From the smaller bedroom/den, Dill went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. He found aspirin, Tampax, Crest, makeup, a razor, but no prescription drugs. The soap dish held a cake of Yardley's and the toothbrush holder held two toothbrushes and a small container of green waxed dental floss. There was nothing else in the bathroom other than some towels and washcloths and a plastic shower cap. There was not even, Dill noted, a bathroom scale. He thought that might be significant; that it might even be a clue.
Dill left the bathroom and started back to the kitchen to see if he could find where Felicity had kept her liquor. He thought under the kitchen sink would be the most likely place. He was almost to the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Dill turned, crossed to the door, and opened it. Standing there in skimpy yellow shorts and an equally skimpy blue polka-dot halter and no shoes was a well-tanned, long-legged woman whose limp blond curls seemed to be gasping for air. She had large blue eyes, too large really, a shiny pink nose, and a wide mouth coated with dark-red lipstick that was exactly the wrong shade.
“You're the brother, aren't you?” the woman said.
“I'm the brother,” Dill agreed.
“You got the same hair she hadâsort of copper-colored. But you don't look much like her, except for the hair.”
“She was pretty; I'm not.”
“Well, men aren't supposed to be pretty, are they?” the woman said, and for a moment, Dill was afraid she might simper, but she didn't.
“You're whatâa friend, a neighbor?” Dill asked.
“Oh, I'm Cindy. Cindy McCabe. Me and Harold live downstairs. We're, you know, the tenants.”
“Harold is Mr. McCabe.” Dill didn't make it a question.
“Well, no, not exactly. I mean we're not exactly married. Harold's last name is Snow. Harold Snow. We've been together for, oh, I guess, two years now. At least two.” She paused. When she spoke again her voice was low, her tone important. “Harold saw it happen to Felicityâwell, almost.”
“You'd better come in,” Dill said.
“I guess it would be a little cooler than out here, wouldn't it?”
Cindy McCabe came in and sat down in the easy chair that matched the green couch. She stuck out her lower lip and blew upward, as if to blow away the light film of sweat that coated her forehead and upper lip. “Isn't this heat something?” she said, obviously expecting no answer.
“I was about to have a drink,” Dill said. “Like to join me?”
“Well, a cold beer
would
be nice.”
“Sorry. No beer. Unless I find where Felicity keeps the booze, it'll have to be plain Perrier.”
“Under the kitchen sink,” McCabe said.
“That's what I thought,” Dill said and headed for the kitchen.
There were two bottles of green-label Jim Beam under the sink next to the liquid Ivory and the Easy-Off and the Comet. One of the bottles was still sealed. The level of the other one was down two inches. Dill remembered Felicity had always drunk bourbon, when she drank at all, because she claimed it had a more honest taste than Scotch. He also remembered that she thought vodka was a soak's drink and gin was for those who had run out of Aqua Velva. Rum, however, was okay, especially if mixed with Kool-Aid.
As Dill poured whiskey over the ice and added the Perrier, he wondered why he had found no Kool-Aid. Once again, Watson, he told himself, the dog doesn't bark.
He carried the drinks back into the living room and handed one to Cindy McCabe, who nodded her thanks and rubbed the chilled glass across her forehead. “Gosh, that feels good.” She took a long swallow, smiled, and said, “That feels even better.”
Dill, seated on the couch, tried some of his own drink. “You're right,” he agreed.
“Harold and me are awful sorry about Felicity, Mr. Dill. It was just soâwell, awful. One minute there she was ringing our doorbell and the next minute she was gone.”
“How long've you lived here?”
“About a year and a half. A little less maybe. We moved in right after Felicity bought the place. She sure was a nice landlady. Some of them, you know, will raise your rent every six months, but Felicity didn't even raise ours once because Harold helped her around the place fixing anything that went broke. He's good at thatâfixing stuff.”
“What's Harold do?”
