the "Oh, yeah" face that kid sisters grow up with and then stopped her work and dried her hands on her apron.
"This package came for you, about ten minutes ago, in a cab."
It was a manilla envelope, eight by fourteen, legal size. There was no monogram on it, just the plain white type-written label addressed to "Mr. R. Bennett" and the address of Louise's house.
I took it and looked it over, wondering automatically who could have sent it to me. If it had come from Fullwell it would have carried the Bonded Security crest and I couldn't think of anyone else who knew where I was staying. I hadn't even left the information with George at the police station in Murphy's Harbour.
I must have looked mystified enough to prompt Louise to say, "Why not open it, then you'll know who it's from."
I tore it open and tipped it out. It held a sheet of paper, folded around a bundle of other papers. I opened it and whistled with surprise. I was holding a solid wad of twenty dollar bills.
I counted them, while Louise watched. They added up to one thousand and eighty dollars and I frowned. People who send unmarked envelopes full of cash usually have a good reason. You don't expect them to make mistakes in arithmetic. The figure must have some significance, but not for me. There was another paper enclosed. I pulled it out and looked it over. There were four words on it, typed in some sans serif electric typewriter face. They were: Wait for our call.
"Curiouser and curiouser," Louise said. She was looking at me over the bowl of salad, wondering perhaps if I was going to go bright red and confess that I was on the take from a bunch of hard cases.
"Makes no sense to me," I told her. I didn't let her read the message. I was worried by it. My benefactor, whoever he was, knew where I was staying. The knowledge made me uncomfortable. I've had my share of adventures, in and out of the service, but they were always one-on-one affairs that affected me aloneânot my sister and her kids.
We ate supper and I kibitzed with the kids, and worried. They were young and fragile and precious, like all kids, and it seemed I had turned over a stone that hid some ugly kind of creature. I decided I would wait in for the call, no matter who or where it came from.
It happened at seven-thirty. I had just piggybacked Katie up to bed and was heading downstairs for a last game of snap with Jack when the phone rang. Louise picked it up, in the kitchen, then called me, her voice yodelling up cheerfully, "It's for you."
"Thanks." I took it in her bedroom. She hung up down below when I picked up the receiver and for a long moment there was nothing on the line but the faint electronic sighing as if this were an overseas call. Then a voice said. "Yeah, Reid. Some friends of mine asked me to give you a call."
"About what?" There was nothing distinctive about the voice, no accent or tone that would have helped me pick it out again. It was just a plain, businesslike telephone voice, a little slow but not loaded with menace or anything that might have made a normal person suspicious. But then, not many normal people get care packages containing over a grand in unmarked bills.
"Le's jus' say about the way you been spending your nights lately."
"Man's gotta work." I tried to make myself sound petulant, not intrigued. I wanted him to volunteer more information.
"'Preciate that." The voice was toneless, like a tired grade schoolteacher in the last period. "Question is what he's gotta work at. I mean, there's people would say you're pushing kind of hard on something that don't matter a hill of beans to you."
"I'm just helping out a friend."
Now the voice took on an edge, exasperation at my stupidity. "Bullshit. You're jus' playing a game o' cops'n'robbers. Hell, if you wanna do that, why come down here? You wanna kick ass an' take names, you can do that up in Murphy's Harbour."
"Why's it upsetting your friends?" I knew why. The money alone would have told me, the call was
"This package came for you, about ten minutes ago, in a cab."
It was a manilla envelope, eight by fourteen, legal size. There was no monogram on it, just the plain white type-written label addressed to "Mr. R. Bennett" and the address of Louise's house.
I took it and looked it over, wondering automatically who could have sent it to me. If it had come from Fullwell it would have carried the Bonded Security crest and I couldn't think of anyone else who knew where I was staying. I hadn't even left the information with George at the police station in Murphy's Harbour.
I must have looked mystified enough to prompt Louise to say, "Why not open it, then you'll know who it's from."
I tore it open and tipped it out. It held a sheet of paper, folded around a bundle of other papers. I opened it and whistled with surprise. I was holding a solid wad of twenty dollar bills.
I counted them, while Louise watched. They added up to one thousand and eighty dollars and I frowned. People who send unmarked envelopes full of cash usually have a good reason. You don't expect them to make mistakes in arithmetic. The figure must have some significance, but not for me. There was another paper enclosed. I pulled it out and looked it over. There were four words on it, typed in some sans serif electric typewriter face. They were: Wait for our call.
"Curiouser and curiouser," Louise said. She was looking at me over the bowl of salad, wondering perhaps if I was going to go bright red and confess that I was on the take from a bunch of hard cases.
"Makes no sense to me," I told her. I didn't let her read the message. I was worried by it. My benefactor, whoever he was, knew where I was staying. The knowledge made me uncomfortable. I've had my share of adventures, in and out of the service, but they were always one-on-one affairs that affected me aloneânot my sister and her kids.
We ate supper and I kibitzed with the kids, and worried. They were young and fragile and precious, like all kids, and it seemed I had turned over a stone that hid some ugly kind of creature. I decided I would wait in for the call, no matter who or where it came from.
It happened at seven-thirty. I had just piggybacked Katie up to bed and was heading downstairs for a last game of snap with Jack when the phone rang. Louise picked it up, in the kitchen, then called me, her voice yodelling up cheerfully, "It's for you."
"Thanks." I took it in her bedroom. She hung up down below when I picked up the receiver and for a long moment there was nothing on the line but the faint electronic sighing as if this were an overseas call. Then a voice said. "Yeah, Reid. Some friends of mine asked me to give you a call."
"About what?" There was nothing distinctive about the voice, no accent or tone that would have helped me pick it out again. It was just a plain, businesslike telephone voice, a little slow but not loaded with menace or anything that might have made a normal person suspicious. But then, not many normal people get care packages containing over a grand in unmarked bills.
"Le's jus' say about the way you been spending your nights lately."
"Man's gotta work." I tried to make myself sound petulant, not intrigued. I wanted him to volunteer more information.
"'Preciate that." The voice was toneless, like a tired grade schoolteacher in the last period. "Question is what he's gotta work at. I mean, there's people would say you're pushing kind of hard on something that don't matter a hill of beans to you."
"I'm just helping out a friend."
Now the voice took on an edge, exasperation at my stupidity. "Bullshit. You're jus' playing a game o' cops'n'robbers. Hell, if you wanna do that, why come down here? You wanna kick ass an' take names, you can do that up in Murphy's Harbour."
"Why's it upsetting your friends?" I knew why. The money alone would have told me, the call was
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