my watch. Quarter to five. Drinking time.
“You’ll probably get a jail term for this,” I said.
“Scotch on the rocks? Or are you still on tepid gin and orange bitters?”
I shuddered. “Please. The Scotch.”
“I’m going to give you enough Scotch to make you babble like a brook, my good man.”
It was shady in the little court, and had been shady long enough for the stones to have cooled from the sun’s heat. She came out with drinks, minus apron, and sat across the round wicker table from me.
“Now about the wench who got it in the neck?” she said. She was watching my face. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly in a different tone. “Friend of yours, I judge.”
“Friend of mine,” I said, and stared at the leer on the cupid.
“It all smells, Dil. Here’s what we get. No more. A store clerk named Elizabeth Morin was found dead in the empty apartment of an oil-company engineer who is out of the country at this time. Report of her death was made to the police through an anonymous phone call. Her presence in the apartment has not yet been explained. And that’s all, Dil. Every bit of it. There were some nice neat bright young men around with that Washington file-cabinet look. Who was she, Dil?”
“Here’s the only thing I can tell you, honey. I made a promise to some of those bright young men. They told mesomething in confidence. I can’t tell you anything about the girl without opening up a lot of other things. All I can tell you is that she was a good kid. A very mixed-up kid. And a kid who didn’t follow orders, and that is why she happens to be dead.”
She set her glass down. “Now listen to me a minute. I’m no ball of fire, Dil, but I
can
add, a little. I know that all of this is big and bad and dangerous. I can
smell
that much. I have contacts. I know the local ropes. You, Dil, have got more muscles than caution. I don’t want you to get your head knocked in. Promise or no promise, I think you’d better tell me. It won’t get into the paper. This is just you and me. Jill and Dil. The kids that rhyme.”
“Maybe I should have sought shelter with Tram. I couldn’t find him, though.” As soon as I said it, I was sorry that it had slipped out. For a moment there was a quick hurt look in her gray eyes. She recovered quickly.
“O.K., my boy. I won’t use a can opener on you. If you want to talk, go ahead. If not, you’re still a guest.”
I reached over and took her hand. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“That’s all right.”
“Not completely all right. Be truthful.”
She looked at me and I saw the tears begin to form, hanging heavy on her lower lids, ready to break free. She stood up with a quick smile. “Who am I to think I should own you just because I can help you? Fresh drink?”
I nodded. She walked off with quick steps. Her back was very straight. She carried her shining dark head high. I had never noticed before how sharply pronounced was the crease down her back, running between her shoulder blades. Only after it reappeared below the pale blue linen bra top were the tiny pebbles of the vertebrae visible. A small girl, but only in relation to others. Everything about her was in scale. Where Talya had been sturdy, Jill was patrician-slim, yet warmly ripe in her own subtle way.
I was still thinking of Jill in relation to Talya, and conjecturing about Jill in a way that I never had before, when she came back with the fresh drink for me. Some of what I was thinking must have shown on my face. She blushed faintly and sat down very quickly. It was odd thatthe death of Talya should start me thinking of Jill in this new, much more personal way. She had always been just … Jill. A good egg. A lot of laughs. I enjoyed her oblique outlook on life. But entirely a brother-sister pitch, and understood as that, even to the peck on the cheek at parting.
“How old are you, Jill?”
Her eyes widened. “Twenty-six. Why?”
“I don’t know. It has occurred to me that
“You’ll probably get a jail term for this,” I said.
“Scotch on the rocks? Or are you still on tepid gin and orange bitters?”
I shuddered. “Please. The Scotch.”
“I’m going to give you enough Scotch to make you babble like a brook, my good man.”
It was shady in the little court, and had been shady long enough for the stones to have cooled from the sun’s heat. She came out with drinks, minus apron, and sat across the round wicker table from me.
“Now about the wench who got it in the neck?” she said. She was watching my face. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly in a different tone. “Friend of yours, I judge.”
“Friend of mine,” I said, and stared at the leer on the cupid.
“It all smells, Dil. Here’s what we get. No more. A store clerk named Elizabeth Morin was found dead in the empty apartment of an oil-company engineer who is out of the country at this time. Report of her death was made to the police through an anonymous phone call. Her presence in the apartment has not yet been explained. And that’s all, Dil. Every bit of it. There were some nice neat bright young men around with that Washington file-cabinet look. Who was she, Dil?”
“Here’s the only thing I can tell you, honey. I made a promise to some of those bright young men. They told mesomething in confidence. I can’t tell you anything about the girl without opening up a lot of other things. All I can tell you is that she was a good kid. A very mixed-up kid. And a kid who didn’t follow orders, and that is why she happens to be dead.”
She set her glass down. “Now listen to me a minute. I’m no ball of fire, Dil, but I
can
add, a little. I know that all of this is big and bad and dangerous. I can
smell
that much. I have contacts. I know the local ropes. You, Dil, have got more muscles than caution. I don’t want you to get your head knocked in. Promise or no promise, I think you’d better tell me. It won’t get into the paper. This is just you and me. Jill and Dil. The kids that rhyme.”
“Maybe I should have sought shelter with Tram. I couldn’t find him, though.” As soon as I said it, I was sorry that it had slipped out. For a moment there was a quick hurt look in her gray eyes. She recovered quickly.
“O.K., my boy. I won’t use a can opener on you. If you want to talk, go ahead. If not, you’re still a guest.”
I reached over and took her hand. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“That’s all right.”
“Not completely all right. Be truthful.”
She looked at me and I saw the tears begin to form, hanging heavy on her lower lids, ready to break free. She stood up with a quick smile. “Who am I to think I should own you just because I can help you? Fresh drink?”
I nodded. She walked off with quick steps. Her back was very straight. She carried her shining dark head high. I had never noticed before how sharply pronounced was the crease down her back, running between her shoulder blades. Only after it reappeared below the pale blue linen bra top were the tiny pebbles of the vertebrae visible. A small girl, but only in relation to others. Everything about her was in scale. Where Talya had been sturdy, Jill was patrician-slim, yet warmly ripe in her own subtle way.
I was still thinking of Jill in relation to Talya, and conjecturing about Jill in a way that I never had before, when she came back with the fresh drink for me. Some of what I was thinking must have shown on my face. She blushed faintly and sat down very quickly. It was odd thatthe death of Talya should start me thinking of Jill in this new, much more personal way. She had always been just … Jill. A good egg. A lot of laughs. I enjoyed her oblique outlook on life. But entirely a brother-sister pitch, and understood as that, even to the peck on the cheek at parting.
“How old are you, Jill?”
Her eyes widened. “Twenty-six. Why?”
“I don’t know. It has occurred to me that
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