“Why don’t you and Howard take me into your confidence, Michael?”
“There is nothing to confide so far.”
“But you will take me into your confidence when the time comes?”
“That will depend on Howard. It’s his decision.”
“Then I’ll be kept in the dark,” the old man said sadly. “If I ask questions Howard will merely send me away on one of my so-called duties, charting a bunch of silly boats passing in the channel, or driving to the post office or anything else to get me out of the way because I am a nuisance. I am as useless as the magoi, taking up space, killing time until it kills me.”
“Howard loves and respects and admires you, Mr. Hyatt.”
“He used to. At one time I deserved respect and a certain amount of admiration, perhaps even some love.”
“I hate to hear you talking like this, Mr. Hyatt.”
“Of course you do, Michael. Ministers are the last people in the world who want to hear the truth. It so often disputes their version of the world.”
When they reached the palace Mr. Hyatt opened the front door. Leaves stirred and rustled like living creatures scurrying away to hide from danger.
“Someone has been here, Michael. There are signs. One of the dolls is lying on her side and I left her on her back. And the cushions on the davenport are out of place. And look here, a teacup in the sink. All the dishes were stored in the cupboard when I left. There are other signs, little things I can’t quite put my finger on. But I know. I know.”
He was breathing so hard and fast by this time that Michael, afraid he was going to have a heart attack, tried to persuade him to sit down. But he refused to sit. He began opening and closing drawers and cupboards and closets. In the main closet with the sliding door several of Annamay’s dresses were still hanging, as well as larger-sized clothes (Kay’s? Chizzy’s?) used to play grown-up. There were a couple of mismatched sneakers, some socks and a sweater, and, tossed into a corner, a pair of high-heeled sandals. They were both large and wide, with rhinestone straps and heels narrow as nails.
“Those peculiar shoes,” Mr. Hyatt said. “I’ve never seen them before.”
“They’re probably Kay’s or Chizzy’s.”
“Dear me, no. Kay would never wear such trollopy things, and Chizzy couldn’t walk across a room in heels like that without breaking her neck. Besides, they’re much too big for her.”
“Annamay might have borrowed them from one of the maids.”
“The maids are all Mexican, short in stature, with small hands and feet. These look as if they might belong to a tall black woman but there are no tall black women on the staff.”
Michael took the shoes out of the closet and examined them. They were almost brand-new, bearing only a few scratches on the soles. He put them back in the closet and closed the door.
“I never saw those shoes before,” Mr. Hyatt repeated. “But perhaps I merely overlooked them and they’ve been here all along.”
“Perhaps.”
“Do you think we should clean the place up a bit before we go?”
“No. A few leaves and a little dirt won’t hurt anything and I think Howard should see the room as it is.”
“Why?”
“He might want to ask the police to go over it for signs of forced entry.”
The old man was silent a moment. “No, Michael. Howard has lost his faith in the police. And who can blame him? They’ve made no arrests and even the people detained for questioning have been let go within a few hours. Yet they must know, as Howard knows, and I know in my heart, that one of those people is guilty… Do you believe a person is innocent until proven guilty?”
“The law says so and I must abide by it.”
“That wasn’t my question. I didn’t use the word abide. You abide, certainly. But do you believe a person is innocent until proven guilty?”
“No.”
“You’re aware of dozens of guilty people walking around the streets, even sitting in your congregation. Aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
Mr. Hyatt locked the door of the palace and returned the keyring to his pocket. Then he began walking back toward the main house, shaking his head with each step like a mechanical man, a toy soldier without a war.
Michael left him where he’d found him, in the redwood chair beside the koi pond. The multicolored koi were still swimming aimlessly round and round but the old black giant had gone back to his hideout in the deepest darkest water.
Chapter Seven
Chizzy was cooking again.
While cleaning out the freezer she’d come across five pounds of hamburger which had to be used because it had passed the expiration date on the label. She cooked the whole batch in a Dutch oven, added onions and tomatoes and various spices, and divided the meat into four casseroles. To one she added rice and to another pinto beans. Noodles went into the third and bulgur into the last.
Then, faced with the four casseroles, she sat down and had a good cry because there was no one to eat them. Kay had gone to dinner with Ben York, Mr. Hyatt said he wasn’t hungry, and Howard had shut himself up in the guest cottage, leaving a note on the kitchen table that he was not to be disturbed. She knew Michael was there too because she’d heard his car on the driveway. His car was as noisy as Ben’s but not in the same way. Ben’s gave the impression of speed and power; Michael’s coughed and gasped and wheezed like an old gasoholic having one final binge.
Chizzy cried as quickly and efficiently as she did her housework, and pretty soon it was over and she rubbed her face briskly with a wet towel. Then she decided on a sensible apportionment of the casseroles. One she would deliver to Howard and Michael personally since she did not include herself in any Do Not Disturb notes. She would store one in the refrigerator and take another over to Ernestina, the maid next door, who would probably add chili powder and jala-peños and ruin the whole thing. Mrs. Cunningham down the street was considered briefly as a recipient of the fourth, but her reaction to the meat loaf had been so peculiar that Chizzy decided to eat the casserole herself. She left it in the oven to keep warm while she carried Howard’s over to the guest cottage, wearing the padded mitts she used for barbecues.
It was seven o’clock. Fog had rolled in from the sea before sunset and the gray night was somehow more sinister than any plain black one. Though she never would have admitted it, Chizzy was afraid of the night anyway. She turned on all the little lights that lined the garden paths and took the two dogs with her for protection.
The vertical Venetian blinds of the guest cottage were angled shut but light squeezed out from the sides. Though the windows were closed she could hear voices inside, Howard’s and Michael’s and a third voice, louder than the others and higher-pitched. Holding the casserole close to her chest for warmth and comfort, she knocked on the door with the toe of her shoe.
There was immediate silence, then Howard’s voice:
“Who is it?”
“Me. I brought you a—”
“Didn’t you get the note not to disturb me?”
“Yes. But I didn’t think you meant me.”
“It was addressed to you.”
“I thought you might mean, oh, sort of the public in general.”
“The public in general doesn’t have access to my kitchen.”
Someone in the room laughed, certainly not Howard and probably not Michael. That left the stranger. She didn’t know what he could be laughing at. Nothing funny had been said and there was certainly nothing funny about standing out in a cold gray night being rebuked like an ordinary servant. She felt her face redden.
“You open this door immediately, Mr. Howard,” she said in the firm tone she used on the dogs. “I brought you and the Reverend some supper and I don’t intend to stay out here all night holding it.”