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"Well," she said aloud, not sounding entirely displeased, "aren' tyou the naked hussy, Martha Peebles?"
And then walked back to the bed, sat down on it, fished out a leather-bound telephone book, and looked up a number.
****
Brewster Cortland Payne, Esquire, saw that one of the lights on one of the two telephones on his desk was flashing. He wondered how long it had been flashing. He had been in deep concentration, and lately that had meant that the Benjamin Franklin Bridge, visible from his windows on a high floor of the Philadelphia Savings Fund Society Building, could have tumbled into the Delaware without his noticing the splash.
It probably means that when I'm free, Irene has something she thinks I should hear, he thought. Otherwise, she would have made it ring. Well, I'm not free, but I'm curious.
As he reached for the telephone it rang.
"Yes, ma'am?" he asked cheerfully.
"Mr. and Mrs. Detweiler are here, Mr. Payne," his secretary of twenty-odd years, Mrs. Irene Craig, said.
Good God, both of them?
"Ask them to please come in," Payne said immediately. He quickly closed the manila folders on his desk and slid them into a drawer. He had no idea what the Detweilers wanted, but there was no chance whatever that they just happened to be in the neighborhood and had just popped in.
The door opened.
"Mr. and Mrs. Detweiler, Mr. Payne," Irene announced.
Detweiler's face was stiff. His smile was uneasy.
"Unexpected pleasure, Grace," Payne said, kissing her cheek as he offered his hand to Detweiler. "Come on in."
"May I get you some coffee?" Irene asked.
"I'd much rather have a drink, if that's possible," Detweiler said.
"The one thing you don't need is another drink," Grace Detweiler said.
"I could use a little nip myself," Payne lied smoothly. "I'll fix them, Irene. Grace, will you have something?"
"Nothing, thanks."
"We just came from the hospital," Detweiler announced.
"Sit down, Dick," Payne said. "You're obviously upset."
"Jesus H. Christ, am I upset!" Detweiler said. He went to the wall of windows looking down toward the Delaware River and leaned on one of the floor-to-wall panes with both hands.
Payne quickly made him a drink, walked to him, and handed it to him.
"Thank you," Detweiler said idly, and took a pull at the drink. He looked into Payne's face. "I'm not sure if I'm here because you're my friend or because you're my lawyer."
"They are not mutually exclusive," Payne said. "Now what seems to be the problem?"
"If five days ago anyone had asked me if I could think of anything worse than having my daughter turn up as a drug addict, I couldn't have imagined anything worse," Grace Detweiler said.
"Penny is not a drug addict," H. Richard Detweiler said.
"If you persist in that self-deception, Dick," Grace said angrily, "you will be compounding the problem, not trying to solve it."
"She hasa problem," Detweiler said. "That's all."
"And the name of that problem, goddamn you, is addiction," Grace Detweiler said furiously. "Denying it, goddammit, is not going to make it go away!"
