Mystery

“…  many convictions for burglary, threatening behavior, petty larceny, and other crimes. Edwardes’ last conviction was for armed robbery. He is thought to be in hiding in the Weasel Hollow district, which has been cordoned off by police until searches have been completed. Motorists and carriage traffic are advised to use the Bigham Road cutoff until further notice. I’m sure that all of you join us in hoping for a speedy resolution of this matter.” He looked down at his desk, turned over a page, and looked up at the camera again. “In a related story, grief-stricken Finance Minister Friedrich Hasselgard is reported missing in heavy seas off the island’s western coast. Minister Hasselgard apparently took out his vessel, the Mogrom’s Fortune, for a solitary sail around the island at roughly three o’clock this afternoon, after hearing of the imminent capture of his sister’s murderer. He is believed to have been overtaken by a sudden squall in the Devil’s Pool area, and radio contact was lost soon after the squall began.” The newscaster’s eyes flicked down toward the desk again. “In a moment, traffic from our overhead observer, Ted Weatherhead’s weather, and sports with Joe Ruddier.”

“Okay,” Victor Pasmore said. “They got him.”

“They got who?”

He began to lever himself up out of the recliner. “The lowlife who bumped off Marita Hasselgard, who the hell do you think? I better start thinking about dinner. Your mother’s a little under the weather today.”

“What about Hasselgard?”

“What about him? Jumped-up natives like Hasselgard can sail anything, anywhere, through any storm that comes along. I remember when Hasselgard was a kid in his twenties, he could thread needles with a sailboat.”

“You knew him?”

“I sort of knew Fred Hasselgard. He was one of your granddad’s discoveries. Glen took him out of Weasel Hollow, got him started. Back when they were developing the west side, Glen did that with a bunch of bright young native boys—saw to their education and put them on the right track.”

Tom watched his father lumber toward the kitchen, then turned back to the television.

Joe Ruddler’s violent red face filled the screen. “THAT’S IT, SPORTS FANS!” Ruddier shouted—aggressiveness was his trademark. “THAT’S ALL THE SPORTS FOR TODAY! THERE AIN’T NO MORE! YOU CAN BEG ALL YOU WANT TO, BUT IT WON’T DO ANY GOOD! RUDDLER’S CHECKIN’ OUT UNTIL TEN O’CLOCK, SO PLAY IT COOL OR PLAY IT HARD—BUT YOU GOTTA KEEP PLAYIN’ IT!” Tom switched off the television.

“You gotta keep playin’ it,” Victor chuckled from the kitchen. Tom’s father loved Joe Ruddier. Joe Ruddler was a real man. “We got some steaks here we better eat before they go bad. You want a steak?”

Tom was not hungry, but he said, “Sure.”

Victor walked out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Look, would you cook them? Just put them on the grill. There’s some lettuce and stuff, you could make a salad. I want to check on your mother, make her a drink or something.”

Half an hour later Victor led Gloria down the stairs as Tom was setting the table in the dining room. In the peach satin outfit, her hair limp now, Tom’s mother looked like a red-eyed ghost. She sat in front of her steak and sliced off a piece the thickness of a playing card and pushed it across the plate with her fork.

Tom asked her if she felt ill.

“We’re going out for dinner tomorrow,” Victor said. “You’ll see, she’ll be full of beans by tomorrow night. Won’t you, Glor?”

“Leave me alone,” she said. “Will everybody stop picking on me, please?” She sliced off another minuscule portion of steak, raised it part of the way to her mouth, then lowered her fork and scraped the tiny bit of meat back onto her plate.

“Maybe I should call Dr. Milton,” Victor said. “He could give you something.”

“I don’t need anything,” Gloria said, seething, “except to … be … left … alone. Why don’t you call my father, he’s the person who always fixes everything up for you.”

Victor ate the rest of his meal in silence.

Gloria turned her head to give Tom a look of real reproach. Her eyes seemed swollen. “He’ll help you get started too, anywhere you like. You can go anyplace.”

“Nobody wants me to stay on Mill Walk,” Tom said, understanding that his parents had virtually accepted his grandfather’s offer for him.

“Don’t you want to get off Mill Walk?” His mother’s voice was almost fierce. “Your father wishes he’d been able to get away from this place. Ask him!”

“I don’t think we’re very hungry tonight,” Victor said. “Let me take you upstairs, Glor. You want to be rested for tomorrow, dinner at the Langenheims’.”

“Whoopee. Dirty jokes and dirty looks.”

“I am going to call Dr. Milton,” Victor said.

Gloria slumped in her chair, letting her head loll alarmingly on her chest. Victor quickly stood up and moved behind her. He put his hands under her arms and pulled her up. She resisted for a second or two, then swatted away his hands and stood up by herself.