I nodded again. I always thought people had the right to boink who they wanted, even a jerk, if they needed to. But that probably wasn't really
Paul's issue and shutting up never seemed to do much harm.
'I'll read the mail,' I said.
Most of it could be dispensed with unread: catalogues, magazines, direct mail advertising. Paul took the batch and walked across the parking lot and dumped it in a trash barrel. The rest were bills, no boinking. The bills produced nothing much, except finally, the very last entry on her American
Express bill, a clothing store in Lenox. I turned to the individual receipts and located it. Tailored Lady, Lenox, Massachusetts, Lingerie. It was datedafter her mail had been put on hold. I handed it to Paul.
'Know anything about this?'
'No,' he said. 'All I know about Lenox is the Berkshires, Tanglewood. I don't think I've ever been there.'
'That your mother's signature?' I said.
'Looks like her writing. I rarely see her signature. When I got money it was usually a check from my father. But it looks like her writing.'
'So,' I said. 'She was probably in Lenox ten days ago.
'Should we go out there?'
'Yes,' I said. 'We should. But first Hawk and I want to speak with Gerry
Broz.'
'About my mother?'
'Yeah.'
'Both of you?'
'It's always nice to have backup when you talk with Gerry.'
'For god's sake what is she mixed up in when even you need backup to talk to people about her?'
'Doesn't need to be awful,' I said. 'She probably doesn't even know Gerry.'
'Well, it sounds awful and everything we learn about it makes it sound worse.'
'We'll find out,' I said. 'In a while we'll know whatever there is to know.'
'I'm getting scared,' Paul said. 'Scared for her.'
'Sure you are,' I said. 'I would if I were you.'
'I don't like being scared.'
'Nobody does,' I said.
'But everybody is,' Paul said. 'At one time or another,' I said. 'You?'
'Sure.' 'Hawk?' I paused. 'I don't know,' I said. 'You never can be sure with Hawk.'
CHAPTER 15
PEARL looked painfully resentful as Susan and I left her. Susan had left the television tuned to CNN.
'She likes to watch Catherine Crier,' Susan said.
'Me too.'
'More than Diane Sawyer?'
'Well, of course not,' I said.
Susan had recently acquired one of those turbocharged Japanese sports cars, which she drove like a New York cabbie, flooring it between stoplights and talking trash to other motorists. We made the fifteen-minute drive from
Susan's place to Icarus Restaurant in about seven minutes. And gave the car to the valet kid and went in.
Icarus is very voguish and demure and the sight of Hawk waiting for us at a table was enough to cheer me for the evening. He looked like a moose at a gazelle convention. He stood when he saw Susan and she kissed him. There was a bottle of Krug in an ice bucket beside the table. When we sat, Hawk took it from the ice, wiped it with the towel, and poured champagne into
Susan's glass, then mine.
Susan raised her glass and said, 'To us.' We clinked and drank. The corners of Susan's eyes were crinkled with amusement.
'I can't tell you,' she said, 'how out of place you two look in here.'
'Not our fault we big,' Hawk said.
'Of course not,' Susan said. 'Have you seen pictures of Pearl?'
'Not yet,' Hawk said.
Susan rummaged in her purse. Which was quite tricky, since the purse wasn't much bigger than a postcard. She was wearing a white suit with gold braid and epaulets, and she seemed, as she always did, to occupy the center of the room. Everything else seemed to group around her and be ordered by her, like a jar in Tennessee. When you
