I got out my collection of pictures and selected the one that Harold Harley had taken of Carol in 1945. The girl studied it. She said with something like awe in her voice: `She's-she was very beautiful. She couldn't have been much older than I am.'
`She wasn't, when the picture was taken. But that was a long time ago, and you should make allowances for that.'
`I've never seen her. I'm sure. And Tommy never said a word about her.'
She looked at me glumly. `People are hard to keep track of.'
She handed me the picture as if it was heavy and hot and would spill if it was tilted.
At this point a female moose deprived of her calf, or something closely resembling her, came crashing through the oak woods. It was Stella's mother. Her handsome red head was tousled and her face was brutalized by anxiety. She spotted Stella and charged around to her side of the car. Stella turned up the window and snapped the lock.
Rhea Carlson rapped on the glass with her fist. `Come out of there. What do you think you're doing?'
`Talking to Mr. Archer.'
`You must be crazy. Are you trying to ruin yourself?'
'I don't care what happens to me, that's true.'
`You have no right to talk like that. You're ungrateful!'
`Ungrateful for what?'
'I gave you life, didn't I? Your father and I have given you everything.'
`I don't want everything. I just want to be alone, Mother.'
`No! You come out of there.'
`I don't have to.'
`Yes you do,' I said.
Stella looked at me as if I had betrayed her to the enemy.
`She's your mother,' I said, `and you're a minor, and if you don't obey her you're out of control, and I'm contributing to the delinquency of a minor.'
`You are?'
`Reluctantly,' I said.
The word persuaded her. She even gave me a little half-smile. Then she unlocked the door and climbed out of the car. I got out and walked around to their side. Rhea Carlson looked at me as if I might be on the point of assaulting her.
`Calm down, Mrs. Carlson. Nothing's happened.'
`Oh? Would you know?'
`I know that no harm will ever come to Stella if I'm around. May I ask you a question?'
She hesitated. `I won't promise to answer it.'
`You received a phone call this morning at five to eight. Was it local or long distance?'
`I don't know. Most of our long-distance calls are dialed direct.'
`Was anything said?'
`I said hello.'
`I mean on the other end of the line.'
`No. Not a word.'
`Did whoever it was hang up?'
`Yes, and I'm sure it wasn't the Hillman boy. It was just another stupid mistake in dialing. We get them all the time.'
`It was so Tommy,' Stella said. `I know it.'
`Don't believe her. She's always making things up.'
`I am not.'
Stella looked ready to cry.
`Don't contradict me, Stella. Why do you always have to contradict me?'
`I don't.'
`You do.'
I stepped between them. `Your daughter's a good girl, and she's almost a woman. Please try to bear that in mind, and treat her gently.'
Mrs. Carlson said in scornful desperation: `What do you know about mothers and daughters? Who are you, anyway?'
`I've been a private detective since the war. In the course of time you pick up a few primitive ideas about
