“You and I will work together, boy. Between the two of us we’ll beat the bank, the cops, the lawyers, we’ll take on the whole damn navy. How about it?”
“I don’t think I’m equipped for that big a job.”
“Okay, let’s start nice and easy at the beginning. First we get the hell out of here.”
“Well, I—”
“What’s the matter, losing your nerve before we even start?”
“Having me along would cramp your style,” Michael said. “Besides, a less direct approach might be more successful.”
“Stop the wishy-washy talk. What do you mean?”
“I’m referring to the book Miss Firenze is writing.”
“Oh that, sure. Sure, that’ll teach the navy a thing or two, but it’s taking so long. I want action now. Today.”
“What day is it, Miss Firenze?”
“Oh, maybe Tuesday, Wednesday, somewhere along in there.”
It was Thursday. “What month is it?”
“It’s cold, maybe winter. Why are you asking me? Go look at a calendar.”
Her nails picked at her black robe as if they were scratching the earth for insects.
“Miss Firenze.”
“Why are you asking me a bunch of dumb questions?”
“I’m trying to find out what happened to the little girl who lived in the house across the canyon.”
“How should I know? I never took on little girls, never a one less than fourteen years old and then only if some of my bitches tried to go in business for themselves leaving me short-handed.”
“Annamay Hyatt was eight years old.” But even as he spoke he realized how useless it was to ask any further questions. She didn’t know what day it was, or what month, probably not even what year. How could she remember seeing Annamay at any particular time? Perhaps she had never seen her at all.
“I hate kids, always have,” Miss Firenze said confidentially. “Ms. Leigh warned me never to say that in front of anyone, especially those cops who were crawling all over the place. But it’s true. She said I’d better shut my mouth or they’d put me in prison. They can’t put me in prison for hating kids, can they?”
“No.”
“Besides, where the hell do you think I am now, with bars on the windows and gates kept locked? I’m thinking of running away and getting married.”
“How will you manage that?”
“Never you mind. I’m a practical woman. Cheap, some call me. Let them.” She reached for a folded paper napkin on the night table beside the bed. “Guess what’s in here.”
“I can’t.”
“Try.”
“A piece of jewelry, perhaps?”
“You think I’m stupid or something, keeping jewelry lying around in a house with a pack of thieves in it? This” — she waved the napkin at him — “is something left over from breakfast. That’s your clue.”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t help much.”
“Give up?”
“Yes.”
She opened the napkin which contained what appeared to be several dark stones. For a moment he thought they might be part of her collection of gallstones she kept in the cigar box along with her teeth and wedding ring.
“Raisins,” she said triumphantly. “Ha, fooled you, didn’t I? Raisins. I saved them from my bran cereal this morning. You never can tell when the champagne’s going to go flat. I watched many a buck disappear in thin air until I discovered the secret of raisins.”
“I wasn’t aware raisins had a secret.”
“Oh yes. I found out from one of my girls. When a magnum of champagne goes flat you drop in a couple of raisins and like magic up come the bubbles again.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Usually. Sometimes you hit a rotten raisin. But these look pretty good, don’t you think?”
“Yes. Now about the little girl who disappeared—”
“Many little girls disappear,” Miss Firenze said sternly. “Many more should. Also dogs, horses, cats, cows. The world’s getting too damn full. There isn’t enough champagne for everyone.” She rewrapped the raisins in the napkin and hid them in a drawer of the night table. Because, she explained, you never knew when that flat-chested Oriental might discover the magic power of raisins and no cereal would ever be safe from her again. “If I got married again,” Miss Firenze said, “I wouldn’t have to put up with all this disrespect. My husband would be in charge of my affairs and that silly ass at the bank could go poop in his soup. The last time I asked him for a few thousand dollars to go to Europe to trace my roots he turned me down flat. My name sounds Italian but I think I’m Turkish or Roumanian or something along in there. I’ll never find out for sure until I get married.”
“How will that help you?”
“I told you before, my husband will take charge of my affairs. And I don’t have to ask the bank or the lawyer for permission to get married either. I’m over twenty-one, in case you haven’t noticed.” She giggled into her cupped hands like an embarrassed teenager. “Don’t you think marriage is a good idea?”
“That would depend on the man involved.”
“Oh, he’s very proper. A gentleman, and at least as old as I am. Don’t imagine for a minute I have my eye on any of these young pipsqueaks around here out looking for a fortune. I told you, I’m a practical woman.”
Michael was accustomed to dealing with people who were disturbed to some degree and Miss Firenze didn’t faze him. But trying to pick his way through her facts and fantasies made him a little dizzy. He said, “Does the gentleman know of your intentions?”
“There is an unspoken agreement.”
“Why is the agreement unspoken?”
“Because we’ve never had a chance to talk. I can’t get out through this pack of nitwits and he can’t get in. But he’s ripe and ready.”
“What makes you think so?”
“He spies on me all the time through a telescope. Sends me passionate glances from his spy tower.”
Michael realized with a shock that she was referring to Howard’s father. “How do you know this, Miss Firenze?”
“Because I can see him. I’ve got these binoculars a vice admiral gave me years ago. They’re very powerful, ten by fifty he told me, and so heavy I can hardly lift them. I keep them on the windowsill. The gentleman waves to me over the treetops and I wave back to him over the treetops. It’s very romantic.”
“What is his name?”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t know mine either. Oh, we’ll exchange names before we’re married, of course, because he’ll have to sign a heap of blah-blah papers for the lawyers. He seems like a nice old chap. Likes fish. Sits beside the pond and stares at fish. Well, I can overlook that. I’m a little peculiar myself at times.”
“Mr. Hyatt is the little girl’s grandfather.”
“What little girl?”
“The one I referred to before.”
“I don’t know any such girl. You keep accusing me of using little girls in my business and I never did. I never used one that was less than fourteen, never. Don’t you bad-mouth me, minister man, hypocrite, liar. You get out of here. Get out or I’ll scream. I’ll scream rape, you son of a bitch.” And she threw back her head and opened her mouth and screamed.
The sound chased him out the door and down the stairs like a siren in pursuit.
Ms. Leigh was waiting for him in the tiled hall, along with a muscular young white-coated attendant. Neither of them looked in the least perturbed.
“Jeez, he really is a minister,” the attendant said, raising his voice so he could be heard above the old lady’s continued screams. “Okay, I owe you five.”
“If you didn’t bet on everything, George, you wouldn’t lose so often.”
“I thought you were bluffing again, or kidding.”