“Why?”
“I told you. He’s a brave man.”
“Maybe he had ties in Chicote, the same kind that keep you here.”
“You mean his mother? Or me?”
“Neither,” Quinn said. “I mean Martha O’Gorman.”
Willie’s face looked ready to fall apart, but she caught it in time and held it together by sheer will power. The effort left her trembling. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I don’t see why. She’s an attractive woman and she has class.”
“Class? So that’s what you call it when someone acts as though she’s better than the rest of us. I know all about Martha O’Gorman. My best friend works with her at the hospital lab and she says Martha throws a fit if anyone makes the least little mistake.”
“The least little mistake in a hospital lab can be pretty big.”
Quinn realized that Willie, not for the first time, had quite neatly turned the conversation away from George. There are certain kinds of birds, he thought, that protect their nests, when they’re threatened, by pretending the nest is someplace else. The maneuver involves a lot of squawking and wing-beating; Willie’s good at both, but she’s a little too obvious, and she suffers from the current disadvantage of not being entirely sure where her nest is and what’s going on inside it.
Willie kept right on squawking, anyway. “She’s a cold, hard woman. You’ve only to look at that frozen face of hers to figure out that much. The girls at the lab are all scared of her.”
“You seem pretty scared of her yourself, Willie.”
“Me? Why should I be?”
“Because of George.”
She began, once again, telling Quinn how ridiculous the idea was, how absolutely absurd to think of George paying attention to a woman like that. But her words had a hollow ring, and Quinn knew she wasn’t even convincing herself. He knew another thing, too: Willie King was suffering from a severe case of jealousy, and he wondered what had caused it. A week ago she had seemed a great deal more sure of herself, and the only fly in her amber was George’s mother. Now the amber was polished and other flies had become visible. Martha O’Gorman and the sun-browned maidens with hibiscus in their hair, and perhaps still others Quinn hadn’t yet discovered.
Thirteen
It was an old white-brick three-storied house, a Victorian dowager looking down her nose and trying to ignore the oil-rich newcomers she was forced to associate with. Behind thick lace curtains and bristling turrets she brooded, pondered, disapproved, and fought a losing battle against the flat-roofed ranch-styles and stucco and redwood boxes. Quinn expected that the woman who answered the door would match the house.
Mrs. Haywood didn’t. She was slim and stylish in beige-colored linen. Her hair was dyed platinum pink, and her face bore the barely visible scars of a surgical lifting. She looked as youthful as her son George, except for the ancient griefs that showed in her eyes.
Quinn said, “Mrs. Haywood?”
“Yes.” No amount of surgery could disguise her voice; it was the cracked whine of an old woman. “I buy nothing from peddlers.”
“My name is Joe Quinn. I’d like to discuss some business with Mr. Haywood.”
“Business should be confined to the office.”
“I called his office and was told he wasn’t in. I took a chance on his being home.”
“He’s not.”
“Well, I’m sorry to have bothered you, Mrs. Haywood. When your husband gets home, please tell him to get in touch with me, will you? I’m at Frisby’s Motel on Main Street.”
“Husband?” She pounced on the word like a starving cat. Quinn could almost feel the sting of her claws. He was both repelled and moved to pity by the desperate hunger in her eyes and the coy girlish smile that failed to hide it. “You’ve made a mistake, Mr. Quinn, but what a very nice one. It’s too bad all the mistakes we humans make can’t be so pleasant. George is my son.”
Quinn was sorry he’d had to use such raw bait but it was too late now to snatch it away. “That’s hard to believe.”
“Quite frankly, I adore flattery, so I’m not going to argue with you.”
“I’m sure the mistake’s been made before, Mrs. Haywood.”
“Oh yes, on a number of occasions, but it never fails to astonish and amuse me. I’m afraid poor George isn’t quite so amused. Perhaps this time I won’t tell him about it; it will remain our little secret, Mr. Quinn, just between you and me.”
And the next hundred people she meets, Quinn thought.
Now that he had come face to face with Mrs. Haywood, he was no longer surprised by her complete rejection of her two daughters. There was no room in the house for younger females who might invite comparisons. Mrs. Haywood’s maternal instinct was a good deal weaker than her instinct for self-preservation. She meant to survive, on her own terms, and she couldn’t afford the luxury of sentiment. Poor Willie, her road to security has more chuckholes and detours than she’s equipped to handle. If there was no room in the house for Alberta and Ruth, there will certainly be none for Willie.
Mrs. Haywood had assumed a picturesque, fashion-magazine pose against the doorjamb. “Of course, I’ve always kept fit. I see no reason why people should let themselves go after fif—forty. I’ve always tried to impress upon my family my own axiom: you are what you eat.”
If Mrs. Haywood subsisted on gall and wormwood, then her axiom was undoubtedly true. Quinn said, “I’m sorry to have missed Mr. Haywood. Will he be in his office later this afternoon?”
“Oh no. George is in Hawaii.” She obviously didn’t like either the change of subject or the idea of George being in Hawaii. “Doctor’s orders. It’s absurd, of course. There’s nothing the matter with George that good cold showers and hard exercise won’t cure. But then, doctors are all alike, aren’t they? When they have no real cure to offer they recommend a change of climate and scene. Are you a friend of George’s?”
“I have some business to discuss with him.”
“Well, I don’t know when he’ll be back. The trip came as a complete surprise to me. He didn’t even mention it to me until after he’d bought his ticket. Then it was too late for me to do anything about it. It seems terribly foolish and extravagant to spend all that money because some incompetent doctor suggests it. George could just as easily have gone to stay in San Felice, the climate’s the same as Hawaii. I have my own share of aches and pains but I don’t take off for exotic places. I simply increase my wheat germ and tiger’s milk and do a few extra knee bends. Do you believe in vigorous exercise, Mr. Quinn?”
“Oh yes. Yes, indeed.”
“I thought so. You seem very fit.”
She changed her pose from fashion magazine to Olympic champion, and looked hopefully at Quinn as if she expected another compliment. Quinn couldn’t think of any he could offer without gagging. He said instead, “Do you happen to know what airline Mr. Haywood took?”
“No. Should I?”
“You said he’d bought his ticket. I thought he might have showed it to you.”
“He brandished an envelope under my nose but I knew he was only doing it to annoy me so I pretended complete indifference. I will not be provoked into a common quarrel, it’s too hard on the heart and the arteries. I simply express my viewpoint and refuse to discuss the matter any further. George was quite aware how I felt about this trip of his. I considered it unnecessary and extravagant, and I told him point-blank that if he was really concerned about his health he’d stay home more in the evenings instead of chasing around after women.”
“Mr. Haywood isn’t married?”