“I think it’s probably the corn. I ate two dozen ears.” He smiled.
It was a friendly smile. “That was nice, wasn’t it?” he said.
“I had four lobsters. I think there’s some baking soda in the kitchen.”
“I think I’ll try a walk,” Ann said.
“Then the baking soda.” He leaned down then and came up with a flashlight. There were half a dozen of them, the funny-looking kind they had in the military services, with the lens and bulb at right angles to the battery case, lined neatly against the baseboard.
“Here,” he said.
“I won’t need that,” she said. “The sailors may be a little nervous,” he said practically. “Better they see you coming than think somebody-like the officer of the guard-is sneaking around to check up on them.”
“Thank you,” she said, and took the light and walked out toward the boathouse. If he’s not there already, it won’t be long. They left Summer Place at half past seven. It was fifteen minutes to Lakehurst, and maybe another fifteen minutes to put everybody in the airplane, file a flight plan, and take off. It was about a hundred seventy-five air miles to Washington. At, say, a hundred fifteen knots, that was an hour and a half to Anacostia, call it two hours before they were on the ground.
Then another two hours back to Lakehurst. He should be back about half past midnight. Halfway to the boathouse, startling her, one of the sailors appeared suddenly out of the darkness, his rifle held diagonally across his chest. “Can I help you, Miss?” No, thank you,” she said.” I’m just going to the boathouse. “Yes, Miss,” he said, and when she started walking again, he marched behind her. Ann thought: These guys all had the riot act read to them after Doug lass had glibly talked their way past the sentry on the road when we arrived. This nice-looking man had gotten the message. If I tell him I’m going to the boathouse he intends to see that I go there and nowhere else. As Ann climbed the outside stairway to Canidy’s rooms, she expected the door to be locked. But the door was open, and she let herself in. Did that mean he was home already? There was nothing to do but turn on the lights, she realized.
Otherwise, the young sailor with the rifle would climb the stairs and see if anything was wrong. She snapped the switch. It was one big room, and he was not there. The bed was mussed, and the ashtray on the table beside it was full of cigarette butts. Half had lipstick on them. That damned Charity doesn’t even have the decency to clean up after herself, Ann thought angrily. She dumped the cigarette butts into a wastebasket under the washbasin, then searched in drawers and closets for clean sheets and pillowcases.
She had just finished making the bed when she heard footsteps on the wooden stairs. Suddenly absolutely unable to face Dick Canidy, she retreated first against the wall, then into a closet. I’ll have to come out, she thought as she peered through a crack in the slatted door, but not this instant! “Richard? You there?” a male voice called. In a moment, she saw who it was. It was Eric Fulmar, someone everybody seemed to know but no one was willing to talk about. “Shit,” Fulmar said, “nobody’s home.” Now he’ll go. Please, God, make him go!
Eric Fulmar looked around the room, found what he was looking for-Canidy’s liquor-made himself a drink, and settled himself comfortably to wait for Canidy in the room’s one upholstered chair. He didn’t have long to wait. An automobile was on the drive. A car door opened and closed, then she heard Canidy’s voice: “Thanks. Sorry you had to wait up for me.” And then there was the sound of his footsteps coming up the stairs, apparently two at a time. “What the hell?”
Canidy said when he saw Fulmar. “Find everything you wanted?” he asked unpleasantly.
He was wearing his Air Corps uniform. When he took off the tunic, Ann was sure that he would want to hang it up, pull open the closet door, and find her hiding there. But there were two closets, and Canidy kept his uniforms in the other one. “I found the booze,’ Fulmar said.