Donald Westlake - The New Black Mask ( No 3 )

I murmured for her to take it easy, also quietly suggesting to Pat that the subject was hardly worth pursuing. He glanced at me absently, not seeming to hear what I had said.

“I never forget a face, Britt, baby. Ask anyone that knows me.”

“You sure don’t, Mr. Aloe! Not never ever!”

“I don’t know where or when it was. But I’ve seen her, and I’ll remember.”

He let it go at that, facing back around in the seat. Kay gave me a smile of thanks for my support in the rearview. I smiled back at her, then shifted my gaze. What difference did it make whether he had or hadn’t seen her? And why should I be again starting to feel that creeping uneasiness in my stomach?

Pat took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to me. It was the bonus check I had so foolishly given back to Manny, and I accepted it gratefully. The money would keep Connie off my back indefinitely, relieving me of at least one of my major worries.

We arrived at the house. The guards and the chauffeur remained with the car while Pat accompanied Kay and me inside. As she preceded us up the steps, he told me sotto voce that I should have a salary check coming pretty soon, and that he would see to it and anything else that needed taking care of, in case Manny wasn’t available.

I said that was very nice of him, and how was Manny getting along? “I hope she’s not seriously ill?”

“Naah, nothing like it,” he grunted. “Just been working too hard, I guess. Got herself run down and picked up a touch of flu.”

“Well, give her my best,” I said. “And thanks very much for seeing me safely home.”

I held out my hand tentatively. He said he’d go in the house with me if I didn’t mind. “Reckon you’ll want to check in with the sergeant, and let him know you got here all right.”

“I’ll do that,” I said, “and you can let him know that you got here all right.”

He gave me a puzzled look and said, Huh? And I said, Never mind, to forget it; and rang the doorbell.

I rang it several times, but there was no response from Mrs. Olmstead. So, finally, I unlocked the door, and we went in.

She was in the kitchen talking on the telephone. Hearing us enter the house, she hurriedly concluded her call and came into the living room, carrying the phone with her and almost becoming entangled in its long extension cord.

I took it from her, introducing her to Kay and Pat as I dialed Claggett’s number. They grimaced briefly at one another, mumbling inconsequentialities, and I reported in to Jeff and then passed the phone to Pat. He did as I did, and hung up the receiver.

I walked Pat to the door. As we stood there for a moment, shaking hands and exchanging the usual polite pleasantries customary to departures and arrivals, he looked past me to Kay, eyes narrowing reflectively. He was obviously trying to remember where he had seen her before, and was, just as obviously, disturbed by his inability to do so. Fortunately, however, he left without giving voice to his thoughts; and I started back to the living room. I stopped short of it, in the entrance foyer, listening to the repartee between Kay Nolton and Mrs. Olmstead.

“Now, Mrs. Olmstead. All I said was that the house needs a good airing out, and it most certainly does!”

“ Doesn’t neither! Who’re you to be giving me orders, anyway?”

“You know very well who I am — Yve told you several times. My job is to help Mr. Rainstar recover his health, which means that he must have fresh air to breathe —”

“HE’S GOT FRESH AIR!”

“—clean, wholesome, well-prepared meals —”

“THATS THE ONLY KIND I FIX!”

“ —and plenty of peace and quiet.”

“WHY DON’T YOU BUTT OUT THEN?”

I turned quietly away, and went silently up the stairs. I went into my room, stretched out on the bed and closed my eyes. I kept them closed, too, breathing gently and otherwise simulating sleep, when they came noisily up the steps to secure my services as arbitrator.

They left grudgingly, without disturbing me, each noisily shushing the other. I got up, visited the bathroom to dab cold water on my nose, then stretched out on the bed again.

I suppose I should have known that there would be friction between any woman as stubbornly sloppy as Mrs. Olmstead and one who was not only red-haired but as patently hygienic and scrubbed-looking as Kay Nolton. I suppose that I should also have known that I would be caught in the middle of the dispute, since, like the legendary hapless Pierre, unpleasantness was always catching me in the middle of it. What I should not have supposed, I suppose, was that I would have known what the crud to do about it. Because about all I ever had known to do about something inevitably turned out to be the wrong thing.

So there you were, and here I was, and the air did smell pretty foul, but then it never did smell very good. And I was rather worn out from too much exercise, following no exercise at all, so I went to sleep.

I went to work on a pamphlet the next morning. I kept at it, at first turning out nothing but pointless drivel. But, then, inspiration came to me, and my interest rose higher and higher, and the pages flowed from my typewriter.

It was a day over two weeks before I saw Manny. It was a Friday, her first day out of the hospital, and she came out to the house as soon as she had gone to Mass. She had lost weight, and it had been taken from her face. But she had a good color, having sunned frequently in the hospital’s solarium, and the thinning of her face gave a quality of spirituality to her beauty it had lacked before.

She—

But hold it! Hold it right there! I have gone way ahead of myself, skimming over events which should certainly deserve telling.

To take things in reasonably proper order (or as much as their frequent impropriety will allow):

I worked. I badly wanted to work, and I am a very hard guy to distract when I am that way. When I was distracted, as, of course, I soon was, I dealt with the distraction — Kay and Mrs. Olmstead — with exceptional shrewdness and diplomacy, thus keeping my time-waste minimal.

I explained to Mrs. Olmstead that it was only fair that Kay should take over the cooking and certain other chores since she, Mrs. Olmstead, was terribly overworked, and certain changes in household routine were necessary due to my illness.

“The doctors have forbidden me to leave the house, and Miss Nolton is required to stay in the house with me at all times. She can’t order up a taxi, as you can, and go shopping and buy ice cream sodas and, oh, a lot of things, like you’ll be doing for me. I doubt if she could do it, even if she was allowed to leave the house. But I trust you , Mrs. Olmstead. I know you’ll do the job right. So I’m putting a supply of money in the telephone-stand drawer, and you can help yourself to whatever you need. And if any problems do arise, I know you’ll know how to handle them, without any advice from me.”

That disposed of Mrs. Olmstead — almost. She could not quite accept what was a very good thing for her without a grumbled recital of complaints against me — principally, my occasional failure to mail her letters, or to “do something” about a possible invasion by rats. Still, I was sure she would cooperate, since she had no good reason to do otherwise, and I said as much to Kay.

She said flatly that I didn’t know what I was talking about, then hastily apologized for the statement.

“I’m here to help you, Britt, To make things as easy for you as possible. And I’m afraid I’ve added to the strain you’ve been under by letting Mrs. Olmstead provoke me into quarreling with her. I — No, wait now, please!” She held up a hand as I started to interrupt. “I’ve been at least partly at fault, and I’m sorry, and I’ll try to do better from now on. I’ll humor Mrs. Olmstead. I’ll consult her. I’ll do what has to be done without being obtrusive about it — making it seem like a rebuke to her. But I don’t think it’ll do any good. I’ve seen too many other people like her. They have a very keen sense of their privileges and rights, but they’re blind to their obligations. They’re constantly criticizing others, but they never do anything wrong themselves. Not to hear them tell it. I think she spells trouble, Britt, regardless of what you do or I do. For your own good, I think you should fire her.”