out the sign to give himself more time to get far away?”
“That’s the way I see it.”
“Did they dust the sign? The tape? The paperweight?”
“They’re still at it,” Al said. “Don’t hold your breath.”
“May I go now?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said. “You better go home, have a belt, and lie down. You don’t look so great.”
“I don’t feel so great,” I said. “Thanks for your prompt assistance, sergeant. Sorry I had to dump this on you.”
“If not this,” he said, sighing, “it would be something else. It never ends.” He paused a moment. Then: “I didn’t much like Rubik, did you?”
“No,” I said. “Still...”
I drove slowly and carefully back to the McNally spread. I wondered why I was driving in that Medicare fashion and realized it was a whiff of mortality that had inspired my caution. One never knows, do one?
I garaged the Miata and entered the house through the side door. My mother was standing at the sink in the kitchen, arranging cut flowers from our garden in a crystal vase. She looked up as I came in.
“Hello, Archy,” she said brightly. “Isn’t it a splendiferous day!” She paused a beat, doubting. “Did I use the right word?”
“Exactly the right word,” I assured her.
“Good! And what have you been doing today?”
“Oh,” I said, “this and that. Right now I’m going to change and take my swim.”
“Do be careful,” she said. “It’s rough out there. Now these are the last of the roses, Archy. The heat just eats them up.”
I watched a moment as she worked, bending over the sink and smiling as she clipped stems and placed the blooms in the vase just so.
“Mother,” I said, “how have you been feeling lately?”
“Tiptop,” she said. “Couldn’t be better.”
“Are you taking your medication?”
“Of course. Every day.”
I swooped suddenly to kiss her velvety cheek, and she looked at me with pleased surprise.
“Oh my!” she said. “What was that for?”
“I got carried away,” I said, and left her laughing with her flowers. She had a little girl’s laugh.
I changed, took up my beach bag and towel, and trotted across A1A to the ocean. I saw at once that mother had been right; it was rough out there, with a pounding surf and big patches of seaweed lifting and falling on the waves farther out. I decided not to dare it.
So I smeared on sunblock and sat on the sand in the latticed shade of a palm tree. I stared out at that turbulent sea and tried to review the events of the day. I did all right with my mental rerun until I got to the strip of film where I stood staring down at the crushed skull of Bela Rubik. And that became a freeze-frame; I couldn’t get past it.
I never thought I could shiver on a blazing late-May afternoon in South Florida, but I did. It required almost a physical wrench to dissolve that morbid scene from my memory. I did it by resolutely focusing my mind’s camera on more positive images. Jennifer Towley’s classic elegance. Consuela Garcia in a string bikini. And similar recollections of love, joy, and calm seas. All to keep the specter of sudden death at bay.
Listen, I’m no hero.
Chapter 7
M Y PARENTS HAD A local couple in for a rubber of bridge that evening, and I didn’t have a chance to speak to my father. But after breakfast the next morning I asked if we could talk for a few minutes before he left for the office. He led the way into his study.
“What is it, Archy?” he asked rather testily. The governor hates to have his routine disturbed.
I told him about the murder of Bela Rubik. His face grew bleak. He pondered a long time.
“Distressing,” he finally pronounced. “Do you think the homicide is connected with the theft of Lady Horowitz’s stamps?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “I’d bet on it.”
“Sergeant Rogoff also thinks so?”
I nodded.
He moved slowly about his den, picking things up and putting them down. “I hope he won’t reveal the possible connection to
“That’s the way I see it.”
“Did they dust the sign? The tape? The paperweight?”
“They’re still at it,” Al said. “Don’t hold your breath.”
“May I go now?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said. “You better go home, have a belt, and lie down. You don’t look so great.”
“I don’t feel so great,” I said. “Thanks for your prompt assistance, sergeant. Sorry I had to dump this on you.”
“If not this,” he said, sighing, “it would be something else. It never ends.” He paused a moment. Then: “I didn’t much like Rubik, did you?”
“No,” I said. “Still...”
I drove slowly and carefully back to the McNally spread. I wondered why I was driving in that Medicare fashion and realized it was a whiff of mortality that had inspired my caution. One never knows, do one?
I garaged the Miata and entered the house through the side door. My mother was standing at the sink in the kitchen, arranging cut flowers from our garden in a crystal vase. She looked up as I came in.
“Hello, Archy,” she said brightly. “Isn’t it a splendiferous day!” She paused a beat, doubting. “Did I use the right word?”
“Exactly the right word,” I assured her.
“Good! And what have you been doing today?”
“Oh,” I said, “this and that. Right now I’m going to change and take my swim.”
“Do be careful,” she said. “It’s rough out there. Now these are the last of the roses, Archy. The heat just eats them up.”
I watched a moment as she worked, bending over the sink and smiling as she clipped stems and placed the blooms in the vase just so.
“Mother,” I said, “how have you been feeling lately?”
“Tiptop,” she said. “Couldn’t be better.”
“Are you taking your medication?”
“Of course. Every day.”
I swooped suddenly to kiss her velvety cheek, and she looked at me with pleased surprise.
“Oh my!” she said. “What was that for?”
“I got carried away,” I said, and left her laughing with her flowers. She had a little girl’s laugh.
I changed, took up my beach bag and towel, and trotted across A1A to the ocean. I saw at once that mother had been right; it was rough out there, with a pounding surf and big patches of seaweed lifting and falling on the waves farther out. I decided not to dare it.
So I smeared on sunblock and sat on the sand in the latticed shade of a palm tree. I stared out at that turbulent sea and tried to review the events of the day. I did all right with my mental rerun until I got to the strip of film where I stood staring down at the crushed skull of Bela Rubik. And that became a freeze-frame; I couldn’t get past it.
I never thought I could shiver on a blazing late-May afternoon in South Florida, but I did. It required almost a physical wrench to dissolve that morbid scene from my memory. I did it by resolutely focusing my mind’s camera on more positive images. Jennifer Towley’s classic elegance. Consuela Garcia in a string bikini. And similar recollections of love, joy, and calm seas. All to keep the specter of sudden death at bay.
Listen, I’m no hero.
Chapter 7
M Y PARENTS HAD A local couple in for a rubber of bridge that evening, and I didn’t have a chance to speak to my father. But after breakfast the next morning I asked if we could talk for a few minutes before he left for the office. He led the way into his study.
“What is it, Archy?” he asked rather testily. The governor hates to have his routine disturbed.
I told him about the murder of Bela Rubik. His face grew bleak. He pondered a long time.
“Distressing,” he finally pronounced. “Do you think the homicide is connected with the theft of Lady Horowitz’s stamps?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “I’d bet on it.”
“Sergeant Rogoff also thinks so?”
I nodded.
He moved slowly about his den, picking things up and putting them down. “I hope he won’t reveal the possible connection to
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