face-to-face. He looked down at the blue eyes and the serious little face. “You've sure taken over this quarter-deck, white stuff. Something tells me I've gone under new management.”
The kitten's eyes were tightly closed as she licked diligently at a paw; Johnny snapped his fingers at her, but she paid no attention. When she was satisfied with the condition of the paw she lifted her head and looked at him again. This time when he snapped she grabbed for the fingers. Mildly curious, he extended his arm behind the small head and snapped the fingers again. She was watching his face and made no movement.
Johnny began to get a feeling. “You little sinner, you're deaf.” He sat up halfway, holding her on his chest, experimenting. When she could see the snapping fingers Sassy went for them. When she couldn't there was no reaction.
He lifted her free from his chest at the expense of some skin as her claws hooked in instinctively. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and put the kitten on the floor between his feet, faced away from him; the first four or five times he removed his hand from the small body she turned immediately to see what new game they were playing. He waited patiently until she wearied of turning and lay quietly with only the switching tail in motion. When he was sure she couldn't see him he picked up a shoe and let it fall heavily, and Sassy bounded up and switched ends in mid-air, coming down facing him.
“You just kiddin' around with me, sugarpuss? You heard that, all right. Or wait a minute. Do you hear it or do you get the vibration from the floor in your paws?”
He faced her about again, and when she was quiet clapped his hands together with a report that surprised even himself. The kitten never even quivered. He lifted a foot and jammed his bare heel down hard, and although the noise was only a light thud Sassy again performed her switched-ends ballet.
No doubt about it-the kitten was deaf. She was extremely sensitive to all vibrations-and even to air currents, he could see now that he was watching her closely. The small. questing nose was rarely still, and a breeze barely light enough to flutter a curtain's gauze at the window was sufficient to bring her head around inquiringly.
He reached down and picked her up again and put her back on his chest as he stretched out. “All right, baby doll. It's tough, but if you never had it you don't miss it. And nature's law of compensation seems to have you doing all right for yourself.”
Sassy reached a tentative paw toward his moving lips, and he took the paw in his hand. Immediately the tufted ears flattened; she half rolled on her side in an attempt to get at the holding hand with her other paw. He swept her off his chest down onto her back on the bed beside him and tickled the furry underbelly, and for an instant all four legs furiously resented this indignity before she stretched languidly and invited more.
Johnny laughed, played with her for another moment and then stuffed her under the sheet as he slid off the bed. He stood and watched her battle her way out, to emerge with fangs bared, ears cocked and tail thrashing. She glared about the bed for him, then in a kittenishly instantaneous change of mood collapsed flexibly upon herself as she energetically cleaned a hind leg.
Johnny picked up her saucers from the newspaper on the floor and rinsed them clean. He refilled them from the wax-papered cache and the milk carton in the refrigerator. The instant he stooped over the newspaper, saucers in hand, a white streak leaped from the bed and trotted over to him, white paws twinkling and tail aloft like a Saracen banner. He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower; he stood in a torrent of hot water and then of cold, and dashed out puffing and blowing. Halfway through his shave he remembered something and in his underwear went to the phone and gave the operator the number of Vic's apartment. “Lorraine? Johnny. Since you're home I don't know that I even need to ask, but how'd you make out with the boys?”
He caught her hesitation. “Where are you calling from, Johnny?”
“The hotel.”
“Do you think that's wise? Have you eaten yet?”
“Just on my way downstairs.”
“Why don't you come over and eat with me? It's too hot to fuss, but if a salad will tempt you-”
It was his turn to hesitate, but only for an instant. “Be there in thirty minutes.”
“Fine. I'll be expecting you.”
He stared down at the phone musingly as he replaced it. Just where did he stand with this woman? She was the wife of a good friend. By her own admission she wasn't a perfect wife. She had been tied up with Robert Sanders, professionally and-according to Mike Larsen-otherwise. She could have killed Robert Sanders. And whoever had killed Robert Sanders had more than likely killed Ellen Saxon. Johnny frowned down at his clenched hands; tonight he would clear out a little underbrush. The machete would probably draw a little blood, but so be it.
