Mystery

target, Tom thought. “There are some things you have to know,” he said, and Fritz swam closer to him, his wide forehead wrinkled.

“Do you know what the celebration was about, last night?” Fritz shook his head. “Buddy is supposed to get married to Sarah Spence.”

“Well, sure. What’s the big deal?”

“He can’t marry her,” Tom said.

“How come?”

“She’s too young. She’s too smart. She doesn’t even like him.”

“Then how come she’s going to marry him?”

“Because her parents want her to, because your Uncle Ralph picked her out for him, and because she hasn’t been able to see me for a couple of weeks.”

Fritz stopped paddling around and stared at him. His mouth was underwater.

“I’ve sort of been seeing her. We got close, Fritz.”

Fritz lifted his mouth out of the water. “How close?”

“Pretty close,” Tom said. “Buddy tried to tell me to stay away from her, and when I wouldn’t agree, he tried to fight me, and I punched him in the gut. He went down.”

“Oh, shit,” Fritz said.

“Fritz, the truth is—”

Fritz clamped his eyes shut.

“Come on, Fritz. The truth is, Sarah was never going to marry him in the first place. She’s going to college in the fall, and she’ll write him a letter or something, and that’ll be that. They’re not even engaged, it’s just some kind of understanding.”

“Did you screw her?” Fritz asked.

“None of your business.”

“Oh, shit,” Fritz said. “How many times?”

“I have to see her,” Tom said, and Fritz dove underwater and began swimming back toward the dock. Tom swam after him. Fritz scrambled up on the dock and sat with his head on his knees. His hair glowed in the sun. When Tom pulled himself up on the dock, Fritz stood up and stepped away from him.

“Well?” Tom said.

Fritz glared at him. He looked almost ready to cry. He punched Tom in the shoulder. “Tell me you did,” he said. “Tell me you did, shithead.” He hit Tom in the chest, and knocked him backwards a step.

“I did,” Tom said.

Fritz whirled around, so that he faced Roddy Deepdale’s lodge. “I knew it,” he said.

“If you knew it, why did you hit me?”

“I knew this was going to happen.”

“What?”

Fritz turned around slowly. “I knew you were going to do something crazy like this.” There was a gleam of pure naughtiness in his eyes. He jumped forward and shoved Tom’s biceps with both of his hands. “Where’d you do it? In the woods? In your lodge? Inside or outside?”

Tom stepped backwards. “Never mind.”

Fritz shoved him again. “If you don’t tell me, I won’t do anything for you.” His eyes seemed to be all gleam now. “If you don’t tell me something, I won’t even ever talk to you again.” He backed Tom down the deck, pushing at him like a little blond bear playing with its trainer. “Where was the first time?”

“On your uncle’s airplane,” Tom said.

Fritz’s arms dropped. “On …” He blinked, three times, rapidly. He choked on a laugh, got the laugh out of his throat, and fell on his knees, bawling with laughter. “On … on … my uncle’s …” He fell on his back, still laughing too hard to speak.

“Are you going to help me?” Tom said.

Fritz’s laughter gradually subsided into a series of sighs. “Sure. You’re my friend, aren’t you?” He looked up, eyes gleaming again, from the deck. “Moby Dick,” he said, and sputtered with laughter again. Then his face turned serious, and he squinted into the sun. “Is there a real old guy in Moby Dick?”

“Sure,” Tom said.

“And does the fish get all eaten up?”

“Eaten up?”

“You fart, you got the wrong book. Even I know Ernest whatzisname didn’t write Moby Dick. Her parents were on that plane, right? They were right there, right?”

“There aren’t any hard parts in The Old Man and the Sea,” Tom said.

“Don’t change the subject,” Fritz said, and began giggling. “Oh, God. Oh, God. How can this be happening to me?”

“It isn’t happening to you,” Tom said. “It’s happening to me.”

“Well, what does Sarah Spence have to do with Lamont von Heilitz?”

“Nothing.”

Fritz sat up and jiggled a finger in his ear. He cocked his head and looked at Tom. “But I heard my uncle and Jerry talking about him—right after I changed. They were on my uncle’s porch. I told you.”

“When was this?”

“When you said this old guy who used to be famous lived across the street from you, and I said, everybody knows that, that’s when. Because I heard my Uncle Ralph on the porch with Jerry, and my uncle said, da da da da da dum, Lamont von Heilitz, or whatever his name is, and Jerry said, he lives across the street from the Pasmores.”

“I wonder what that was about?”

“I’ll ask him,” Fritz said.

“No, don’t ask him about it. Did your uncle say anything after that?”

“He said, have a nice time, Fritzie. Which is what I thought I was going to do.” He picked himself up. “I suppose you want me to go get her and bring her here, and then go walk around the lake or something.”

“Maybe you could call her up this afternoon, or talk to her at lunch,” Tom said. “Say you’d like to go for a walk with her or something while Buddy’s out shooting with Jerry, and go around the lake so her parents won’t see you bringing her here. I just want to talk to her—I have to talk to her.”

After a second Fritz boffed his chest again, and said, “Let’s swim some more, huh? I’ll take care of things. If you’re in love with Sarah Spence, Buddy can always get married to Posy Tuttle. Buddy doesn’t care who he gets married to.”

They swam until Fritz’s mother came outside the compound to the middle Redwing dock and began calling, “Fritzie! Fritzie!”

As soon as Fritz had run back to the compound, his wet bare feet leaving footprints behind him on the track, Tom dried himself off, changed into chinos and a polo shirt, and went to the club. It was just past eleven forty-five. Lunch did not normally begin until twelve-thirty, but he was hungry—he’d eaten nothing besides half of the pie for dinner the night before, and had skipped breakfast that morning. Besides, he was too tense to wait: he suspected that the real reason he wanted to eat early was that he could be out of the club dining room before the Redwings showed up, pleased with themselves for having negotiated their way through the obstacles to their son’s engagement to be engaged. There would be one delicate hint to Fritz’s parents about trouble with the Pasmore boy, and Fritz would be unable to keep himself from sneaking shining glances across the room.

“Book scars,” Tom said to himself, and smiled.

The long table had been extended, and set for three more places. Fritz’s parents would be formally introduced, in the lowest of low-key styles, with the formality that conceals itself, to the Redwing Holding Company’s newest acquisition.