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GRETCHEN DROVE UP to Albert’s house and told Alafair of the conversation.
“You’re sure it’s him? You actually had this bastard on the line?” Alafair said.
Gretchen was sitting by Alafair’s writing desk on the third floor of Albert’s house, her shoulders rounded. She looked out the window, not wanting to say the things she had to say. “He’s after you. It’s obviously an obsession.”
“That’s not exactly a big revelation,” Alafair said.
“He was hinting he would meet with me. But only if you’re on board, as he puts it.” A pool of heat seemed to shimmer and go out of shape on the barn’s metal roof. “I didn’t say anything to discourage him.”
“Without asking me, you were making deals with this asshole? Deals that include me?”
“I admire you. You’re everything I’d like to be. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you. I’d kill them if they tried to hurt you.”
“What do you think this guy has been trying to do? You think you’re going to outsmart him?”
“I have experience other people don’t.”
“Did you ever read ‘Young Goodman Brown’ by Nathaniel Hawthorne?”
“No.”
“It was made into a film. Goodman Brown thought he could stroll with the devil in a midnight woods and outwit him. His wife was named Faith. He ended up losing not only his wife but his soul.”
Gretchen began writing on a piece of typewriter paper. “Who did the film?” she asked.
Alafair pulled the sheet of paper away from her and tore it in half and threw the pieces in the wastebasket. “Are you out of your mind? This isn’t about movies. It’s about evil. How did Surrette know about Bix Golightly?”
“I haven’t figured that out.”
“Think about it. There are only two ways he could know, Gretchen. He’s either mobbed up, or he’s privy to a world we can’t guess at.”
“No. The Mob uses pros. They’re businessmen.”
“So where does he get this omniscient knowledge?”
“You’re saying he has special powers?”
“I’m saying we ought to go to the cops.” Alafair put her hand on Gretchen’s back. “Your muscles are as hard as iron. I worry about you.”
“I’m doing fine.”
“You’re the sister I never had, Gretchen.” She touched Gretchen’s hair.
“Surrette put a bomb in Percy Wolcott’s plane. Percy was one of the gentlest people I ever knew,” Gretchen said. “His body was burned beyond recognition. I think Surrette did it. I’m going to saw him apart.”
Alafair gazed at the manuscript basket on her desk. It was half-filled with typed sheets. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.
“Surrette has plenty of money. Where does it come from? We also want to check out Felicity Louviere’s background. Her husband says she was the town pump. She says her father left her to founder while he went off to be a professional good guy among the Indians in South America.”
“So what?” Alafair said.
“She doesn’t add up. Clete is easily taken in by bad women. Because he follows his schlong doesn’t mean the rest of us have to.”
“I can’t believe you just said that.”
“There’s one other thing. You can’t tell your father or Clete about this.”
“That doesn’t sound too good.”
