Terri Deems arrived alone at eight-thirty, and Dennis went back into the theatre lobby and waited in the coat room until she passed, then went back outside. Ann arrived just before nine o'clock. She was bundled in a maroon coat and a gray cloche, and looked, Dennis thought, absolutely wonderful.
She saw him as she began to cross the street from the parking lot, and her steps slowed. He walked across the empty street toward her, and she took his arm. Tears hung in her eyes.
"I heard," she said in a choked voice. "I heard on the radio this morning. Dennis, is it true? Did Sid?…”
"No," he said. "It looks that way, but I don't believe he could have. I told you how he felt about Donna."
"And I know how she felt about him. It wasn't so much what she said as how she acted when he came into the office."
They walked inside and sat, still in their coats, on an upholstered bench in the lobby, where he told her everything that had happened the previous night. Ann cried in his arms over the loss of Donna, and they sat in silence for a long time. Finally he spoke.
"I wanted you to know something – about what Terri told you. This may be hard to understand… but maybe no harder than a lot of other things that have been happening."
He took a deep breath and looked down at the dark, swirling colors of the giant Oriental rug. He had to tell her. He could not let her think Terri a liar. "I'm afraid that she may have been partially right about the other night. Not that I seduced her – I didn't. That's the truth. But I may have said some things that… may have given her the wrong impression. I've been having lapses in memory, in judgment too, I'm afraid. These deaths, these… losses have hurt me, weakened me. It's as though I'm… not myself sometimes." He gathered the courage to look at her. "Can you understand that? And can you forgive me?"
"I can always forgive you," she said, taking his hand. "I know you, Dennis. I've known you for so long, and I know that you're a good man. Terri is… well, she's confused. I think it would be easy for her to misunderstand what might be only a sign of approach, of affection, for something else."
"I'm glad you believe me, Ann. I needed you before, but I need you more than ever now."
"You have me. For as long as you want."
"You may regret saying that," he told her, with the hint of a smile. "What do you mean?"
"I don't want this to sound callous, but we're going on with Craddock. John and I talked it over last night – poor man, I think it was harder for him than it was for me. He treated Donna like a daughter for years. But we decided it would serve no purpose to delay the show. That's why Donna and Tommy and… and Robin were here. And I won't leave the area anyway – not as long as Sid's in jail. It won't be an ideal situation. It'll be harder than ever for the show to come off on time, but we can do it. If we have your help."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Take over Donna's position. You know the job, you know everything that it would take someone else months to learn. Donna was irreplaceable, we all know that. But if anyone can come close to what she did, it's you. And John agrees with me."
He had feared she would hesitate, claiming ignorance or inability, but she did not, and love and admiration surged through him as he saw her nod, heard her say, "All right. I'll do it. If you and John think I can, then I can. I only have one request.”
“And that is?"
"I want to move in here. Into the building, in one of the vacant fourth floor suites."
Dennis felt ice in the pit of his stomach. "No, Ann. No."
"Dennis, I have to. I've seen what Donna's job was like. She had to be accessible to John at all times."
He sought for an excuse to keep her out of the building. "But what about Terri? You want her to live alone?"
"I never see her now as it is. I think we'd both be more comfortable if we were apart for a while. Maybe that's a coward's way out, but I just can't bear any more confrontations with her."
"No. It's too dangerous."
"Dangerous?"
" Yes. There have been four deaths in this building."
"And they all have explanations, Dennis. Tommy and Robin's deaths were both accidental, Harry, as impossible as it seems, had to be a suicide, and…" She trailed off.
"And Sid killed Donna? Is that what you think?"
"What else is there to think, Dennis? After what you told me about the two of them being the only ones there? I agree, it seems incredible that Sid could do such a thing, but what other explanation is there? I like Sid too, and if you could give me another possibility I'd grab onto it."
"He didn't do it, Ann."
"You say that as his best friend, but do you really believe it?"
Dennis thought about Sid and Donna and the Emperor's hand going through the wall, his own fingers feeling nothing but air where the Emperor stood, thought about Terri's accusation, thought about how real artists' creations could be. "I don't know," he said. "I really don't know."
"I'm moving in, Dennis. That's the only way I'll agree."
"Then you can't agree," he said, calling her bluff. "You cannot move in here. In fact, Whitney's moving out tomorrow – Marvella's daughter finally found a place that's suitable. But even if she hadn't, I'd have the two of them put in a hotel, whether Marvella kicked and screamed or not."
"All right, Dennis. I'll stay at home then. But I think you're being too cautious.”
“I don't," he said. "Trust me."
~* ~
Little work was done in the Venetian Theatre offices that day. Robert Leibowitz, Sid's attorney, spoke with Steinberg, Dennis, and Curt for hours, then spent nearly as much time in Sid's suite in the company of a policeman. By late afternoon, Dennis felt exhausted, and when Steinberg asked him to join him for dinner, at first he declined.
"Come on, Dennis," Steinberg said. "It'll be good for you to get away from the building for a while. Besides, your own cooking could be fatal, you know." So he agreed to meet John at six-thirty, when they would walk together to the Inn.
When he arrived in the lobby, he saw Whitney sitting on a chair, swinging her short legs back and forth. When she looked up, her expression was far removed from her usual childish glow of wonder. "Hello, Whitney," he said, smiling at her, but she did not smile back.
"Hello, Mr. Hamilton."
"Waiting for your grandmother?"
She nodded. "We're going to McDonald's. Then we're gonna work in the shop tonight. I'm gonna help."
"Ah. Are you excited about going home?"
"Yeah," she said. "It'll be okay." She looked down for a moment, then said with juvenile candor, "Mr. Hamilton, is it true about Sid? Did he really hurt – kill Donna?"
"I don't know, Whitney. I'd rather believe not."
"I don't think he did," the girl said. "He loved her too much to hurt her. He never hurt me, and he got mad at me sometimes."
Dennis smiled, blessing the trust of children, wishing that it remained in himself. "I think you may be right, Whitney. I hope so anyway."
"Then did someone else do it?"
"I… I don't know. It could be, I suppose."
"I'm not afraid. Grandma'll take care of me."
"I'm sure she will." As if on cue, the elevator doors opened, and Marvella stepped out. "Hello, Marvella."
"Dennis," she said, and nodded to him. She looked as though she had been crying. "Awful thing, awful thing."
He nodded back, and without another word she took her granddaughter's hand and they left the building.
Dinner was mercifully bereft of any discussion of the killing, but it was there all the same, a ghostly presence, impossible to ignore, that sat at the table with them over each course, that ingratiated itself in every bite of food, every word they spoke.
"You didn't eat very much," Steinberg observed as the waiter cleared away Dennis's half-eaten dessert.