'You re a swell dancer,' he said.
The music was on the sweet side, with lots of muted brass in the orchestra. He saw Carmel and Peter on the floor. They danced as gracefully, as effortlessly as professional dancers, but neither of them seemed to be having a good time. Peter s black brows were drawn into a scowling V. He stared at Crane without recognition.
Crane asked, 'What s wrong with the guy?'
'He quarreled with Talmadge,' Ann said.
'What about?'
Ann didn t know. 'I saw them just as it ended,' she said. 'They were both white with rage. I think, if they d been alone, they d have fought.'
Crane frowned in thought. 'That s a swell family, the March family. Simeon hates Carmel; Alice and Talmadge hate Carmel; Simeon hates Richard; Peter fights with Talmadge; Carmel almost betrays John with Richard; Peter likes…'
'Well, go on,' Ann said.
He said, 'I think you re the prettiest girl here.'
The orchestra wasn t bad, even if it was a trifle corny. It played some of the old pieces Crane liked: 'Sweet Sue,'
'Who,'
'Star Dust,'
'Three O Clock in the Morning' and 'Melancholy Baby.'
It was nice dancing with Ann, even though she probably wished she were somewhere else. She danced beautifully.
After a time he said, 'I m sorry I ve been so nasty about Peter. Maybe I won t have him hung after all.'
'I don t think you can,' she said. 'You do like him, don t you?'
'Yes.'
The familiar pieces the orchestra was playing made him a little bit sad. He thought it was a good thing she liked Peter. He had plenty of dough and he was young. And Ann would be a swell wife. It d be tough on a gal like that (any gal, for that matter) to hook up with a detective who suffered from chronic hang-overs. He sighed. He felt a lot older than thirty-five.
'What s the matter?' Ann asked.
'I don t know.' He evaded a man and a girl in a filmy violet dress, moved into a clear space by the wall. 'Ann…'
'What?'
'Would it help any if I explained to Peter that we aren t married?'
'No.'
'I mean that we re working together… nothing immoral.'
She said, 'I m tired of hearing you talk about Peter.'
'I m sorry.' The music paused and they stood facing each other. 'Look, Ann. I think you re swell. I really haven t meant to hurt you, chasing Delia and drinking too much.'
The music started again; it was an old-fashioned waltz. The noise of the violins was sad. The dancers were more graceful than they had been, moving in smooth arcs, like ice skaters.
'I wanted you to know. Anything you do is O.K.'
He took her in her arms, began to waltz. 'It s my fault we ve been fighting. I ll try to be nicer.'
'I ll try, too.'
He swung her toward the center of the floor. 'Look, let s pretend… since we have to work together… that we like each other. I mean, as far as our conversation.'
'All right.'
He grinned at her. 'I m nuts, but a detective doesn t have a hell of a lot of family life.' Her body, scented with lavender, was slender, supple. 'I d like to see what it s like.'
She didn t say anything. He felt a little ashamed of himself. A slick-haired youngster cut in on them. He said, 'So long, Ann,' and cut in on Alice March.
She said, 'You don t drink, do you?'
'A medicinal drop now and then.'
'I need a drink.'
'Come to the taproom.'
'No. I don t want a crowd.'
'Lady, you know this place better than…'
She pressed his arm, said, 'Meet me at the entrance to the Ladies Locker Room,' and left him.
Ann was getting a rush from the collegiate stag line, so he went down to the taproom. At the table in front of the open fire sat Judge Dornbush, the March amp;
Company attorney, Dr Woodrin, Simeon March and two other men. They were drinking brandy. In the light of the blazing logs, the judge s face was brick red; he looked like a regency three-bottle man.
They were talking about the duck shooting in the morning, assuring each other the cold weather would bring the birds down from Canada.
'We ll see you, won t we?' Dr Woodrin called to Crane.
Crane said, 'Sure.' He refused an invitation to have a drink.
He got a bottle of scotch, some seltzer, two glasses and a bowl of ice. He had promised Ann not to drink, but this was business. His feet echoed on the stone corridor leading to the locker rooms, and he tried to walk on his toes. He found a green screen on which there was a sign: Ladies Locker. He leaned against the cement wall and waited. He waited five minutes, ten minutes, nearly fifteen minutes before Alice March appeared. Her canary-bird- colored hair was disarranged, her plump face was white. She looked ill.
'Let s go in here,' she said.
'But my goodness! That s the Ladies…'
'Nobody comes down here.' She pushed him past the screen.
He was relieved to discover a small anteroom with wicker chairs and a magazine-covered table in front of the lockers. He could see white tile and shower curtains at the other end of the long room. He sat down so that his back was toward the white tile, mixed two drinks.
Alice March said, 'Here s how,' and emptied half her glass.
'Hey!' Crane said in alarm. 'You ll get tight that way.
'I want to.'
She wore a brown evening gown. Her eyes were pink from weeping; her nose was a trifle red. She finished her glass, handed it to Crane. She had good legs, but the rest of her body was too plump.
They finished a second drink, and a third. Crane began to feel philosophical. It must have turned very cold outside, he decided, because the small, square windows in the locker room were frosted. Or maybe there was frosted glass in them. In that case you couldn t be sure about the weather. It could have turned cold without his knowing it. He fixed two more drinks. He was surprised to see the bottle was only half full.
He asked Alice, 'Why have you been weeping?'
'I haven t,' she said.
'Yes, you have.' He closed one eye and looked at her through the other. 'Is it because of Talmadge?'
'What if it is?'
'He s a nice fellow.'
'He s a rat.'
'Why, I didn t know that.' He opened both eyes. 'I can hardly believe it. A real rodent?'
'You d believe it if you knew what I know about him.'
'What do you know about him?'
'I know he s trying to protect Carmel.'
'Carmel?'
'Peter and Carmel. He knows something about them, but he won t tell.'
'Is that why he had a quarrel with Peter?'
'Yes.' She laughed bitterly. 'He had a quarrel with me, too. I wanted him to tell what he knows about
