Greenwich by Howard Fast Page B

she was eleven and twelve, the two years after her mother had died of cancer. They kept a small rowboat at Tod’s Point, that strange finger of land that Greenwich was so proud of, and they would go bottom fishing with no poles, just string lines, and occasionally they would hook a flounder or blowfish, throw back the blowfish and take the flounders home. Those were wonderful days, and sometimes they would just sit and drift with the incoming tide, and she would read to Seth, while he smoked his pipe and allowed the delicious smell to drift past her.
    Those are death thoughts , she told herself with annoyance, and said to Harold, “He’ll make it, won’t he? Tell me that he’ll make it.”
    â€œOf course, he’ll make it.”
    It was more than an hour since Harold had come there, and as they spoke, Seth Ferguson was already dead, and Dr. Loring was firming up his resolve to go to the waiting room and inform Ruth that her father had passed away.
    He entered the waiting room, still in his green gown, and stood looking at David and Harold and Ruth. Then he walked over to Ruth.
    â€œI’m so sorry. We tried everything we could. His heart was too weak. I’m sorry.”

Fourteen
    W hile Harold and Ruth Sellig and David Greene were waiting to hear the results of Dr. Ferguson’s second operation, Frank Manelli and Abel Hunt were in the emergency room, on the ground floor where Christina had been taken to have her arm x-rayed.
    They were alone in the small waiting room. The emergency room at the hospital was not a very busy place at this hour, and they had a bit of time to talk without Christina’s presence. Manelli was still pushing to go on out to the Castles’ place, and Abel was still trying to cool him off.
    â€œLike I said,” Abel told him, “you stay out of this. What are you after? Revenge? This is a part of a kid’s growing up. She learned something about people. Lessons are painful but necessary.”
    â€œI don’t buy that.”
    â€œIf you want revenge, sue him.”
    â€œI don’t sue people. You know what it costs to sue someone?”
    â€œWe’ll go to the cops,” Abel assured him. “That’s punishment enough. They’ll go out to Castle’s place and arrest the kid, and Castle will have to post bond. The kid will have a record.”
    â€œHe probably has a record already. I’m pissed off. I want to put my hands on that little bastard.”
    â€œGood. Then you’ll be arrested, too.”
    The arrival of a young intern with Christina and the X rays put an end to their conversation. “Nothing broken or dislocated,” the intern told them cheerfully. “She has a sprained shoulder, and we’ll give her a sling. I’ll give you a couple of patches to change the ones I put on her face. Just scratches. She’ll be fine. Some swelling around the arm, nothing else. She’s very beautiful. The scratches won’t leave any scars, so she’ll be just as beautiful.”
    Christina squirmed with the praise. As with any fifteen-year-old, the sling was a sort of status symbol. She had already decided to say nothing to anyone about what had happened. The sling would add to the mystery.
    From the hospital, they drove to the police station, down Mason Street almost to the Sound. There is a ridge that runs for miles along the Connecticut coast, at times near the Long Island Sound, at times a mile or two away from it. The business section of Greenwich, where the police station is located, is down from the ridge and closer to the Sound, just a few minutes drive from the hospital at that time of the night.
    While Greenwich is considered one of the wealthiest towns in America, to New York City what Beverly Hills is to Los Angeles, it is far larger than Beverly Hills, sixty thousand people, running the gamut from the outrageously rich to the middle class and then to the poor—which gives its