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"I've got some somewhere," she said, and went farther into the house again. She immediately returned. "I'm sorry. Why are we in the kitchen? Come on in the living room."
****
An hour later, they drove back to the Acme Supermarket. Her car was gone, and so had just about everybody else. There was a uniformed cop by the shattered plate-glass window.
Matt showed him his badge.
"Where's the car, the victim's car the doer ran into?"
The uniformed cop shrugged. "I guess they took it to an impound area. Maybe at the district."
Matt returned to the Bug and told Mrs. Glover that the authority they had to reclaim her car was useless. It was somewhat in limbo, and there was nothing that could be done until the morning.
"What do I do now?" Mrs. Glover asked. "Can you take me home again?"
"Of course."
****
She wanted an explanation of where in "limbo" her car actually was, so it seemed perfectly natural that he follow her into the house again and have another cognac.
"I was thinking," Mrs. Glover said an hour later, dipping her index finger into her cognac snifter to stir the ginger ale into the cognac, "I mean it's just an idea. But if you stayed here, there's a guest room, you could drive me down to the Roundhouse in the morning."
She is not making a pass at me. She is at least thirty years old, maybe thirty-five, and…
"And the truth of the matter seems to be that we've both had more of this cognac than is good for us," she added.
"Well, if it wouldn't inconvenience you."
"Don't be silly," she said. "I'll just get sheets and make up the spare bed."
****
"I'm sorry I don't have any pajamas to offer you," Mrs. Glover said at the door to the spare bedroom.
"I don't wear them anyway. I'll be all right."
"If you need anything, just ask," she said, and gave him her hand. "And thank you for everything."
"I didn't do anything," he said.
She smiled at him and pulled the door closed.
He looked around the room, and then went and sat on the bed and took his clothing off. He rummaged in the bedside table and came up with a year-old copy ofScientific American. He propped the pillows up and flipped through it.
He could hear the sound of a shower running, and had an interesting mental image of Mrs. Glover at her ablutions.
"Shit," he said aloud, turned the light off, and rearranged the pillow.
He had a profound thought: No good deed goes unpunished.
The sound of the shower stopped after a couple of minutes. He had an interesting mental image of Mrs. Glover toweling her bosom.
A moment later he heard the bedroom door open.
"Matt, are you asleep?"
"No."
