“Did you remember it well enough that you could’ve described it without seeing it again?”
“Of course.”
“Is that your handkerchief?”
“Yes.”
“And the stain on it’s blood?”
“Yes. The chain was in her hand–I told you–and there was some blood on them.” She frowned at me. “Don’t you– You act as if you don’t believe me.”
“Not exactly,” I said, “but I think you ought to be sure you’re telling your story straight this time.”
She stamped her foot. “You’re–” She laughed and anger went out of her face. “You can be the most annoying man. I’m telling the truth now, Nick. I’ve told you everything that happened exactly as it happened.”
“I hope so. It’s about time. You’re sure Julia didn’t come to enough to say anything while you were alone with her?”
“You’re trying to make me mad again. Of course I’m sure.”
“All right,” I said. “Wait here. I’ll get Guild, but if you tell him the chain was in Julia’s hand and she wasn’t dead yet he’s going to wonder whether you didn’t have to rough her up a little to get it away from her.”
She opened her eyes wide. “What should I tell him?”
I went out and shut the door.
24
Nora, looking a little sleepy, was entertaining Guild and Andy in the living-room. The Wvnant offspring were not in sight.
“Go ahead,” I told Guild. “First door to the left. I think she’s readied up for you.”
“Crack her?” he asked,
I nodded.
“What’d you get?”
“See what you get and we’ll put them together and see how they add up,” I suggested.
“0. K. Come on, Andy.” They went out.
“Where’s Dorothy?” I asked.
Nora yawned. “I thought she was with you and her mother. Gilbert’s around somewhere. He was here till a few minutes ago. Do we have to hang around long?”
“Not long.” I went back down the passageway past Mimi’s door to another bedroom door, which was open. and looked in. Nobody was there. A door facing it was shut. I knocked on it.
Dorothy’s voice: “What is it?”
“Nick,” I said and went in.
She was lying on her side on a bed, dressed except for her slippers. Gilbert was sitting on the bed beside her. Her mouth seemed a little puffy, but it may have been from crying: her eyes were red. She raised hen head to stare sullenly at me.
“Still want to talk to me?” I asked.
Gilbert got up fromthe bed. “Where’s Mamma?”
“Talking to the police.”
He said something I did not catch and left the room.
Dorothy shuddered. “He gives me the creeps,” she said, and then remembered to stare sullenly at me again.
“Still want to talk to me?”
“What made you turn against me like that?”
“You’re being silly.” I sat down where Gilbert had been sitting. “Do you know anything about this knife and chain your mother’s supposed to have found?”
“No. Where?”
“What’d you want to tell me?”
“Nothing–now,” she said disagreeably, “except you might at least wipe her lipstick off your mouth.”
I wiped it off. She snatched the handkerchief from my hand and rolled over to pick up a package of matches from the table on that side of the bed. She struck a match.
“That’s going to stink like hell,” I said.
She said, “I don’t cane,” but she blew out the match. I took the handkerchief, went to a window, opened it, dropped the handkerchief out, shut the window, and went back to my seat on the bed. “If that makes you feel any better,”
“What did Mamma say–about me?”
“She said you’re in love with me.”
She sat up abruptly. “What did you say?”
“I said you just liked me from when you were a kid,”
Her lower lip twitched. “Do–do you think that’s what it is?”
“What else could it be?”
“I don’t know.” She began to cry. “Everybody’s made so much fun of me about it–Mamma and Gilbert and Harrison– I–”
I put my arms around her. “To hell with them.”
After a while she asked: “Is Mamma in love with you?”
“Good God, no! She hates men more than any woman I’ve ever known who wasn’t a Lesbian.”