'I hope Hoffman isn't drinking,' she said after a while. 'It isn't good for his blood pressure. I'll blame myself if anything happens to him.'
'One of you had to come out here.'
'I suppose so. Anyway Bert is with him and whatever else he may be Bert is no drunk.'
'Helen's ex-husband is staying with her father?'
'Yes. He came over from Maple Park this morning and drove me to the airport. Bert's a good boy. I shouldn't call him a boy, he's a grown man in his forties, but he always seems younger than he is.'
'Does he teach at Maple Park?'
'That's right, only he hasn't got his degree. He's been working on it for years. He teaches journalism and English, and he helps put out the school paper. He used to be a newspaperman, that was how Helen met him.'
'When she was nineteen?'
'You have a good memory. You and Hoffman would get along. Hoffman's middle name is memory. There was a time before we got our wartime expansion when he knew every building in Bridgeton. Every factory, every warehouse, every residence. Pick any house on any street and he could tell you who built it and who owned it. He could tell you who lived there and who used to live there and how many children they had and how much income and anything else you wanted to know about them. I'm not exaggerating, ask any of his fellow officers. They used to predict great things for him, but he never made it higher than Lieutenant.'
I wondered why the great things hadn't materialized. She gave me a kind of answer, which I suspected was more of a legend than a fact:
'Helen got her memory from him. They were more alike than either of them admitted. And they were crazy about each other, under all the trouble there was between them. It broke his heart when Helen left home and never wrote. He never asked about her, either, but he did a lot of brooding. He was never the same man again.'
'Did she marry Bert Haggerty right away?'
'No, she kept him dangling for five or six years. He was away in the army part of that time. Bert did well in the war-- a lot of men did well in the war that never did so well before or since--and he was full of confidence for a while. He was going to write a book, start his own newspaper, take her to Europe on their honeymoon. They did get to Europe, on the G. I. Bill--I gave them part of the money to make the trip--but that was all that ever came of his plans. He never could settle down to any one thing, and when he finally did it was too late. Last spring they came to the parting of the ways. I didn't like it, but I can hardly blame her. She always did better than he did, from the time that they were married. And one thing I'll say for Helen, she always had class.'
'I agree.'
'But maybe she should have stuck with Bert. Who knows? Maybe this wouldn't have happened. I sometimes think that any man is better than no man at all.'
Later, as we were entering Pacific Point, she said: 'Why couldn't Helen marry an upstanding husband? It's funny. She had brains and looks _and_ class, but she never could attract an upstanding man.'
I could feel her eyes on my profile, trying to chart the lost continent of her daughter's life.
chapter 17
The Pacific Hotel stood on a corner just above the economic equator that divided the main street into a prosperous section and a not so prosperous one. The lobby was almost empty on this Saturday night. Four old men were playing bridge in the light of a standing lamp. The only other human being in sight was Dr. Geisman, if he qualified.
He got up Out of a shabby green plastic armchair and shook hands formally with Mrs. Hoffman.
'I see that you've arrived safely. How are you?'
'I'm all right, thanks.'
'Your daughter's unexpected demise came as quite a blow to us.'
'To me, too.'
'In fact I've been endeavoring all day to find a replacement for her. I still haven't succeeded. This is the worst possible time of year to try to recruit teaching personnel.'
'That's too bad.'
I left them trying to breathe life into their stillborn conversation and went into the bar for a drink. A single customer sat trading sorrows with the fat lugubrious bartender. Her hair was dyed black, with a greenish sheen on it like certain ducks.
I recognized the woman--I could have spotted Mrs. Perrine at a thousand yards--and I started to back out of the room. She turned and saw me.
'Fancy meeting you here.' She made a large gesture which almost upset the empty glass in front of her, and said to the bartender: 'This is my friend Mr. Archer. Pour my friend a drink.'
'What'll you have?'
'Bourbon. I'm paying. What is the lady drinking?'
'Planter's punch,' she said, 'and thanks for the 'lady.' Thanks for everything in fact. I'm celebrating, been celebrating all day.'
I wished she hadn't been. The granite front she had kept up at her trial had eroded, and the inner ruin of her life showed through. While I didn't know all of Mrs. Perrine's secrets, I knew the record she had left on the police blotters of twenty cities. She had been innocent of this one particular crime, but she was a hustler who had worked the coasts from Acapulco to Seattle and from Montreal to Key West.
The bartender limped away to make our drinks. I sat on the stool beside her. 'You should pick another town to celebrate in.'
'I know. This town is a graveyard. I felt like the last living inhabitant, until you sashayed in.'
'That isn't what I mean, Mrs. Perrine.'
'Hell, call me Bridget, you're my pal, you've earned the right.'
'Okay, Bridget. The police didn't like your acquittal, you couldn't expect them to. They'll pick you up for any little thing.'
'I haven't stepped out of line. I have my own money.'
'I'm thinking about what you might do if you go on celebrating. You can't afford to jaywalk in this town.'
She considered this problem, and her twisting face mimicked the efforts of her mind. 'You may be right at that. I been thinking of going to Vegas in the morning. I have a friend in Vegas.'
The bartender brought our drinks. Mrs. Perrine sipped at hers, making a sour face, as if she'd suddenly lost her taste for it. Her gaze strayed to the mirror behind the bar.
'My gosh,' she said, 'is that me? I look like the wrath of God.'
'Take a bath and get some sleep.'
'It isn't so easy to sleep. I get lonely at night.' She ogled me, more or less automatically.
She wasn't my baby. I finished my drink and put two dollar bills on the bar.
'Good night, Bridget. Take it easy. I have to make a phone call.'
'Sure you do. See you at the Epworth League.'
The bartender limped toward her as I walked out. Mrs. Hoffman and Dr. Geisman were no longer in the lobby. I found the telephone booths in a cul-de-sac behind the main desk and called the Bradshaw house.
Before the phone had rung more than once, the old lady's voice came quavering over the line. 'Roy? Is that you, Roy?'
'This is Archer.'
'I was so hoping it would be Roy. He always telephones by this time. You don't suppose something has happened to him?'
'No. I don't.'
'Have you seen the paper?'
'No.'
'There's an item to the effect that Laura Sutherland went to the Reno conference with him Roy didn't tell
