” Wallace said.
Sybil smiled. “Would you care for something to drink?” she asked Carver.
“No, thanks. I’m almost ready to get out of your lives and leave you alone.”
“We don’t mind,” Sybil said, “if we can help Marla.”
“Do you know a friend of Sybil’s named Willa Krull?”
“Never heard of her.”
Carver glanced over at Wallace, who was shaking his head no.
“Okay,” Carver said. He thanked them for their time, smiling and easing toward the door. “This sure doesn’t feel like the inside of a trail— of a mobile home.”
“We don’t think of it as a mobile home at all,” Wallace said. “Except when there’s a tornado warning.”
Sybil opened the door for Carver. He caught a whiff of lilac perfume as he slid past her and made his way down the oddly angled steel steps with his cane.
She waited until he was all the way outside, then leaned forward out the door, as if she didn’t want Wallace to overhear her. “If there’s any way we can help you, help Marla, let us know.”
“I will,” Carver said. “And don’t worry too much about this. It’s not so serious that Marla even mentioned it to you.”
“I worry about Marla. A mother worries.”
“Most of them, anyway.” Carver turned toward his car, watching a swarm of insects rise around his cane. “Good luck with the puzzle.”
“Good luck with your own puzzle,” Sybil told him.
15
W HEN C ARVER ENTERED the cottage, he saw the note tucked beneath the salt shaker on the breakfast bar, where he and Beth customarily left messages for each other.
She was staking out Marla Cloy’s house and would return late that night.
The note also told him there was pressed turkey in the refrigerator. He found it, along with mayonnaise and lettuce, then built himself a
“Oh, I’m sure,” Wallace said.
“Some men have that compulsion and settle on a particular woman for their own reasons. Marla said she didn’t even know who Brant was until he started harassing her. Have either of you ever heard of him?”
“I haven’t,” Sybil said.
“We wouldn’t know Marla’s friends,” Wallace said.
He picked up a potato chip from a bowl Carver hadn’t noticed on a counter within reach of the table, then bit into it almost savagely and began chewing noisily. When he’d bent over to reach the bowl, Carver could see behind him into the kitchen, where what looked like a complicated water filter with coiled white hoses was attached to the sink faucet. The Cloys seemed adequately protected from impurities.
“We’re very proud of Marla,” Sybil said. “We read all her work whenever it’s published, and last year she gave us that photograph.” She pointed behind Carver, and he turned around and saw an oak desk with a brass-framed color photo of Marla propped on it. It was a head shot, tilted so she appeared to be peeking around a corner while smiling. She was wearing makeup and had her hair styled in bangs. The Marla in the photo was wearing a demure white sweater and looked much younger and even prettier than the Marla that Carver knew. Prom queen material.
“Has Marla ever had any other problems with men harassing her?” he asked.
“She’s been harassed some, but no more than any other pretty girl,” Sybil said.
“She don’t send out the kinda vibes that’d turn a man onto her like that.” Wallace attacked another chip, then took a sip of beer to wash down the wreckage.
“Does she have any severe money problems that you know of?”
“What’s that got to do with it?” Wallace asked.
“Probably nothing.”
“We help her out now and then,” Sybil said. “She doesn’t ask often. She’s trying to make her living in a very difficult business.”
“Has she asked for financial help lately?”
“No. Not in over a year.”
“Has a man phoned here for her recently?”
“Men don’t phone here for her at all,” Wallace said.
Sybil smiled. “Would you care for something to drink?” she asked Carver.
“No, thanks. I’m almost ready to get out of your lives and leave you alone.”
“We don’t mind,” Sybil said, “if we can help Marla.”
“Do you know a friend of Sybil’s named Willa Krull?”
“Never heard of her.”
Carver glanced over at Wallace, who was shaking his head no.
“Okay,” Carver said. He thanked them for their time, smiling and easing toward the door. “This sure doesn’t feel like the inside of a trail— of a mobile home.”
“We don’t think of it as a mobile home at all,” Wallace said. “Except when there’s a tornado warning.”
Sybil opened the door for Carver. He caught a whiff of lilac perfume as he slid past her and made his way down the oddly angled steel steps with his cane.
She waited until he was all the way outside, then leaned forward out the door, as if she didn’t want Wallace to overhear her. “If there’s any way we can help you, help Marla, let us know.”
“I will,” Carver said. “And don’t worry too much about this. It’s not so serious that Marla even mentioned it to you.”
“I worry about Marla. A mother worries.”
“Most of them, anyway.” Carver turned toward his car, watching a swarm of insects rise around his cane. “Good luck with the puzzle.”
“Good luck with your own puzzle,” Sybil told him.
15
W HEN C ARVER ENTERED the cottage, he saw the note tucked beneath the salt shaker on the breakfast bar, where he and Beth customarily left messages for each other.
She was staking out Marla Cloy’s house and would return late that night.
The note also told him there was pressed turkey in the refrigerator. He found it, along with mayonnaise and lettuce, then built himself a
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