Friday The Rabbi Slept Late

11

Alice Hoskins, Bryn Mawr '57, the mother of two children and very obviously soon to have a third, invited the chief of police into her living room. The floor was covered with an oyster-white wall-to-wall figured broad-loom. The furniture was Danish modern, odd-shaped pieces of highly polished teak and black sailcloth seemingly curved or sloping the wrong way, yet strangely comfortable to sit in. There was a coffee table, a slab of dark walnut supported by four glass legs. On one wall hung a large abstract painting, vaguely suggestive of a female head; on another, a grotesque ebony mask, the features sharply etched and heightened in white. There were ashtrays scattered about, of sharp-edged crystal, most of them full to overflowing with cigarette butts. It was the sort of room that could be attractive only if kept scrupulously tidy with everything in its rightful place; and the room was a mess. Toys were scattered about the floor; a child's red sweater had been tossed on a chair of wrought iron and white leather; a glass, a quarter full of milk, was on the mantelpiece; a mussed newspaper was on the couch.

Mrs. Hoskins, thin and drawn except for her protuberant belly, waddled over to the couch, swept the newspaper onto the floor, and sat down. She patted the seat beside her in invitation, offered Lanigan a cigarette from a crystal box on the coffee table, and took one for herself. There was a matching table lighter, but as he reached for it she said, 'It doesn't work,' and struck a match for him.

'Celia is out with the children just now, but she should be back very soon,' she said.

'It's just as well,' he said. And then getting right to business: 'Was she very friendly with Elspeth?'

'Celia is friendly with everybody, Mr. Lanigan. She's one of those plain girls who goes in for being friendly. You know, a plain girl has to have something else. Some go in for brains and some go in for causes and some go in for being friendly and good sports. That's Celia. She's jolly and a good sport and frightfully keen on the children. And they're crazy about her. I'm just here to have them; she takes care of them from then on.'

'She been with you long?'

'Ever since before the first one arrived. She came to us when I was in my last month.'

'So she's a good bit older than Elspeth?'

'Goodness, yes. Celia is twenty-eight or nine.'

'Did she talk to you about Elspeth?'

'Oh yes. We talked about all kinds of things. We're quite good pals, you know. I mean, Celia has a lot of common sense even though she hasn't had much schooling. I think she left school about the second year of high, but she's been around and she knows people. She felt sorry for Elspeth. Celia is always feeling sorry for people. In this case, I suppose with some justification, Elspeth being a stranger and all. And the girl was shy. She didn't like to go places and do things. Celia bowls regularly and goes to dances and beach parties in the summer and skating in the winter, but she could never get Elspeth to come along. She would take in a movie with her occasionally, and of course they were together most afternoons with the children, but Celia could never get her to go bowling or to dances-you know, places where a girl could meet men.' 'Surely you talked about the reason for it.'

'Of course we did. Celia thought that part of it was just natural shyness-some girls are, you know-and that maybe she didn't have the clothes for dances. Also, I suspect that Celia's crowd were probably too old for Elspeth.'

Lanigan fished in his pocket and brought out a snapshot of the girl and the two Serafino children. 'Mrs. Serafino gave me that. It was the only picture she had of the girl. Would you say it was a good likeness?'

'Oh, that's the girl all right.'

'I mean, would you call that a characteristic expression, Mrs. Hoskins? We might run it in the papers-'

'You mean with the two children?'

'Oh no, we'd block them out.'

'I suppose public curiosity must be satisfied, but I didn't realize the police were so cooperative,' she said coldly.

He laughed. 'It's the other way around, Mrs. Hoskins. We expect the press to cooperate by printing the picture. It may enable us to trace her movements yesterday.'

'Oh, I'm sorry.'

'And would you say that the expression is characteristic?' he persisted.

She looked at the snapshot again. 'Yes, that's like her. She was really quite an attractive girl. A little on the stocky side, but not fat-what we used to call corn-fed. Perhaps buxom would be a nicer word. Of course, I used to see her around with the children with little or no makeup and her hair just pulled back-but what woman does look nice when she's doing housework or taking care of children? I saw her all dressed up once in high heels and a party dress and her hair curled, and she looked quite lovely. It was just a few days after she came to work for the Serafinos. Oh, I remember-it was in February, Washington's Birthday. We'd bought a couple of tickets to the Policemen and Firemen's Ball. We gave them to Celia, of course-'

'Of course,' murmured Lanigan.

'Well-' She hesitated and then blushed. 'Oh, I'm sorry,' she said.

'Don't apologize, Mrs. Hoskins. Everyone gives them away-usually to the maid.'

'Well,' she went on, 'what I meant to say was that it was just like Celia to invite her instead of one of her men friends. Elspeth came over here because my husband was going to drive them down.'

There was a noise at the front door and Mrs. Hoskins said, 'That's Celia with the children now.'

The door did not open so much as explode inward, and a moment later Hugh Lanigan found himself in the vortex of two children, Mrs. Hoskins, and the tall, plain Celia. The two women tried to divest the children of their sweaters and caps.

'I'll give them their lunch, Celia,' said Mrs. Hoskins, 'so that you can talk to this gentleman. He's here about poor Elspeth.'

'I'm Chief Lanigan of the Barnard's Crossing police department,' he began when they were alone in the living room.

'Yes, I know. I saw you at the Policemen and Firemen's Ball last Washington's Birthday. You led the Grand March with your missus. She's a looker.' 'Thank you.'

'And she looks smart too. I mean you can see that she's got something upstairs.'

'Upstairs? Oh yes, I see. You're quite right. I can see that you're quite a judge of character, Celia. Tell me, what were your impressions of Elspeth.'

Celia appeared to give the matter some thought before answering. 'Well, most people thought of her as a quiet, mousy type, but you know that could have been just on the surface.'

'How do you mean?'

'She was inclined to be stand-offish-not stuck-up, mind you, but sort of reserved. I figured the poor thing was all alone here and friendless, and I was sort of the old-timer in the neighborhood, so I decided it was my duty to kind of bring her out of her shell. Well, I had these two tickets to the Policemen and Firemen's Ball that Mr. Hoskins gave me. So I invited her, and she went and had a very nice time. She danced every dance, and during the intermission she had a fellow with her.'

'And she was happy?'

'Well, she wasn't laughing and giggling all night, but you could see she was having a good time in the quiet sort of way that was her style.'

'That was a promising beginning.'

'That was the end, too. I invited her to any number of dances and double dates after that but she never accepted. I've got lots of gentlemen friends and I could have fixed her up practically every Thursday night, but she always refused.'

'Did you ever ask her why?'

'Of course I did, but she'd always say she just didn't feel like it, or she was tired and she wanted to get home early, or she had a headache.'

'Perhaps she wasn't well,' Lanigan suggested.

Celia shook her head. 'Nothing like that. No girl ever gave up a date for a headache. I used to think maybe she