Chapter 53



MRS. GARNER was everything her picture in the paper had led me to believe she would be: squat, grim, and graceless. She let me into the house sullenly, and pointed me into a chair in the living room.

"Sorry to bother you," I said.

"But you're doing it anyway," she said.

"I am," I said cheerily.

The living room was shabby. The couch was a dark oak frame covered with worn green plush. It sagged in spots where too many people had sat too heavily for too long. I sat in a straight-back rush-bottom chair on which the original rush had been replaced by an inexpensive plastic substitute. She wore a grayish housedress with a tiny floral print on it. Her sneakers were old and white and low, with the toe cut away in one of them to relieve pressure on a bunion. Her gray hair was in a tight perm. There was a fireplace, which appeared to burn a gas log. On the wall above it was a much too big portrait of Garner in academic robes, wearing a mortarboard and holding a rolled-up scroll of some kind.

"What do you want?" Mrs. Garner said.

I gave her a wide, warm, and compelling smile.

"I'm just trying to tie up loose ends of the terrible shooting at the school," I said.

She showed no reaction. Maybe she hadn't noticed my smile. I laid the smile on her again. Women have been known to show me their undergarments when I give them that smile. Thankfully, Mrs. Garner did not. She was sitting in a large padded rocker. On the table beside her was a decanter of something, maybe port. She was drinking some of it from a small wineglass. She didn't offer me any. I didn't mind. Port is never my first choice, and especially so on the morning side of lunch.

"Did you know either of the boys?" I said.

"No."

"Do you know many of the students at the school?"

"No."

She emptied her glass and poured herself some more. It smelled like port.

"How about faculty?"

"I have little to do with Royce's school," she said.

"Did you know any of the people killed?"

"Not really."

"Do you know Dr. Blair, the school psychologist?"

"The one who looks like a whore?"

I smiled dazzlingly before I remembered that it didn't seem to be working here.

"Eye of the beholder," I said.

"I don't know her, anyway," Mrs. Garner said. "I saw her once, someplace."

"Do you have children, Mrs. Garner?"

"No."

"Do you remember where you saw Beth Ann Blair?"

"No."

I was really running on all cylinders. Mr. Interrogation!

"Everything all right in your marriage?" I said.

"None of your business," she said.

I nodded. "Gee," I said. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

She said nothing.

"Well," I said. "I won't bother you anymore."

"Good."

I stood.

"Give my best to your husband," I said.

She didn't answer. I tried the smile once more. It was too late. But I couldn't believe it wasn't working.

"Enjoy your day," I said.

At last she decided to heed my advice. As I started for the front door, she poured herself more port.

Загрузка...