“Good. You’re doing marvelously, sugar. Just begin at the beginning of the conversation, and don’t leave anything out for the sake of discretion. What you might leave out could be the most significant of everything, and we can settle later any issue that may arise from your being honest.”
“All right. First, she asked if it was me on the phone, and I said it was. Then she asked me what I was doing, and I said I was drinking gimlets and listening to Death and Transfiguration, and she said something about drinking gimlets still, and I said not still, but again, because I had taken time out for a bottle of white Burgundy. What was said after that for a while is pretty hazy, but I’m fairly sure it concerned the music, which she could hear, and the state of my emotions, which was gloomy. Then she asked if you were home, and I said no, that you were off discussing Zoroaster with Rose Pogue, and she said that something like that with Rose might go on forever. Right after that she asked me if I would meet her somewhere, and I asked where, and she remembered Dreamer’s Park and suggested it, and I agreed to go. And that’s all of what was said that I can remember, as exactly as I remember it.”
“That clears up what was said, then. Is there anything you want to add or change regarding what was done?”
“Oh, no. Absolutely not. I told you what happened as it really did, but I ought to warn you that I didn’t tell quite all the truth to Hec and Cotton. What I didn’t tell them was that I found the body and didn’t report it.”
“It’s a relief to learn that, you followed my instructions to that extent, at least. It would be too bad to have you kept in jail for such a minor offense after you have been proved innocent of a major one.”
“Yes, it would. I couldn’t agree with you more.”
“Are you positive you’ve told me all you can remember of what was said?”
“All. Did I say anything significant that I failed to understand because of gin or dullness?”
“That remains to be seen. I admit that nothing significant is apparent, but perhaps I’ll discover something if I keep thinking about it.”
About that time Harley Murchison came to the door and coughed, which was a sign that it was time for Sid to go. I stood up, and so did Sid, and Harley went away again to give us a chance to say a private good-by in our own way, and I took advantage of the chance. I held her and kissed her and took a deep breath of the scent of her hair to smell after she was gone, and she said, “Goddamn son of a bitch,” as she had before, in order to keep from crying.
“You’re not a bad sort,” I said. “As wives go, you’re quite satisfactory.”
“I know, sugar. In some ways, I’m even exceptional.”
“I’m very glad that you’ve come to see me, and I hope you’ll come again. Now, however, since you must go, I’d appreciate it if you would go quickly. I don’t want to humiliate myself by an unmanly exhibition. I have a certain status here that I must maintain. After all, I’m the only prisoner suspected of killing someone, and I’m rather looked up to. Harley and I are going to play dominoes this evening. He’s already asked me, and I’ve accepted.”
She sniffed and wiped her nose and went, and where she went and what she did, while I went nowhere and did nothing, make a story that you may not believe if I haven’t been able to make you see her as she was. I don’t know exactly what she did and said in all instances, for I wasn’t with her, but I’m sure I can use my imagination and tell it all with verisimilitude, if not with precise accuracy, from what she told me afterward, and what I heard from others, and most of all from simply knowing Sid and what, in given circumstances, she would most likely do and say.
Where she went first, after leaving the county jail and me in it, was to my office to see Millie Morgan. It was getting pretty late in the afternoon by that time, and Millie was getting ready to close up and go home when Sid arrived. As a matter of probability, she was sitting sidewise to her desk with her legs crossed and a mirror in one hand and a lipstick in the other. I’m willing to commit myself to this because repairing her lips was almost always Millie’s last activity before leaving, and what the crossed legs contributed to it I don’t know, but they seemed to be essential.
“Here you still are, Millie,” Sid said. “I was afraid you might be gone.”
“A few minutes later I’d have been,” Millie said, “but I’m glad I’m not. Have you seen Gid since that God-damn Hec Caldwell put him in jail?”
“I just came from seeing him. I don’t think it was so much Hec who put him there, however, as Cotton McBride.”
“In my opinion, they were both in it and equally responsible. Anyhow, Hec is the county attorney and is expected to act as if he had some intelligence. Cotton is more easily excused because no one could reasonably expect anything of him that required a brain. What on earth makes them suspect Gid of having murdered Beth Thatcher? He called me on the phone and said they did, but he didn’t say why, and I’ve been dying to know ever since.”
“Because he went to Dreamer’s Park the night she was killed there, and
