Sarah. “These people have been robbing houses for years.” Fritz gunned the engine, and Tom leaned into the car. He looked at Fritz’s furious profile. “Fritz, if you knew you had to see someone again, right after you learned something that made you pretty sure they’d committed murder, what would you do? Would you say anything?”
Fritz kept staring straight ahead. His teeth made the file-on-iron sound.
“Would you try to forget about it?”
Sarah gave him an anxious smile. “I’ll come over tonight—I’ll get put somehow.”
Fritz pulled ahead, and Tom waved at Sarah. Fritz pushed the accelerator, and the car left Tom standing on the side of the road. After a couple of seconds, Sarah reached over to close the door. The car picked up speed as it went over the rise, and then it disappeared.
As soon as he got back to the lodge, Tom went into the study and found the number of the Eagle Lake Police Department in the telephone book.
A male voice answered, and Tom asked to speak to Chief Truehart.
“The Chief’s out of the office until tonight,” said the voice, and Tom saw Spychalla leaning back in his boss’s chair, pumping his muscles to make his belt creak.
“Could you give me a time?”
“Who is this?” Spychalla asked.
“I want to give you some information,” Tom said. “The stereo equipment and everything else stolen in the burglaries this year is being stored in an old tool and die shop on Summers Street. There’s a Polish name over the door.”
“Who are you?” Spychalla asked.
“One of the guys is still there, so if you go to Summers Street you can get him.”
“I’m unable to respond to anything but emergencies, on account of being alone here, but if you’ll leave your name and tell me how you got this information.…”
Tom took the phone away from his ear and stared at it in frustration. He heard Spychalla’s voice saying, “This is that kid out at Eagle Lake, isn’t it? The one who thinks the Chief’s mother is a burglar.”
He put the phone to his mouth and said, “No, my name is Philip Marlowe.”
“Where are you, Mr. Marlowe?”
Tom hung up. He wanted to go upstairs and hide under the bed.
He locked the front door, then walked across the length of the lodge and locked the door to the deck. Then he walked nervously around the sitting room for a time, and when the house made its noises, looked out the front windows to see if Jerry had come up on the porch. He went back into the sitting room and called Lamont von Heilitz, who was not at home.
The telephone rang when he had just reached the bottom of the first page of a letter to von Heilitz, and the pen skittered across the paper, leaving dashes. Tom set down the pen and looked at the phone. He put his hand on the receiver, but did not pick it up. It went dead, and then started ringing as soon as he took his hand off the receiver, and rang ten times before it stopped again.
The directory listed two Redwings: Ralph at Gladstone Lodge, Eagle Trail, and Chester, Palmerston Lodge, Eagle Trail. Chester was Fritz’s father. Tom dialed the number and waited through three rings until a woman answered. He recognized the voice of Fritz’s mother, Eleanor Redwing, and asked to speak to Fritz.
“Is that you, Tom? You must be enjoying yourself tremendously.”
So Buddy’s parents had not spoken about the difficulty with Sarah; and Fritz had kept quiet about the machine shop.
“Oh, sure,” he said. “Tremendously.”
“Well, I know that Fritz has been looking forward to seeing you up here ever since you left. Of course the big news around here is about Buddy and Sarah. We all think it’s wonderful. She’ll be so good for him.”
“Wonderful,” Tom said. “Tremendous.”
“And of course she’s had a crush on him since ninth grade. And they’re so cute together, the way they keep sneaking off to be alone.”
“I guess they have a lot to talk about.”
“I don’t think they spend a lot of time talking,” she said. “Anyhow, here’s Fritzie. Tom, I hope we’ll be seeing you around the compound.”
“That would be very nice.”
A moment later Fritz took the phone. He did not say anything. Tom could hear him breathing into the receiver.
“What’s going on over there?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nobody said anything about seeing us?”
“I told you, nothing.”
“Where is everybody? Did you see Jerry or anybody after we got back?”
“About five minutes ago, my aunt and uncle went to Hurley in the Cadillac with Robbie. They’re going to stay overnight with some friends.”
“Did you see Nappy?”
“He’s not around. Jerry’s still out with Buddy, I guess. They took Sarah to look at a new boat.”
Fritz breathed into the phone for a while and then said, “Maybe nothing’s going to happen.”
“Something has to happen, Fritz.”
“So—you called, ah, you called who you said you were going to?”
“I didn’t give any names,” Tom said. “I just told them to look in that machine shop.”
“You shouldn’t of.” Fritz breathed heavily into the phone for a few seconds. “What’d they say?”
“They didn’t seem too excited.”
“Okay,” Fritz said. “Maybe they got everything out. I’m gonna say we were just driving around. Nobody saw anything.”
“Did you try to call me a little while ago?”
“Are you kidding? Look, I can’t talk anymore.”
“You want to come over for a swim later?”
“I can’t talk now,” Fritz said, and hung up.
Tom paced around the lodge for another twenty minutes, then picked up a book, unlocked the back door, and went out on the deck.
He tilted the lounger back, stretched out, and tried to read. Sunlight bounced off the page, obliterating the print. Tom raised the book to block out the sun. Heat soaked through his clothes and warmed his skin, and bright golden light poured down to pool all about him. He could not keep his mind on the book: in a short time, his eyelids drooped, and the book tilted toward his chest and became a small white bird he held in his hands, and he was asleep.
A bell insistent as an alarm awakened him, and for a second he thought he was back in Brooks-Lowood—his body felt heavy and slow, but he had to change classes, he had to stand up and move.… He sat up. Sunburn tingled on his forehead, and his face was wet with perspiration. The telephone kept ringing, and Tom moved automatically toward the back door to answer it. He stopped when he put his hand on the doorknob. The phone rang twice more. Tom opened the door and went to the desk.
He picked up the phone and said hello.
There was a brief moment of silence, and then a click and the dial tone.
Tom hung up, locked the back door, walked across the sitting room, went out and locked the front door with the key. He ran down the steps and crossed the track to drag the leafy branch away from the ruts made by Barbara Deane’s car, went around it, and dragged the branch back. He stepped into the undergrowth between himself and the track, pushed aside vines and small stiff branches, and hunkered down at the base of an oak. Through chinks in the leaves, he could see his front steps, half of the porch, and a little of the way down the track to the
