She scanned his face anxiously. "Was it the girl?"
"Sure it was the girl. Who else would it be? You think the cops didn't know who it was before I identified her?"
"Then why did they need you?"
"Because it's the law, that's why. It's like a routine you got to go through."
"Did they ask you any questions, Joe?"
"Cops always ask questions."
"Like what? What did they ask you?"
"Like did she have any enemies? What was the name of her boyfriend? Who were her friends? Was she upset lately? When was the last time I saw her?"
"And what did you tell them?"
"What do you think I told them? I told them I didn't know of no boyfriend, that this girl Celia who works for the Hoskins is the only girlfriend she's got I know of, that she looked ail right to me and I didn't see no signs of her being upset."
"And did you tell them when was the last time you saw her?"
"Sure, it was around one-two o'clock yesterday. Jesus, what's all this questioning? I get it from the cops and then I come home and get it from you. And all morning, I haven't even had a cup of coffee yet?"
"I'll get you some coffee, Joe. Would you like some toast with it? Eggs? Cereal?"
"No, just coffee. I'm all wound up-my stomach it's all tied up in knots."
She went about heating the coffee. Without turning she asked, "Which was it, one or two-o'clock, that you last saw her, Joe?"
He canted his head at the ceiling. "Let's see, I came down and had my breakfast-around noon, wasn't it? I saw her then. I guess I did-" uncertainly. "Anyway, I heard her giving the kids their lunch and then getting them ready for their nap. Then I went up to get dressed and by the time I came back she was already gone."
"You didn't see her after that?"
"What do you mean? What the hell are you driving at?"
"Well, you were going to give her a ride in to Lynn, remember?"
"So?"
"So I wondered, did you meet her before she caught the bus? Or maybe, did you bump into her in Lynn?"
A tinge of red crept into his swarthy face. He rose slowly from the kitchen table. "All right, come on. Let's have it. What are you hinting at?"
She was a little frightened now, but she had gone too far to stop. "Don't you think I've seen the looks you've given her? How do I know you weren't seeing her on her day off? Or maybe right here when I wasn't around?"
"So that's it! I look at a babe and that means I'm sleeping with her. And when I get tired of her, I kill her. Is that what you're trying to say? And I suppose, like a good citizen, you're going to tell the cops."
"You know I wouldn't do that, Joe. I'm just thinking maybe somebody saw you, and if they did I could say like she was going on an errand for me, to cover you."
"I ought to break this over your face," he said, picking up the sugar bowl.
"Oh, yes? Well, don't you go acting innocent with me, Joe Serafino," she shouted. "Don't tell me you wouldn't make a pass at a girl living right here in the same house. I've seen you when you gave the girl and the kids a ride and how you'd brush up against her when you were helping her out of the car. How come you never have to help me out of the car? I saw you right here through the kitchen window. And how about the other girl, Gladys? Don't try to tell me there was nothing between you and her, with her walking around practically mother-naked in her room while you were sitting here in the kitchen and the door half open. And how many's the time-"
The doorbell rang. It was Hugh Lanigan.
"Mrs. Serafino? I want to ask you some questions."
11
Alice Hoskins, Bryn Mawr '57, the mother of two children and very obviously soon to have a third, invited the chief of police into her living room. The floor was covered with an oyster-white wall-to-wall figured broad-loom. The furniture was Danish modern, odd-shaped pieces of highly polished teak and black sailcloth seemingly curved or sloping the wrong way, yet strangely comfortable to sit in. There was a coffee table, a slab of dark walnut supported by four glass legs. On one wall hung a large abstract painting, vaguely suggestive of a female head; on another, a grotesque ebony mask, the features sharply etched and heightened in white. There were ashtrays scattered about, of sharp-edged crystal, most of them full to overflowing with cigarette butts. It was the sort of room that could be attractive only if kept scrupulously tidy with everything in its rightful place; and the room was a mess. Toys were scattered about the floor; a child's red sweater had been tossed on a chair of wrought iron and white leather; a glass, a quarter full of milk, was on the mantelpiece; a mussed newspaper was on the couch.
Mrs. Hoskins, thin and drawn except for her protuberant belly, waddled over to the couch, swept the newspaper onto the floor, and sat down. She patted the seat beside her in invitation, offered Lanigan a cigarette from a crystal box on the coffee table, and took one for herself. There was a matching table lighter, but as he reached for it she said, "It doesn't work," and struck a match for him.
"Celia is out with the children just now, but she should be back very soon," she said.
"It's just as well," he said. And then getting right to business: "Was she very friendly with Elspeth?"
"Celia is friendly with everybody, Mr. Lanigan. She's one of those plain girls who goes in for being friendly. You know, a plain girl has to have something else. Some go in for brains and some go in for causes and some go in for being friendly and good sports. That's Celia. She's jolly and a good sport and frightfully keen on the children. And they're crazy about her. I'm just here to have them; she takes care of them from then on."
"She been with you long?"
"Ever since before the first one arrived. She came to us when I was in my last month."
"So she's a good bit older than Elspeth?"
"Goodness, yes. Celia is twenty-eight or nine."
"Did she talk to you about Elspeth?"
"Oh yes. We talked about all kinds of things. We're quite good pals, you know. I mean, Celia has a lot of common sense even though she hasn't had much schooling. I think she left school about the second year of high, but she's been around and she knows people. She felt sorry for Elspeth. Celia is always feeling sorry for people. In this case, I suppose with some justification, Elspeth being a stranger and all. And the girl was shy. She didn't like to go places and do things. Celia bowls regularly and goes to dances and beach parties in the summer and skating in the winter, but she could never get Elspeth to come along. She would take in a movie with her occasionally, and of course they were together most afternoons with the children, but Celia could never get her to go bowling or to dances-you know, places where a girl could meet men." "Surely you talked about the reason for it."
"Of course we did. Celia thought that part of it was just natural shyness-some girls are, you know-and that maybe she didn't have the clothes for dances. Also, I suspect that Celia's crowd were probably too old for Elspeth."
Lanigan fished in his pocket and brought out a snapshot of the girl and the two Serafino children. "Mrs. Serafino gave me that. It was the only picture she had of the girl. Would you say it was a good likeness?"
"Oh, that's the girl all right."
"I mean, would you call that a characteristic expression, Mrs. Hoskins? We might run it in the papers-"
"You mean with the two children?"
"Oh no, we'd block them out."
"I suppose public curiosity must be satisfied, but I didn't realize the police were so cooperative," she said coldly.
He laughed. "It's the other way around, Mrs. Hoskins. We expect the press to cooperate by printing the picture. It may enable us to trace her movements yesterday."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"And would you say that the expression is characteristic?" he persisted.
She looked at the snapshot again. "Yes, that's like her. She was really quite an attractive girl. A little on the stocky side, but not fat-what we used to call corn-fed. Perhaps buxom would be a nicer word. Of course, I used to see her around with the children with little or no makeup and her hair just pulled back-but what woman does look nice when she's doing housework or taking care of children? I saw her all dressed up once in high heels and a party dress and her hair curled, and she looked quite lovely. It was just a few days after she came to work for the Serafinos. Oh, I remember-it was in February, Washington's Birthday. We'd bought a couple of tickets to the Policemen and Firemen's Ball. We gave them to Celia, of course-"