He finished shaving, whacked at his still damp hair a couple of times with the comb, dressed quickly, waved to the preoccupied Sassy and left the room. On the street the heat rose up and attacked him. He whistled for a cab; in the back seat the little breeze that they stirred up was a hot breeze. The city lay limp in the kiln.
Lorraine Barnes had the apartment door ajar when he came off the second floor landing; he knocked on the partly opened door.
“Come in,” she said from just inside.
He went in through the hall to the living room, where she was setting up collapsible little tables. “You look to see who you were inviting in?” he asked her, indicating the still open door in the hall.
“No.” She straightened, thoughtful. “I never even thought about it, since I knew you were coming-”
“I'd start thinking about it. There's no inoculation-”
“Sit down,” she interrupted firmly. “Food first, lectures later.” Johnny sat down, and she placed on the little table before him a platter piled high with potato salad, pineapple slices, hard-boiled eggs, lettuce, tomatoes, radishes, cucumbers, cold cuts and cheese. He blinked up at her. “Half of this is enough for the Mexican Army.”
“Eat.” A smaller tray with a tall glass, a pitcher of ice and a pitcher of tea was added to his table. “Speak up for what you don't see.”
For a short time the clink of cutlery and the tinkle of ice was the only sound in the room. When Johnny sank back with a repleted sigh Lorraine removed his tray. She had already removed her own. She lit two cigarettes and offered him one, and as he inhaled she sat down across from him again.
“I think I owe you an explanation, Johnny.” He had intended to give her no opportunity to speak first, but he realized that he had been outmaneuvered. The blue-gray eyes across the room were fixed upon him steadily. “Cards face up? All the way around?” He nodded, warily.
She crossed her legs deliberately and tugged her skirt down over her knees. “I hid a choice when I went down there this morning. I could tell them where I'd been last night, and in fact and inference explain Vic's presence in Ellen's room. I think they'd let him go if I did-soon, anyway. I didn't tell them, and I suppose you think I'm a first-class heel.”
He dragged hard on the cigarette. “It's your problem.” He couldn't keep the irritation from his voice.
“Granted. I'll handle it. Myself.” Twilight had stolen up to the apartment windows; he sat and watched the cigarette in the chair opposite glow more brightly as Lorraine Barnes continued. “There is a husband-and-wife relationship almost impossible to describe to an outsider. You're Vic's friend, so I'm trying. I'm also trying because I'd like your help.” The cigarette in her hand moved in a vague arc; the steady voice was expressionless. “Vic is not a passionate man. It has nothing to do with his age; he never has been. In our marriage there are really only two things I can give him: companionship, and his own self-respect. I've compromised the self-respect, but I don't intend for Vic to know it. Vic needs me, depends upon me; I'm his crutch against the world. And in turn I'm very grateful to him for being the sweet person that he is.” Above the smoldering cigarette her gaze was unwinking. “I wouldn't want you to think this an excuse or a rationalization, even. I'm simply trying to explain to you the position in which I find myself.”
He stirred uneasily in his chair. “So where does it leave you?”
“That depends on you. Do you think I killed Ellen, Johnny?”
He drew in his breath; this woman beat him to first one punch and then another. For the space of ten seconds he turned it over in his mind, and then he spoke deliberately. “I don't know. I doubt that a woman would have the strength; Ellen was no midget. On the other hand, you had opportunity as far as Sanders and Ellen both were concerned, so far as I know, and I have to think that whoever got Sanders got Ellen, too.” He was silent a moment. “I don't know about Sanders, but there's one way you can get yourself ninety-five per cent clean with me on Ellen. The police didn't put it out, but Ellen reached whoever killed her with her fingernails-reached them good. This morning when we went downtown you had on a high-necked dress. You've got another on now. I want a look.
