Forster opened the door and the old-fashioned bell at the top tinkled its cheerful warning. “Well, it’s been nice talking to you, Charlie. Come in again soon for another little chat. And say hello to Ben for me.”
“Yes.”
“By the way, that man who was in here asking for your address, he had an official bearing like he was used to ordering people around. But don’t worry, Charlie. I didn’t tell him a thing about that old trouble of yours. I figured it was none of his business if he wasn’t an official, and if he was he’d know about it anyway. It’s all on the record.”
The same drop of water was passing under the bridge, only it was dirtier this time, it smelled worse, it carried more germs. Charlie leaned forward as if he meant to scoop it up with his hand and throw it away, so far away it would disintegrate, and all the dirt and smell and germs with it. But Mr. Forster was watching him, and though his smile was benevolent his eyes were wary. You can never tell what these nuts are going to do, no matter how hard you try to be kind to them.
“You,” Charlie said, “you look like Ben, Mr. Forster.”
“What?”
“You look exactly like Ben. It shows up real clear to me.”
“It does, eh? You’d better go home and get some sleep. You’re tired.”
He was tired but he couldn’t go home. The man might be there waiting for him, ready to ask him questions. He had done nothing wrong, yet he knew he wouldn’t be believed. He couldn’t say it with absolute conviction, the way Louise had the night she found him on Jacaranda Road: “Nothing’s happened, Charlie... You haven’t harmed anyone. The Oakley girl is safe at home, and I believe that even if I hadn’t found you when I did, she’d still be safe at home.”
The Oakley girl was safe at home. So was the Brant girl, Jessie. Or was she? He hadn’t seen her at the playground, or outside her house when he drove past. Perhaps something had happened to her and that was why the man wanted to question him. He might even have to take a lie-detector test. He had heard once that real guilt and feelings of guilt showed up almost the same on a lie-detector test. If he were asked whether he knew Jessie Brant he would say no because this was the truth. But his heart would leap, his blood pressure would rise, his voice would choke up, he would start sweating, and all these things would be recorded on the chart and brand him a liar. Even Ben would think he was lying. Only Louise would believe him, only Louise. He felt a terrible need to hear her say: “Nothing happened, Charlie. The Oakley girl is safe at home, and the Brant girl and the other little girls, all safe at home, all snug in their beds, nothing to fear from you, Charlie. I love you, Charlie...”
He left his car in the parking lot behind the library. The lot was almost filled, mainly with cars bearing high school and city college stickers. The back door of the library was marked Employees Only, but he used it anyway because it was the shortest way to Louise.
He found himself in the filing and catalogue room, lined with steel drawers and smelling of floor wax. An old man with a push broom looked at him curiously but offered no challenge; libraries were for everybody.
“Could you,” Charlie said and stopped because his voice sounded peculiar. He cleared his throat, swallowing the last of the clotted milk. “Could you tell me if Miss Lang is here?”
“I don’t know one from the other,” the old man answered with a shrug. “I only been on the job three nights now.”
Nodding his thanks, Charlie walked the length of the room and through a corridor with an open door at the end of it. From here he could see Louise’s desk behind the reference counter but Louise wasn’t there. A woman about thirty was sitting in her chair. She looked familiar to Charlie though he wasn’t sure he’d ever met her.
A sixth sense seemed to warn her she was being watched. She turned her head and spotted Charlie standing in the doorway. She got up immediately, as though she was expecting his arrival and had planned a welcome for him. She came toward him, smiling.
“Mr. Gowen?”
“Yes, I... yes.”
“I’m Betty Albert. Louise introduced us a couple of weeks ago. Are you looking for her?”
“Yes. I thought she was working tonight.”
“She was,” Miss Albert said in a confidential whisper, “but some teen-agers gave her a bad time. Oh, she handled it beautifully, it was as quiet as church within ten minutes, but the strain upset her. She went home. The public doesn’t realize yet that we have quite a policing problem in the library, especially on Friday nights when school’s not in session and the kids don’t have a football or basketball game to go to. I claim the schools should be open all year, it would give the little darlings something to do. Bored teen-agers running around loose act worse than maniacs, don’t you think?... Mr. Gowen, wait. You’re really not supposed to use that back exit. It’s just for employees. Mr. Gowen—?”
Miss Albert returned to her desk, her step light, her eyes dreamy. He must be madly in love with her, she thought as she lowered herself into the chair, lifting her skirt a few inches at the back to prevent seat-sag. Why, the instant he heard she’d had a bad time and gone home, he looked sick with worry, then off he tore out the wrong exit. He’s probably speeding to her side right now. Louise doesn’t realize how lucky she is to have a man speeding to her side. When there isn’t a thing the matter with her except nerves.
Miss Albert sat for a while, her emotions swinging between wonder and envy. When the pendulum stopped, she found herself thinking in a more practiced and realistic manner. Louise was her superior in the library, it wouldn’t hurt to do her a favor and warn her that Charlie was coming. It would give her a chance to pretty up, she’d looked awfully ratty when she left.
Louise’s number was listed on a staff card beside the telephone. Miss Albert dialed, humming softly as if inspired by the sound of the dial tone.
Louise herself answered. “Yes?”
“This is Betty Albert.”
“Oh. Is anything wrong?”
“No. Mr. Gowen was just here asking for you. When I told him you’d gone home he rushed right out. He should be there any minute. I thought—”
“Did he tell you he was coming here?”
“Why, no. But... well, it seemed obvious from the way he tore out and used the wrong exit and everything. I thought I’d tell you so you’d have a chance to pretty up before he arrived.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that,” Louise said. “Good night, Miss Albert.”
She hung up and went back down the hall toward her bedroom. Through the open door of the kitchen she could see her parents, her father watching something boiling on the stove, her mother getting the company dinner ware out of the top cupboard. She remembered that it was her father’s birthday, and to celebrate the occasion he was preparing a special potato dish his grandmother used to cook for him in Germany when he was a boy. The thought of having to eat and pretend to enjoy the thick gray gluey balls nauseated Louise.
She spoke from the doorway. “I’m going out for a drive, if you don’t mind.”
He father turned around, scowling. “But I do mind. The kloessen are almost done and I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble over them.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You know but you don’t care. Well, that’s typical of the younger generation, lots of knowledge, no appreciation. When my grandmother was making kloessen you couldn’t have dragged any of us away from the house with wild horses. I don’t understand you, Louise. One minute you’re lying down half-dead and the next minute you’re going out. You’re not consistent this last while.”