I opened the door a careful fraction of an inch. A chattering group was approaching. When they had passed, I took the chance and walked out, perhaps too exaggeratedly casual, but there was no one there to fault the performance. I leaned against the corridor wall. Mrs. Mace brought me my drink, scuttling, holding it high, proud of her accomplishment. It was an extraordinarily nasty martini. I gave extravagant thanks. She said I should come by Sunday and swim in her pool. She would round up a swinging group. We’d all drink gallons of black velvets. Delighted. Yes, indeed.
We drifted along behind a group and ended up in the big room. Biddy came quickly to me and drew me aside. She looked determined and angry.
“Trav, I haven’t told Tom and I don’t intend to. Sooner or later he’s going to find out she’s missing and that will be time enough. I’m just not going to let my sister spoil the best part of it for him. She’s done enough spoiling already. Would you please do me a very special favor?”
“Sure.”
“Go down and start checking every bar you can find, and there are quite a few within three or four blocks of here. If you find her and if she isn’t in bad shape yet, bring her back, please. But if she’s had it, stay with her and put her in the station wagon down below. The tag
“I know the car.”
“Thanks so much! Poor Trav. Always doing stupid favors for the dreary Pearson family. And look, dear, do not ever let Tom know that I knew she was missing. He’d kill me. He would think I should have told him at once. But, darn it all… and… thanks again.”
I started the slow journey through the crush of guests. I had to pass a group standing in respectful attention, listening to Tom Pike. He stood, tall, vital, dark, handsome, a little bit slouched, a little bit rustic and cowlicky and subtly aw-shucks about everything, his voice deep, rich, resonant as he said, “… job-creating opportunities in urban core areas, that’s the answer if we’re going to continue to have a viable center-city economic base here in Fort Courtney. The companion piece to this fine building should be-if we all have the guts and the vision-an enclosed shopping mall taking up that short block on Princess Street. Urban renewal to help tear down the obsolete warehouses and get the city to vacate the street, and I don’t see why we couldn’t have…”
I was by him, and a pack of ladies whooping at something that had just about tickled them to death drowned out the rest of the visionary address to the potential investors.
I rode down with a silent couple in the elevator. She stared with prim mouth and lofty eyebrows at the ceiling of the small machine. With clamped jaw and moody brow he stared at the blue carpeting underfoot. As we walked down into the parking area she did not realize I was as close behind them as I was. In a thin, deadly, indifferent tone she said, “Sweetheart, why don’t you let me drive home alone while you go right on back up there and stroke Gloria’s vulgar little ass all you want. She may be missing the attention.”
He did not reply. I walked to my car and unlocked it and got in and clenched the wheel so tightly my knuckles made crackling sounds. I shut my eyes so tightly I could see rockets and wheels of fire. Little improvements come along, because the luck can go either way, and when you play the longer odds you open up the chance of the good luck and the bad. Her reaction helped. I had not expected it. I had wanted her to tell him that McGee had seen Maureen leaving by a route other than the one he knew she had taken, and so that would target him in on me, bring him in close enough for me to see what he was. But it was better the way she was doing it. And I had to find Stanger, and find him fast.