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said. She put the sheet back over him herself and turned away. "I knew him years ago.
What a miserable end for a hard life."
Then Martha remembered the moment two days before, when the door had opened and
Elen and Pádraig had burst in on them, fresh from their experiment and bringing sunlight
with them. She touched the soaked and brittle knot of grass he had brought to show her.
"And for a good rope," she added.
She fixed Anderson with blue eyes strangely calm in her sad face. She touched his hand,
lightly. "I will find out how this happened," she said to him, as if in apology to the
detective.
He had to smile. "I'll hold you to that promise, ma'am."
Elen Evans walked over to the air conditioner and turned it on. "Well," she said, and sat
down on the bed again.
Long, blank-faced and with eyes unfocused, followed her movement with his head,
causing Elen to laugh. "My dear Mr. Long, you certainly are limber for a gentleman of
your age and sedentary habits." Her voice went distinctly Georgia.
"His what?" Pádraig straightened in his chair. "I didn't understand a word of that."
Long remained expressionless and staring. "Actually, I do get my exercise, Elen. Last
night I got quite a lot."
The silence was cut only by the growl of the fan. At last Long went to his customary seat
at the round table. And then there was a rattling knock at the door and Elizabeth
Macnamara burst in, sweaty and breathing hard.
Elizabeth was a young woman of unusual height and unusual beauty. She dressed
conservatively and with good effect, today in a soft-green cotton wraparound that had a
French flavor. Her honey-colored hair waved softly around her face.
Pádraig found himself on his feet, though surprise and not manners had moved him.
Teddy Poznan found himself smiling.
"Good morning, Elizabeth," Mayland Long greeted her.
"Mommy!" cried Marty, jumping hard on the bed.
Elen Evans said nothing. Her eyes were fixed on Pádraig.
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"Damn! You're all here waiting for me. I knew it!" Elizabeth grabbed her daughter and
swung her off the bed. "Hello, Queen of the Universe! How ya been? Mommy's missed
you!"
Marty took about ten seconds of swinging before she said, "That's enough, thank you,"
and sat back on the bed, looking complacent. Elizabeth glanced up again.
"It was a radiator hose, and if you're pissed at me, imagine how everybody else on
Highway 17 feels? What a mess. Ninety minutes and I didn't dare get out of the car. I
should have changed them all months ago; why are computer engineers invariably useless
around cars?"
No one answered her, but then she had not given them a chance. Elizabeth took one
more deep breath of the cool indoor air and looked around her in more collected fashion.
"Where's my mother?"
Long stepped forward. "Your mother is at the police station, Elizabeth."
She had been standing with her left hip cocked and her face tilted, looking over her
shoulder at Long, and in that position she froze. With her elegance and height she
resembled a mannequin from some expensive department store. "The police station?"
"George St. Ives is dead," said Long. Elizabeth gasped and put her hand down on her
daughter's flaxen head.
"She felt she ought to go."
"He& killed himself," offered Teddy. "It's so sad."
Elizabeth did not care for Ted Poznan. She did not care for many people. But it was not
scorn that made her look through him completely.
"He was he was found at the pier? This morning?"
Ted opened his eyes very wide. "How did you know that?" asked Pádraig.
Long guessed. "The police towed your car?"
"The Highway Patrol. It was back and forth on the radio. But" Elizabeth gave Marty a
nervous little hug "I didn't suspect who it was. They didn't know!"
"Yeah. He didn't have any identification. I'm the one that told them," said Teddy. It was
a plaintive admission.
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Elizabeth raised stormy eyes to Long. "What are you going to do about it?"
Elen, still curled on the bed, laughed outright. "What is he supposed "
"Ido? Martha is there," he began.
"That's what I mean!" Elizabeth set her jaw. "Why should she be the one?"
'"Cause she's da boss lady." Elen spoke to Elizabeth with no great warmth.
"She knows what to do," said Long.
"Goddamn it!" said Elizabeth to them all, and she sat down on the far bed with Marty on
her lap, glaring.
The liquor bottles behind the bar at the Riva glowed with a fantastic play of light,
bounced from the sun to the sea to the slanted windows of the building and hence inward.
It also glanced off the round face of Pádraig Ó Súilleabháin and put corrugations around
his blue eyes. Had Detective Anderson been there, he might have recanted his estimation
of the man's age, for Pádraig, this afternoon, had a terrible squint which added years to
him.
Mayland Long sat beside him at the bar, and perhaps because of the affinity of color, his
yellowish eyes were fixed on the tumbler half full of Glenlivet Scotch in his hand.
Pádraig, too, had a double Scotch, because Long was buying.
Elen Evans, seated at Pádraig's other hand, propped her chin on her hand heel and drank
coffee. It seemed to have no power over her.
"Did I show you this?" Pádraig reached his many-scarred hand into his shirt and pulled
out the limp leather cross.
"Yes, you did," replied Long politely.
"Yes, you did," said Elen.
He let the memento slip back under his shirt. There was an uncomfortable silence.
"Perhaps we should have gone someplace else," Long whispered. "For us to parade up
and down the pier today shows a certain lack of feeling."
Pádraig lifted his eyes out of the bar of sunlight. "I don't know any other places in this
city. Not on the water."
Elen gave a yawn which dwarfed her face and left her almost unable to sit up. "Excuse
me," she said. "This daytime wake is a bit too much for me." She picked up her purse and
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headed toward the back of the restaurant.
Long rubbed his face with both hands. His suit rustled like dry moth wings. He gave a
chuckle.
"My, but three Macnamaras can fill a room. One would think they were much bigger
women."
Pádraig nodded sagaciously. "Women. That is the important word in what you said.
Myself I have five sisters. And they wonder why I love to go out in small boats!" He took
a long sip of the drink before him and made a face. "Smells like a smoking stove! Whisky
can kill a man," he said.
"You say that frequently."
"It is what my mother says. She brought us all up as Pioneers."
"Then why are you drinking alcohol?" asked Long in simple curiosity. Pádraig did not
answer.
Long drank his Scotch without grimacing.
"Many things can kill a man,Fear Uí Súilleabháin . Sickness, for one. A rope, for
another."
Pádraig whined.
"I want the truth," said Long. He blew his nose on a cocktail napkin and slapped his big
hand down on the bar. The bartender glanced over casually and then went back to cutting
lemons. "I'm old and I'm tired and my nose hurts abominably! I want to have the truth
now!"
"I didn't kill him," said Pádraig, daunted. "And I don't think that knowing who did will
help you with your cold."
Long grunted. "You don't understand."
Pádraig drank the drink Long had bought for him and agreed that he didn't understand.
"You're too young," Long said. Again Pádraig agreed.
Long noticed his glass was empty and he raised his head. Within five seconds the
bartendter had refilled it, as well as Pádraig's. "They treat you good," the young man said.
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