“He called this morning and sent me a plant,” Janice told him, spacing her words out with care to keep from slurring.
“Sent you what?”
“A plant—with a note saying that even flowers do it—reincarnate, that is.”
“The bastard.”
Janice’s face screwed up in a sly and wicked smile. “I dumped it in the incin … erator,” she said falteringly. “Pot, plant, flowers, poem, the works—”
Bill grinned and clinked his glass to hers. “That’s my gal.” They sipped their drinks and looked at each other approvingly. Then Bill asked, “He called, you said?”
“Yup. Right after the plant came—and went.”
“What’d he want?”
“Wanted to come up, what do you think?”
“What’d you say?”
“Told him to … bug off, mister … go peddle yer karmers up the street!”
Bill burst out laughing. “You didn’t?”
“Or words to that effect.” Janice winked with pride and nodded her head. “He got the message all right.”
Putting down his drink, Bill reached out, drew his brave, besotted wife into his arms and kissed her soundly.
The telephone rang.
Each felt the other flinch. They drew apart.
Bill took a deep breath, then picked up the receiver.
“Yes,” he said, brusquely, then relaxed and offered the phone to Janice. “It’s Carole, for you.”
Janice’s face fell; it would be a long and weary siege, but there was no way to refuse the call.
Bill picked up drink and shaker and went upstairs to visit Ivy, whom he found sitting on the floor, Indian-style, surrounded by elements of Clue. Her eyes shone with a healthy glow as she reached up, took his hand, and placed it against her cool face.
“One game; Daddy, please?” she begged, gazing up at him with her impossible-to-refuse smile. “Mom played terrible,” Ivy complained. “I beat her without even trying.”
Bill could well understand why.
By the time he had finished the last dividend in the shaker they had played two games, which they split, and were on the final lap of the third. The time was ten to five, and good odors were wafting up to them from the kitchen.
Bill wondered if Hoover had received the letter. There was a way to check that. He made two purposeful blunders, allowing Ivy to take the third game. Her victory whoops followed him into the bedroom, where he put in a call to Harold Yates.
“Letter delivered, signed receipt returned, currently stashed in my file case,” Harold informed him with a deep rumble of satisfied laughter.
“Great,” Bill said. “He hasn’t tried to call me.”
“Nor should he! He’s on notice. From this point on, if he bothers you or your family in any way, we go to court and file for injunctive relief.”
“Yeah,” Bill said, then added, “We leave for Hawaii tomorrow, Harry. It’s business, but I’m taking Janice and Ivy along.”
“Excellent. Your timing couldn’t be better. If you want my opinion, you’ve heard the last of Mr. Hoover, so relax and enjoy your trip. Call me when you get back.”
They ate as a family, around the dining room table, at six fifteen. Janice had whipped up a Mexican gala out of cans and packages: a cold gazpacho, allowed to thaw to room temperature from its frozen state, small tamale pies, and bowls of spicy chili, with hot biscuits substituting for the missing tortillas, and topped off with lime sherbet and sesame cookies. Bill and Janice drank Cold Duck with their meal; Ivy drank milk.
Ivy went to bed at eight fifteen, kissing Janice five times and Bill ten, before drowsily snuggling up to Panda for the night. Janice remained with her until she was sound asleep, then went in search of aspirin. The hours of tippling had had their effect on her, producing a dull headache and a logy feeling of depression.
Entering the bedroom, Janice found Bill half packed, moving swiftly and expeditiously between drawers and suitcase, whistling softly as he worked. Janice sank wearily into a chair and gazed at her empty suitcase, unable to cope with the chore ahead of her. Bill flashed her a smile of encouragement, went to her bureau and opened the top drawer for her, prompting her into activity. Janice smiled wanly, struggled out of the chair, and had just taken her first limping step when the house telephone rang downstairs. The ring was normal, noncontinual, routine, yet for Janice in her debilitated state it had the effect of the bells of hell heralding the demon host.
She felt Bill’s hand in hers, and saw the calm smile of assurance on his face, and heard him confidently say, “Pack,” before hurrying out of the room and down the stairs to answer it.
“It’s Mr. Hoover, Mr. Templeton.” The voice belonged to Ralph, the night desk man.
Bill was hardly surprised, yet his heart was pounding.
“All right, put him on.”
“He’s here,” corrected Ralph. “He wants to come up.”
Christ, Bill thought, the prick has nerve.
“Tell him we’re in bed, Ralph,” Bill said harshly. “No, wait! Put him on the phone … I’ll talk to him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bill could hear Ralph mumbling directions to Hoover and could visualize the thin, wiry body making its way across the lobby to the alcove containing the house phones.
“Mr. Templeton?” The voice echoed desolately in the instrument. “May I come up and see you?”
“No,” Bill said. “We’ve just gone to bed.”
—A sound from above reverberated on the ceiling … Janice must have dropped something.…
“I got your letter—the one your lawyer sent. I’d like to discuss it.…”
“There’s nothing to discuss, Mr. Hoover. The letter is self-explanatory and clearly states my position.”
—Footsteps running across the ceiling … a heavy door slam … what the hell was Janice doing?
“I don’t see why you felt the need to go to a lawyer. It’s a matter we could have discussed between ourselves.…”
“Look, Mr. Hoover, I do not wish to have any further discussions with you on this or any other matter. The letter is intended to sever our relationship once and for all. Understood?”
—Was that sobbing? Or laughter? It was hard to tell through the thick paneling and inset paintings.…
“Please, Mr. Templeton, if you’ll just let me speak to you, I think you’ll agree that you need my help as much as I need yours—”
—“Bill! For God’s sake, Bill!” It was Janice! Shouting!
“Listen, Hoover, if you don’t hang up and leave the premises of this building forthwith, I will call the police!”
Bill slammed down the receiver and dashed around the archway into the living room.
—Rat sounds … pattering across the ceiling … a chair falling … directly overhead … Ivy’s room!
Bill’s feet took the steps two at a time to the upper landing, stopping short at Ivy’s open door, almost stumbling over Janice sitting on the floor, sobbing, childlike, staring up at him with a hypnotized horror, shaking her head plaintively, choking out words: “S-she’s … she’s … looking for him.…”