thousand was worth several times more in those days than it is now. He was well paid for bending a few rules.'
'Were both of the babies healthy?' Joshua asked.
'They were thin,' Mrs. Yancy said. 'Scrawny as hell. Two pathetic little things. Probably because Katherine had been on a diet for months. And because of the girdles. But they could cry just as good and loud as any other babies. And there wasn't a thing wrong with their appetites. They seemed healthy enough, just small.'
'How long did Katherine stay at your place?' Hilary asked.
'Almost two weeks. She needed that long to get her strength back after such a hard delivery. And the babies needed time to put a little flesh on their bones.'
'When she left, did she take both children with her?'
'Of course. I wasn't running a nursery. I was glad to see her leave.'
'Did you know that she was going to take only one of the twins to St. Helena?' Hilary asked.
'I understood that to be her intention. Yes.'
'Did she say what she was going to do with the other boy?' Joshua asked, taking over the questioning from Hilary.
'I believe she intended to put it up for adoption,' Mrs. Yancy said.
'You believe?' Joshua asked exasperatedly. 'Weren't you even the least bit concerned about what might happen to those two helpless babies in the hands of a woman who was obviously mentally unbalanced?'
'She had recovered.'
'Baloney.'
'I tell you, if you'd met her on the street, you wouldn't have thought she had any problems.'
'But for God's sake, underneath that facade--'
'She was their mother,' Mrs. Yancy said primly. 'She wouldn't have done them any harm.'
'You couldn't have been sure of that,' Joshua said.
'I certainly was sure of it,' Mrs. Yancy declared. 'I've always had the highest respect for motherhood and a mother's love. A mother's love can work wonders.'
Again, Joshua had to restrain himself from reaching for the bun of hair on top of her head.
Tony said, 'Katherine couldn't have put the baby up for adoption. Not without a birth certificate to prove that it was hers.'
'Which leaves us with a number of unpleasant possibilities to consider,' Joshua said.
'Honestly, you people amaze me,' Mrs. Yancy said, shaking her head and scratching her cat. 'You always want to believe the worst. I've never seen three bigger pessimists. Did you ever stop to think she might have left the little boy on a doorstep? She probably abandoned him at an orphanage or maybe a church, some place where he would be found right away and given proper care. I imagine he was adopted by an upstanding young couple, raised in an excellent home, given lots of love, a good education, all sorts of advantages.'
***
In the attic, waiting for nightfall, bored, nervous, lonely, apprehensive, sometimes stuporous, more often frenetic, Bruno Frye spent much of Thursday afternoon talking to his dead self. He hoped to soothe his roiling mind and regain a sense of purpose, but he made little or no progress along those lines. He decided that he would be calmer, happier, and less lonely if he could at least look into his other self's eyes, like in the old days, when they had often sat and stared longingly into each other for an hour or more at a time, communicating so much without benefit of words, sharing, being one, just one together. He recalled that moment in Sally's bathroom, only yesterday, when he had stopped in front of a mirror and had mistaken his reflection for his other self. Looking into eyes that he had thought were the eyes of his other self, he had felt wonderful, blissful, at peace. Now he desperately wanted to recapture that state of mind. And how much better to look into the real eyes of his other self, even if they were flat and sightless now. But himself lay on the bed, eyes firmly closed. Bruno touched the eyes of the other Bruno, the dead one, and they were cold orbs; the lids would not lift under his gently prodding fingertips. He explored the curves of those shuttered eyes, and he felt hidden sutures at the corners, tiny knots of thread holding the lids down. Excited by the prospect of seeing the other's eyes again, Bruno got up and hurried downstairs, looking for razor blades and delicate cuticle scissors and needles and a crocheting hook and other makeshift surgical instruments that might be of use in the reopening of the other Bruno's eyes.
***
If Rita Yancy had any more information about the Frye twins, neither Hilary nor Joshua would get it out of her. Tony could see that much even if Hilary and Joshua could not. Any second now, one of them was going to say something so sharp, so angry, so biting and bitter, that the old woman would take offense and order all of them out of the house.
Tony was aware that Hilary was deeply shaken by the similarities between her own childhood ordeal and Katherine's agony. She was bristling at all three of Rita Yancy's attitudes--the bursts of phony moralizing, the brief moments of equally unfelt and syrupy sentimentality, and the far more genuine and constant and stunning callousness.
Joshua was suffering from a loss of self-esteem because he had worked for Katherine for twenty-five years without spotting the quiet madness that surely must have been bubbling just below her carefully-controlled surface placidity. He was disgusted with himself; therefore, he was even more irritable than usual. And because Mrs. Yancy was, even in ordinary circumstances, the kind of person Joshua despised, the attorney's patience with her could fit into a thimble with room left over for one of Charo's stage costumes plus the collected wisdom of the last four U.S. Presidents.
Tony got up from the sofa and went to the footstool that was in front of Rita Yancy's chair. He sat down, explaining his move by pretending that he just wanted to pet the cat; but in switching seats, he was placing himself between the old woman and Hilary, and he was effectively blocking Joshua, who looked as if he might seize Mrs. Yancy and shake her. The footstool was a good position from which to continue the interrogation in a casual fashion. As Tony stroked the white cat, he kept up a constant stream of chatter with the woman, ingratiating himself with her, charming her, using the old Clemenza soft-sell which always had done well for him in his police work.
Eventually, he asked her it there had been anything unusual about the birth of the twins.
