“That’s what he says.”
From her chair at Graham’s bedside, Connie said, “But that’s crazy. In
fact, didn’t Charles Manson’s bunch of psychos kill all those people for
the same reason?”
“I mentioned Manson to Prine,” Preduski said. “But he tells me Manson
was a two-bit con man, a cheap sleazy hood.”
“While Prine is a superman.
Preduski shook his head sadly. “Poor Nietzsche. He was one of the most
brilliant philosophers who ever lived-and also the most misunderstood.”
He bent over and sniffed at an arrangement of flowers that stood on the
table by the window. When he looked up again, he said, “Excuse me for
asking. It’s none of my business. I know that. But I’m a curious man.
One of my faults.
But-when’s the wedding?”
“Wedding?” Connie said.
“Don’t kid me. You two are getting married.”
Confused, Graham said, “How could you know that?
We just talked about it this morning. just the two of us.
“I’m a detective,” Preduski said. “I’ve picked up clues.”
“For instance?” Connie said.
“For instance, the way the two of you are looking at each other this
afternoon.”
Delighted at being able to share the news, Graham said, “We’ll be
married a few weeks after I’m released from the hospital, as soon as I
have my strength back.”
“Which he’ll need,” Connie said, smiling wickedly.
Preduski walked around the bed, looked at the bandages on Graham’s left
arm and on the upper right quarter of his back. “Every time I think of
all that happened Friday night and Saturday morning, I wonder how you
two came out of it alive.”
“It wasn’t much,” Connie said.
“Not much?” Preduski said.
“No. Really. It wasn’t so much, what we did, was it, Nick?”
Graham smiled and felt very good indeed. No, it wasn’t much, Nora.”