Ed McBain: Puss in Boots

He had already informed Markham that the charge against him was being dropped. He was a free man. Free to get on with his goddamn life, as he’d once called it.

“What about the film?” Markham asked.

“What about it?” Matthew said.

“When do I get the film back?”

“I’m sure they’ll need it for Diehl’s trial,” Matthew said. “To establish motive.”

“What about after the trial? I was counting on that film for—”

“You’ll have to ask Bannister about that.”

“Bannister? What the hell does—”

“He may want to burn it,” Matthew said.

And now, at a little before ten o’clock on Christmas morning, he wondered what he was supposed to do. He had not heard from Susan since she’d asked him to leave her house last night. He had planned to spend Christmas with her and Joanna. Open presents together. Just like old times. Maybe the man was right, he thought. Maybe you can’t go home again. He lifted the phone and dialed her number.

Joanna answered the phone.

“Hi, Dad,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, honey,” he said.

“Mom tells me you won’t be coming over today.”

“Oh?”

“What happened?”

“Well... I’m not sure,” he said.

“You guys are very confusing,” Joanna said.

“That’s for sure,” Matthew said, and then hesitated. “Joanna... if anyone tells you to stop seeing Thomas—”

“Who would tell me that?”

“Well, if anyone should—”

“I can’t imagine anyone—”

“Honey... no one has the right to censor your mind or your heart.”

“Huh?” she said.

“Just remember that.”

“Well, sure,” she said. “Shall I get Mom?”

“Please,” he said, and hoped he’d made himself clear.

When Susan picked up the phone, it was indeed like old times. He used to wonder which Susan he’d be talking to on any given day, the Witch or the Waif. On Christmas, he was sort of expecting the Waif. Instead, he got...

“Matthew, I don’t think you ought to come over today, do you? I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about last night, and it seems to me we’ve been rushing into something perhaps neither of us is quite ready for. The argument last night was too reminiscent of painful times in the past, and quite frankly I’m not eager to cover the same ground all over again. I know you’re eager to see Joanna, this is after all Christmas, but perhaps you can spend tomorrow with her, exchange your gifts then, if that’s all right with you. I think it might be worse for her if all three of us spent the day together, considering the uncertain climate between us just now. Don’t you agree?”

“Sure,” he said.

“So,” she said.

“So,” he said.

There was a long silence.

Then she said, “Matthew, don’t you... ”

And paused.

And said plaintively, “Matthew, don’t you think I’m right? I mean, what’s the use of... oh, shit, I just don’t know.”

“Neither do I,” he said.

“Can we give it a little time?”

“Sure.”

Another silence.

“And I won’t say anything to Joanna,” she said.

“About?”

“Her boyfriend.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll give that a little time, too.”

“Good,” Matthew said.

“So,” she said again.

“So,” he said.

“Merry Christmas,” she said.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

There was a click on the line.

He put the receiver back on the cradle.

He went out into the living room.

He mixed himself a martini. Ten o’clock in the morning.

The telephone rang.

Susan, he thought. A change of heart.

Or Joanna. In tears.

He walked to the kitchen counter, picked up the phone.

“Hello?” he said.

“Matthew?”

A woman’s voice.

“Yes?”

“This is Marcie Franklin.”

“Oh, hi,” he said.

“Merry Christmas,” she said.

“Merry Christmas.”

“I wanted to apologize for the other day. I guess I did have one too many, I’m not normally that brazen.”

Silence.

“I’m glad this is the right number,” she said. “I got it from last year’s phone book.”

More silence.

“Well,” she said, “I know you must be busy, this is Christmas Day, I just wanted to—”

“Are you free for lunch?” he said.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she said.