Cobalt by Nathan Aldyne Page B

discovered that he hadn’t returned home the previous night. She made coffee for herself, indulged in part of an Entenmann’s pecan Danish ring, and sat down at her makeup table still with plenty of time to get to work. Provincetown, she reflected, could be very pleasant. Birds sang in the coffee tree.
    She heard the gate rasp open. Thinking it would be Valentine returning after a night’s successful hunting, she went to the window to greet him. It was Noah carrying a suitcase. She called down and waved.
    â€œYou’re back!”
    He looked up at her and smiled. “Yes. Come on over and watch me unpack.”
    She hurriedly dressed and ran across the courtyard. She opened the door of Noah’s apartment, and the White Prince lunged at her down the hallway with an Electrolux. He wore his birch-heeled sandals, which clattered noisily—audible even above the vacuum cleaner—on the bare floor, white silk designer shorts, a kelly green tank top, and a dozen thin gold bangle bracelets on each wrist. A white rubber skullcap with green stars protected his hair against flying dust.
    â€œHi!” he screamed over the vacuum cleaner. “Noah’s upstairs!”
    Clarisse jumped out of his way, slipped past, and went up the stairs. Behind her the vacuum cleaner was shut off, and the Prince shouted behind her, “Did you steal my Bon Ami?” He gave it a French pronunciation. “I can’t find it anywhere.”
    â€œNo!” cried Clarisse, and knocked on the door of Noah’s bedroom. The vacuum cleaner started up again down below.
    Noah opened the door, motioned her in, and closed the door behind her. The sound of the White Prince in the throes of housecleaning were mercifully dampened.
    Clarisse looked around the room. It had been redecorated since she’d seen it last. The walls were deep rose, the prints were Japanese, the furniture was lacquered black—but the windows still looked out on unmistakably sea-resort foliage and Cape Cod sky. Noah’s bag lay opened on the quilted black bedspread.
    â€œI thought you hired someone to do the cleaning,” remarked Clarisse. Outside the room, they could hear the Electrolux being dragged up the stairs.
    â€œI do. But the Prince took the wrong pill this morning. What he thought was vitamin E was actually an Eskatrol. And at ten o’clock on a Tuesday morning what is there to do on an upper except clean house?”
    The White Prince flung open the door of Noah’s room and demanded, “Where is the drapery attachment for this machine? Who took it?”
    â€œAll the attachments are kept in the bathroom closet,” said Noah patiently.
    The Prince rattled his bracelets and slammed the door.
    Noah shrugged, and began sifting through his bag for dirty clothes. He looked up and smiled at Clarisse.
    â€œWhere did you go?” she asked.
    â€œBoston.”
    â€œI didn’t know you were going.”
    â€œI didn’t think to tell you. I had planned the trip. I went to Boston to look over the Brookline Swiss Miss, and to have breakfast with Cal. You know Calvin Lark, don’t you?”
    â€œYes,” Clarisse replied. “His firm also represents the real estate office where I used to work. And naturally he’s a friend of Valentine’s. He’s the one who suggested that I go to the Portia School of Law.”
    â€œWell,” said Noah, “I went to see Cal. On business.”
    He closed the drawer on some shirts that hadn’t been worn.
    â€œWhy so curious? Did I miss something around here?”
    â€œYes, as a matter of fact. Somebody at the party on Saturday night was murdered.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œAnd I found the body.”
    â€œI know.”
    Clarisse turned her head a little and raised her voice; the vacuum cleaner had started up again, this time right outside the bedroom door. “How did you know? You left town so early after the