Death Likes It Hot by Gore Vidal Page A

committed.”
    “He’s fairly sure now. Are you?”
    “I don’t know what to think.”
    “What was between your brother and Mildred?” I asked this all in one breath, to take her by surprise; it did.
    Her eyelids fluttered with alarm; she frowned, taken aback. “What … what makes you think anything.…”
    “Mrs. Veering,” I lied. “She told me that, years ago.…”
    “That bloody fool!” She literally snarled; but then she was in control again. She even managed to laugh convincingly to cover up her sudden lapse. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “It just seems so unnecessary, raking up family skeletons. The fact are simple enough: Mildred was engaged to marry my brother. Then she met Brexton and married him instead. That’s all. My brother was devoted to her and not too friendly with Brexton, though they got on … that’s all there is to it.”
    “Why didn’t she marry your brother?”
    She was evasive. “I suppose Brexton was more glamorous to her.…”
    “Did
you
like the idea of his marrying her?”
    “I can’t think that that has anything to do with it, Mr. Sargeant.” She looked at me coldly.
    “I suppose it doesn’t. I’m sorry. It’s just that if I’m to be used as a punching bag by a murderer, I’d like to know a little something about what’s going on.”
    “I’m sorry.” She was quick to respond. “I didn’t mean to be unpleasant. It’s just that it’s a sore subject with all of us. In fact, I didn’t even want to come down here for the week end but Fletcher insisted. He was very fond of Mildred, always.”
    I was slowly getting an idea of the relationships involved, as much from what she didn’t say as what she did.
    The butler called me from the terrace. Liz was on the telephone. I answered it in the hall.
    “Darling, are you all right?” Her voice was anxious.
    “Don’t tell me you heard.…”
    “Everything! My aunt told me this morning how, when you came home last night, you were
stabbed.
I’ve been trying to get you for two hours but the line’s been busy. Are you all right? Where.…”
    I told her what had happened, marveling at the speed with which news spread in that community. I supposed the servants had passed it on since I knew no one in the house, none of the guests, would have breathed a word of it.
    She was relieved that I hadn’t been stabbed. She was also alarmed. “I don’t think you should stay another night in that awful place, Peter. No, I mean it, really. It’s perfectly apparent that a criminal maniac is on the loose and.…”
    “And when do I see you?”
    “Oh. Well, what about late tonight? around midnight. I’m tied up with the family till then but afterward I’m invited to Evan Evans’ house … the abstract sculptor. I could meet you there. It’s open house.” I took down the address and then, after promising her I wouldn’t get in the way of any more metal objects, she rang off.
    I wandered back to the beach. From upstairs I could hear the clatter of Mary Western Lung’s feverish typewriter. The door to Brexton’s room was shut. Mrs. Veering was writing letters in the sunroom.
    Everything was peaceful. Allie Claypoole was talking to a stranger when I rejoined her on the beach. “Oh, Mr. Sargeant, I want you to meet Dick Randan … he’s my nephew.”
    The nephew was a tall gangling youth of twenty odd summers: he wore heavy spectacles and a seersucker suit which looked strangely out of place on that glaring beach. I made the expected comment about what a young aunt Allie was, and she agreed.
    “Dick just drove down from Cambridge today.…”
    “Heard what had happened and came down to make sure everything was all right.” His voice was as unprepossessing as the rest of him. He sat like a solemn owl on the sand, his arms clasping bony knees. “Just now got here … quite a row,” he shook his head gloomily. “Bad form, this,” he added with considerable understatement.
    “Dick’s taking his