Маргарет Миллар - The Murder of Miranda

“Not for me. I have strict orders from Mr. Henderson. If I don’t obey them I might get fired.”

“Nonsense. You’ll outlast a dozen Hendersons. Be a good girl and rustle me up that paper. Half a dozen sheets will do for the time being.”

Little Frederic was trying a new ploy.

“Grady, sir, will you please unlock this door?”

“Can’t. I swallowed the key.”

“Hey man, that’s great. You can sue the club and I’ll act as your lawyer. We can gross maybe a couple—”

“No.”

“Okay, just let me out of here and we’ll press the flesh and forget the whole thing.”

Grady peeled a banana and took a two-inch bite. “What whole thing?”

“You know. The toilet bit.”

“Are you confessing, Quinn?”

“Hell no. Why would I pull a dumb trick like plug a toilet with my own clothes? I’m a smart kid. I was framed.”

“If you’re so smart,” Grady said, “how come you’re always being framed?”

“Someone is out to get me.”

“I have news for you, Quinn. Everybody is out to get you.”

“Tell them my father is buying me a stun gun.”

“Okay, I’ll spread the word right now.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the office. They should be the first to know.”

Before he left, Grady combed his hair in front of the mirror in the cubbyhole that served as the lifeguards’ dressing room. He knew Ellen was interested in him and there was always a chance that some day he might get interested back. She was a nice sensible girl with a steady job and great-looking legs. He could do better but he’d often done a lot worse.

“We can’t expel Frederic,” Ellen said. “He’s already expelled.”

“Then how come he’s here?”

“He must have climbed over the back fence.”

“There are four rows of barbed wire on top.”

“The engineer reported yesterday that his wire cutters were missing from the storage shed.”

“The kid’s a genius,” Grady said. “I wish we could think of something constructive for him to be a genius at.”

“You can handle him. Opinion among the members is that you’re very good with children. They seem to like you — the children, I mean.”

“What about the other people?”

“What other people?”

“The ones who aren’t children.”

“Oh, I’m sure everyone likes you.”

“Does that include you?”

She fixed her eyes at a point on the wall just over his left shoulder. “It’s against the rules for you to come into the office wearing only swim trunks. You’re supposed to put on your warm-up suit.”

“I’m not cold,” Grady said. “Are you?”

“Stop the cute act.”

“What kind of act would you like? I’m versatile.”

“I bet you are. But don’t waste any of it on me.”

He sat on the edge of the desk swinging one leg and admiring the way the sun had tanned the skin while bleaching the hair to a reddish gold. Then he turned his attention back to Ellen. Under ordinary circumstances he wouldn’t have bothered making a pass, but right now the pickings were poor. Club members were off limits, especially the teenagers who’d hung around him during the summer indicating their availability in ways that would have shocked their parents as thoroughly as little Frederic’s projected stun gun. Anyway, it was fall and they were back in school. Ellen was still here.

He said, “You sure play hard to get. What’s the point?”

“And speaking of rules, tell your girlfriends not to phone here for you. Mr. Henderson doesn’t approve of personal calls at the office.”

“Hey, you’re laying it on me pretty heavy. Lighten up, will you? I’m not your run-of-the-mill rapist.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“What are you so mad about, anyway?”

“I’m not mad, merely observant. I’ve watched you spreading the charm around for your fourteen-year-old groupies all summer and—”

“I like your eyes when you’re mad, they’re light bright green. Like emeralds. Or 7-Up bottles.”

“Yours are grey. And strictly granite.”

“I didn’t know you were such a mean-type lady.”

“I didn’t know either.” Ellen sounded a little surprised. “I guess it takes a mean-type man to bring it out in me.”

“Okay, let’s start over. I come into the office to report that I’m having some trouble with one of the kids. And you say we can’t expel him because he’s already expelled. Then I say... oh hell, I forget what I said. You really do have pretty eyes, Ellen. They’re emeralds. Forget the 7-up bottles, I just tossed them in to make you laugh. Only you didn’t.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

“In fact, you never laugh at anything I say anymore.” The telephone rang and she was about to pick it up when he reached across the desk and stopped her by grabbing her arm. “I notice you kidding around with some of the members and the engineer and even Henderson. Why the sudden down on me?”

“It’s not sudden. It’s been coming on for some time.”

“Why? I didn’t do anything to you. I thought we were friends, you know, on the same side but cool.”

“Is that your definition of friends, on the same side but cool?”

“What’s the matter with it?”

“It seems to leave out a few essentials.”

“Put them in and we’re still friends. Aren’t we?” The phone had stopped ringing. Neither of them noticed. Grady said again, “Aren’t we?”

“No.”

“Why not...? Oh hell, don’t answer that. I wouldn’t make much of a friend anyhow. Want to hear something funny? I must have had friends all along the line — I’ve got a lot going for me — but I don’t remember them. I remember the places, none of them amounting to a hill of beans, but I forget the people. They walked away or I walked away. Same difference. They’re gone like they died on me.”

“This sounds like a pitch for sympathy.”

“Sympathy? Why would I want sympathy? I’m on top of the world.”

“Fine. How’s the view?”

“Right now it’s not so bad.”

A woman was coming down the corridor toward the office and he liked the way she moved, kind of slow and waltzing like a bride walking down the aisle. She wore a long silky robe that clung to her thighs. Her blonde hair had been twisted into a single braid that fell over one shoulder and was fastened with a pink flower. With every step she took, the pink flower brushed her left breast. This seemed guileless, but Grady knew enough about women to be pretty sure it wasn’t.

He said, “Who’s the lady?”

“Mrs. Shaw.”

“She looks rich.”

“I guess she is.”

“Very rich?”

“I don’t know. How do you tell the difference between rich and very rich?”

“Easy. The very rich count their money, then put it in a bank and throw away the key. The rich spend theirs. They drive it, fly it, eat it, wear it, drink it.”

“Mrs. Shaw put hers on her face.”

“That’s not a bad choice.”

Ellen’s voice was cold. “I can understand a glandular type like you getting excited about some teenage groupies. But a fifty-year-old widow, that’s overdoing it a bit, isn’t it? She’s fifty-two, in fact. When her husband died a few months ago I had to look up their membership application to write an obit for the club bulletin. He was a very sweet old man nearly eighty.”

“What’s her first name?”

“Why?”

“I just want to know. You make it sound like a crime no matter what I say or do.”

“Her name is Miranda. But you’d better stick to Mrs. Shaw if you know what’s good for you.”

“Can’t I even ask a question without you getting all torqued up?”

“Mr. Henderson has a strict rule prohibiting fraternization between members and employees. You were warned about it several times last summer, remember? Frederic’s sister, April, the Peterson girl, Cindy Kellogg—”