Jack appeared at the head of the stairs, white-faced and nervous. “Has he gone?”
“He’s gone.” She watched him with a kind of cynical detachment as he descended the stairs. He was wearing a hat and topcoat, and carrying a Gladstone bag in one hand and a large briefcase in the other. “Why all the panic?”
“For God’s sake, I told you, he’s a detective. He was asking Charley all kinds of questions about me. What did you tell him?”
“Oh, I was very ingenuous. Or is it ingenious? Probably both. I pretended I wasn’t on your side.”
“Pretended. That’s a laugh.”
“My dear Jack, please stop fluttering like a nervous bride. Where do you think you’re going?”
“Away. I can’t stand being hounded like this.”
“Who’s hounding you?”
“Hiller. Evangeline’s husband. He’s hired detectives to get something on me.”
“What a waste of time and money when all he’d really have to do is peek over the transom sometime when you’re giving dictation.” Her smile was full of contempt. “If you must indulge in these sordid little affairs, you must expect to have sordid little men following you around.”
He was too disturbed to take offense at her words and tone. “Evangeline says he’s got a terrible temper. She says he may kill me.”
“Well, if he does I’ll do everything in my power to see that he pays the penalty.”
“My God, will you quit making a joke of this? I’ve got to get out of town, I tell you.”
“What’s stopping you?”
Jack hesitated for a moment, looking down at the floor. “Well, frankly, old girl, I was counting on you for—”
“Well, frankly, old boy, you’re not getting any because I haven’t got any.”
“You must have something.”
Shirley laughed. “Must I?”
“What do you do with your money?”
“I feed and clothe my children, which is somewhat more commendable than your practice of feeding and clothing every blonde floozy who walks across your path.”
“Evangeline happens to be a natural brunette.”
“No doubt you’ve examined the roots of her hair. Revolting thought.”
“Don’t you talk like that about Evie. I love her. This is the first time I’ve ever been in love.”
“First time since last Tuesday, anyway. Are you going to take the girl with you, wherever you go?”
“No. She says she can handle Hiller all right.”
“I’ll bet she can. He probably examines the roots of her hair, too.”
He was quiet a moment. Then he said, painfully, “You have a nasty tongue.”
“It has quite a lot to be nasty about.”
“I had no idea until recently that you had become such a... shrew.”
“Shrews are made, not born. Maybe you had a hand in the making, Jack.”
“I hope not,” he said in a sober voice. “I really hope not.”
“As for money, much as I’d enjoy speeding your departure, I’m afraid I can’t. Try Mother. Or Willett. You and Willett have always been such pals, I’m sure he wouldn’t let you down. Except into a nice, deep hole.” She turned away, adding, over her shoulder, “I wrote Willett’s number on the phone book under Mother’s name.”
“Shirley. Wait.”
“Why?”
“I guess I said some unpleasant things. I apologize. I’m sorry.”
“Really?” She flashed him a steely smile. “The answer is still no. You’re not getting any money from me because I haven’t any.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Don’t be silly, Jack, I know what you meant. I’ve been on to you since I was three.”
“Shirley, listen. Do you suppose — would it be possible to sell some of this museum ware?”
“Mother would miss it when she comes back.”
“If. If she comes back.”
Shirley’s face had turned a dusty pink. “She’ll be back, she’s got to be.”
“Just don’t bet on it, old girl.”
“She’s got to be back,” Shirley said again, and stood directly in front of him with her chin out and her feet planted squarely as if daring him to knock her off balance.
Jack took a backward step, propping himself against the banister for support. Though he was two years older than Shirley he had always been a little afraid of her. Even when they were children, she had exercised a power over him which he resented but couldn’t understand or explain.
“There’s always one way of raising money,” he said. “Isn’t there?”
“Borrow from the bank.”
“I have borrowed from the bank. Ad nauseam. It’s reached the point where they lock the place up when they see me coming. No, the bank is out. I was thinking of something a little more drastic.”
“Pandering for Evangeline?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean, and don’t pretend you don’t care. If Willett won’t lend me enough money to get to Mexico or perhaps Hawaii, I’ll sell my stock in the factory.”
“You’ll sell that stock over three dead bodies, mine and Willett’s and Mother’s.”
“That’s an interesting thought, but it’s not very realistic. That stock happens to be mine, an outright gift from my unsainted mother.”
“On condition that you keep it in the family.”
“All right, I’ll keep it in the family. Want to buy it, old girl?”
The only sign of her anger was the sudden and violent clenching of her fists. Her voice was steady. “You know I can’t raise that much money.”
“Perhaps Willett can.”
“And if he can’t?”
“I’ll sell to someone else.”
“Mother will kill you if you do that.”
“Mother’s not in a position to kill anyone.”
“I am.”
“You’re a violent little thing, aren’t you?” he said with a lightness he didn’t feel.
“I can be, if I have to. You’re not selling that stock, Jack.”
“No?”
“No. The factory is outs, it always has been and it always will be.”
“You’re living in a dream.”
“It’s a good solid dream with an income attached.”
“I don’t see it that way.”
“Then you’re a fool. Where would you be without an income? What kind of a job could you hold? Sell your stock and you’ll piddle the money away in a year. Evangeline will be wearing mink but you’ll be wearing a barrel.”
It was calculated to strike hard and it did. Jack was extremely particular about his clothes, and the image of himself clad in a barrel, even a well-tailored barrel, shook him to the very core. All sorts of ghastly pictures ran through his mind: escorting Evangeline to the Top of the Mark and being refused a table because of his costume; trying to board a cable car and being unable to squeeze inside; Evangeline, haughty in mink and diamonds, rejecting him openly in the Embassy Club; small boys and large dogs chasing him down the street, and medium-sized women jeering at him from windows and doorways.
“Well?” Shirley said.
“I—” He wiped the sweat off his forehead with a shaking hand. “I guess I’ll phone Willett.”
“Do that.”
“Maybe if he can’t lend me a few thousand to get away until things cool off, he’ll let me stay with him in La Mesa for a while.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“After all, blood’s thicker than water.”
My blood is, Shirley thought. She wasn’t sure about Jack’s or Willett’s. She said, “Actually there’s no hurry about your leaving, is there? If this man Clyde really is a detective, that may be exactly what he expects you to do. He’s probably parked around the corner waiting for you to make the next move.”