She was slow in answering the question. “I went to see her last month after we bought that picture from her. Please don’t mention this to Les – he doesn’t know about it. We were in San Francisco for the weekend, and I got away from him and drove across the bridge to Sausalito.” She added after a moment’s hesitation: “I took Susie with me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know – it seemed like a good idea. Ellen seemed to want to get in touch with me, and she did a lot for me when I was a young girl. If it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t even have lived all the way through my teens. And Susan was starting to show the same signs. She wasn’t ever a happy girl, but she was starting to get desperate. You know?”
I didn’t know, and said so. It was her first admission that something had been seriously wrong in Susan’s life.
“She was scared of other people, really scared, the way I used to be when I was a kid. And they were scared of her in a way – the other kids couldn’t figure what was bugging her. I knew, or I thought I knew, but I couldn’t talk about it.”
“Can you talk about it now?”
“I might as well. The whole thing’s going to pieces anyway.” She looked around the stuffy ornate room as if earthquake cracks were widening in the walls. “Les isn’t Susie’s father. He’s done his best to be a father to her, but it just didn’t get through to her. And I’ve felt funny about it, too – kind of embarrassed, you know? We’ve been sitting around like ninnies in our own house.”
“Who is Susan’s father?”
“It’s none of your business.” She regarded me levelly, without much heat. “It could be I don’t even know the answer to that. My life was pretty much of a mess at one time. That was when I was younger than Susan is now.”
“Was Fritz Snow her father?”
The woman’s eyes grew sharper. “I’m not answering any questions on that subject, so forget it. Anyway, you’re interrupting what I started out to tell you. I was worried about Susan, like I said, and I thought maybe Ellen would have some suggestions.”
“Did she?”
“Not really. She did a lot of talking, and Susan did a lot of listening. But I didn’t think too much of her ideas. She thought we should send Susan away and let other people look after her. Or turn her loose and let her look after herself. But you can’t do that. Young people need protection in this world.”
“What did Susan think about it?”
“She wanted to stay with Ellen. But it wouldn’t have been a good idea at all. Ellen’s changed since she was young. She lives in that creepy old house in the woods like some kind of a hermit.”
“No men?”
“Not that I saw. If you mean Leo Broadhurst, he’s long gone. The two of them didn’t stick together. It was one of those love affairs that only lasted as long as the wife was there to keep it hot.” She looked a little embarrassed by her knowledge.
“Where did he go?”
“Out of the country, she said.”
“You knew Leo before he left Santa Teresa, right?”
“I worked in his house, if you call that knowing him.”
“What kind of a man was he?”
“He was the kind of man that couldn’t keep his hands off women.”
She spoke with a certain rancor, and I said: “Did he ever make a pass at you?”
“Once. I hit him in his pretty face.” She looked at me defiantly, as if I had made a pass at her myself. “He kept his hot little hands to himself after that.”
Remembered anger surged up in her, and made her rosy. Perhaps it was tinged with some other passion. She was a more complex woman than had appeared at first meeting.
But I was eager to be on my way. I went downstairs and called Willie Mackey again. While I waited on the line, he looked up Ellen Storm in a Marin directory. She lived in a house on Haven Road on the outskirts of Sausalito. Willie said he would have her house watched until I got there.
I slipped out to my car without saying goodbye to either of the Crandalls. I didn’t want to have to take them along, with all the years of their lives dragging behind them.
chapter 26
When I got to San Francisco it was dark, and it had been raining. Out at sea beyond the Golden Gate a mass of clouds was moving in from the Farallon Islands. The offshore wind blowing across the bridge felt wet and cold on my face.
A rectangular yellow sign at the entrance to Haven Road said that it was “Not a Through Street.” I turned my car around and parked it, and continued on foot along the pitted asphalt. The scattered houses were hidden from the road, but I could see their lights shining through the trees.
A voice spoke softly from the darkness. “Lew?”
Willie Mackey appeared at the side of the road. He was wearing a dark raincoat, and his mustached face looked disembodied, like something called up at a seance. I moved in under the dripping trees with him and shook his gloved hand.
“They haven’t shown,” he said. “How hard is your information?”
“Just medium.” The hope that brought me north had turned over in my chest and was sinking heavily toward my stomach. “Is the Storm woman at home?”
“She’s there, but there’s nobody with her.”
“Do you know that?”
“Yep. Harold can see her through the side window.”
“What’s she doing?”
“Nothing much. Last time I checked with Harold, he said she seemed to be waiting.”
“I think I’ll go in and talk to her.”
Willie took hold of my arm, pinching the muscle just above the elbow. “Is that a good idea, Lew?”
“She may have heard from them. She’s the older boy’s mother.”
“All right, don’t let me stop you.” Willie released my arm and stepped aside.
I made my way up the washed-out gravel drive. The twin conical towers standing up against the night sky made the house look like something out of a medieval romance.
The illusion faded as I got nearer. There was a multicolored fanlight over the front door, with segments of glass fallen out, like missing teeth in an old smile. The veranda steps were half broken down and groaned under my weight. The door creaked open when I knocked.
Ellen appeared in the lighted hallway. Her mouth and eyes hadn’t changed very much since her picture was taken all those years before, and it made the gray in her hair seem accidental. She was wearing a dress with a long-sleeved jersey top and a long full skirt on which there were paint stains in all three primary colors. Her body moved with unconscious pride.
She looked both eager and fearful as she came to the door. “Who are you?”
“My name is Lew Archer. The door blew open when I knocked.”
“The latch needs fixing.” She jiggled the knob. “You’re the detective, aren’t you?”
“You’re well informed.”
“Martha Crandall called me. She said you’re looking for her daughter.”
“Has Susan been here?”
“Not yet, but Martha spoke as if she intended to come.” The woman looked out past me into the darkness. “She said my son Jerry is traveling with her.”
“Right. And they have Leo Broadhurst’s grandson with them.”
She seemed puzzled. “How could Leo have a grandson?”
“He left a son behind him, remember. The son had a son. Ronny’s six years old, and he’s why I’m here.”
“What are they doing with a six-year-old?”
“I don’t know exactly. I was hoping to ask them.”
“I see. Won’t you please come in.” She gestured with a kind of awkward grace, and her breast lifted. “We can wait together.”
“You’re very kind, Mrs. Kilpatrick.”
The name displeased her, as if I’d brought it up to remind her of the past. She corrected me: “Miss Storm. I took it originally as a professional name. But I haven’t used any other name for years.”