“What about McCloskey!” she said. “Do you know about him?”
Milo nodded.
“Then why don’t you go out there and… pressure him? Noel and I would have done it if we knew where he lived- maybe I’ll find out and do it.”
“That’s not a very good idea,” said Milo and repeated the speech he’d given Ramp.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but she’s my mother and I’ve got to do what I think is right.”
“How do you think your mother would like seeing you in a drawer in the morgue?”
Her mouth dropped open. She closed it. Drew herself up. Next to Milo she looked tiny, almost comically so. “You’re just trying to scare me.”
“You’re right.”
“Well, it won’t work.”
“Damn shame.” He looked at his Timex. “Been here a quarter hour and I’ve done diddly. Wanna stand around talking or work?”
“Work,” she said. “Of course-”
“Her room,” said Milo.
“Over here. C’mon.” She ran down the hall, all traces of sleepiness gone.
Milo watched her and muttered something I couldn’t make out.
We followed her.
She’d reached the door, was holding it open. “Here,” she said. “I’ll show you where everything is.”
Milo walked into the sitting room. I went in after him.
She slid past me and faced Milo, blocking the door to the bedroom. “One more thing.”
“What?”
“
16
Milo said, “If you don’t like the way I’m treating you, I’m sure you’ll let me know. In terms of payment, work it out with him.”
He pulled out his pad again and looked around the sitting room. Went to the gray couch. Poked at the pillows, ran his hand under them. “What is this, a waiting room for visitors?”
“A sitting room,” said Melissa. “She didn’t have visitors. My father designed it this way because he thought it was genteel. It used to be different- very elegant, lots more furniture- but she cleaned it out and put this in. She ordered it from a catalogue. She’s basically a simple person. This is really her favorite place- she spends most of her time here.”
“Doing what?”
“Reading- she reads a lot. Loves to read. And she exercises- there’s equipment back there.” Crooking a finger in the direction of the bedroom.
Milo peered at the Cassatt.
I said, “How long’s she had that print, Melissa?”
“My father gave it to her. When she was pregnant with me.”
“Did he have other Cassatts?”
“Probably. He had lots of works on paper. They’re stored upstairs on the third floor. To keep them out of the sunlight. That’s why it’s perfect for here. No windows.”
“No windows,” said Milo. “That doesn’t bother her?”
“She’s a sunny person,” said Melissa. “She makes her own light.”
“Uh-huh.” He went back to the gray couch. Removed the cushions and put them back.
I said, “How long ago did she change the decor?”
Both of them looked at me.
“Just curious,” I said. “About any changes she might have made recently.”
Melissa said, “It was recent. A few months ago- three or four. The stuff that was in here was Father’s taste- really ornamental. She had it put up on the third floor, in storage. Told me she felt kind of guilty because Father had spent so much time picking it out. But I told her it was okay- it was her place; she should do what she wanted.”
Milo opened the door to the bedroom and stepped through.
I heard him say, “She didn’t change this too much, did she?”
Melissa hurried after him. I walked in, last.
He was standing in front of the canopied bed. Melissa said, “I guess she likes it the way it is.”
“Guess so,” said Milo.
The room seemed even bigger from the inside. At least twenty-five feet square, with fifteen-foot ceilings embroidered with crown moldings fashioned to resemble braided cloth. A six-foot white marble mantel was topped with a gold clock and a menagerie of miniature silver birds. A gold eagle sat perched atop the clock, eyeing the smaller fowl. Groupings of Empire chairs upholstered in olive-green silk damask, a baroque threefold screen painted in
The braids snaked toward the center of the ceiling, terminating in a plaster knot from which a crystal and silver chandelier dangled like a giant watch fob. The bed was covered with a quilted off-white satin spread. Tapestry pillows were arranged at the head in a precise overlapping row, like fallen dominoes. A silk robe lay neatly across the foot. The bed was set on a pedestal, adding to its already considerable height. The finials of the posts nearly touched the ceiling.
Weak light shone from crystal wall sconces beside the bed, transforming the off-white color scheme to the color of English mustard, and turning the plum carpeting gray. Milo flipped a switch and flooded the room with the high-watt glare of the chandelier.
He looked under the bed, straightened, and said, “You could eat off it. When was the room made up?”
“Probably this morning. Mother usually does it herself- not the vacuuming or anything strenuous. But she likes to make her own bed. She’s very neat.”
I followed his glance to the chinoiserie nightstands. Ivory pseudo-antique phones on both. Bud vase with red rose centered on the one to the left. A hardcover book next to it.
All the draperies were drawn. Milo went to one of the casement windows, pulled aside the curtains, cranked, and looked out. Fresh air puffed in.
After studying the view for a while, he turned, walked to the left side of the bed, picked up the book, and opened it. Skimmed a few pages, turned it upside down, and gave it a couple of shakes. Nothing fell out. Opening the door of the stand, he bent and peered in. Empty.
I went over and looked at the book’s front cover. Paul Theroux’s
Melissa said, “It’s a travel book.”
Milo said nothing, kept looking around.
The wall opposite the bed was occupied by a nine-foot walnut-and-gilt armoire and a wide carved fruitwood dresser inlaid with marquetry herbs and flowers. Perfume bottles and a marble clock sat atop the dresser. Milo opened the top section of the armoire. Inside was a color TV, a Sony 19-inch that looked to be at least ten years old. Atop the television was a
“No VCR?” he said.
“She doesn’t go in for movies much.”
He moved down to the dresser, slid open drawers, ran his hands through satin and silk.
Melissa watched for several moments, then said, “What exactly are you looking for?”
“Where does she keep the rest of her clothes?”
“Over there.” She pointed to carved swinging doors on the left side of the room. Indian rosewood doors inlaid