“Well, he's selling home computers right now and doing okay, but he says it's going to peter out this month or next the way they're flooding the market again. What he really wants to do is get back into electronics. He had two years down at the university, you know, studying electrical engineering, but had to drop out. Harold's real good at that stuff. Electronics. He likes it a lot more'n selling.”
Cindy McCabe, apparently made thirsty by talk, took a long pull at her drink. Dill watched her almost invisible Adam's apple move up and down three times. She lowered the drink and smiled, if not nervously, at least uncomfortably. “I sorta hate to bring this up right now,” she said.
“What?”
“Well, yesterday, just before itâyou know, happened, well, Felicity stopped by and reminded Harold he'd forgot to pay the rent again. Sometimes I don't know about Harold. Things just slip his mind. He's sorta like the absentminded professor, you know?”
Dill nodded that he did.
“Anyway, it's embarrassing. So he wrote the check out yesterday and gave it to her and then it happened, right out front, and, well, we don't exactly know what to do. You think we oughta stop payment on that one and write another one? And who do we make it out to? It's sorta tacky, I guess, bothering you with this now, but we don't want anyone coming around later and claiming we didn't pay the rent.”
“Forget about it until the end of the month,” Dill said. “By then things should be straightened out, and Felicity's lawyer will call and tell you where to send the rent and who to make the check out to.”
“And we'll just stop payment on the one we gave Felicity?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Well, that's a relief.” As if to prove it, she finished off her drink in three swallows. Dill rose and held out his hand for her glass.
Cindy McCabe frowned. “I don't thinkâoh, well, one more, I guess.”
When Dill returned with the fresh drinks he saw that the blue polka-dot halter had either slipped or been tugged down an inch or so, revealing the top quarter of Cindy McCabe's perky breasts, which seemed to be as well tanned as the rest of her. Dill handed her the drink, smiled down at her breasts, or what he could see of them, and said, “You have a nice tan.”
She giggled and looked down. “I work on it hard enough.” She
gave the halter a tug up, but it was only a half-hearted tug. “There's this hedge out back?” she said, making her statement a question.
Dill nodded that he believed it.
“Well, it goes all the way around the backyard and it's about nine feet tall and real thick. Nobody can see through it. So this summer I just laid out there in nothing at all until the middle of last week when it got so godawful hot. I mean, it was just like lying in an oven, even with nothing on. Earlier this summer, when it was cooler, Felicity'd come out and join me sometimes when she was working nights or on the swing shift.”
“In nothing at all?” Dill said.
“Oh, no, it wasn't anything like that.”
“Like what?”
“Well, when she came out I'd put something on. I mean, after all.”
“Did you and Harold see much of Felicity?”
“To tell the truth we didn't, because she worked those funny hours. One week days, one week nights, and the week after that it'd be the swing shift. Sometimes we didn't even see her for weeks at a time. In fact, we wouldn't even hear her up here. I mean, if she was working nights, she'd get home in the morning before we got up, and then she'd usually leave while Harold was still at work and I was out back. She never made a sound up here. I told her once we never heard her and she just smiled and said she went barefoot most of the time. But anytime anything went kaflooey she'd leave a note asking me to ask Harold to take care of it. And when he did she'd be so happy and ask us both up to have a drink. But we never went out anywhere together, and like I said, we hardly knew she was up here. The only time we ever heard anything was when that big guy came around yelling and banging on her door.”
“What big guy?” Dill asked.
“I guess he was her ex-boyfriend. He sure was big, I know that. Harold said he used to play football down at the university, but if he told me his name, I forgot it because I think football sucks.”
“How often did the big guy come around?”
“You don't think he had something to do with whatâwell, with what happened, do you?”
“No. I'm just curious about Felicity and who her friends wereâeven her ex-friends.”
“Well, he was blond and big as a barn and young, not over thirty anyway, which I still think is young and I'm twenty-eight and don't care who knows it.”
“You don't look it,” Dill lied.
“Well, I am.”
“How often did he come around yelling and banging on the door?”
“The big guy? Oh, that just happened once, the very first month we moved in. I thought, What in the world have we got ourselves into? It got so bad I asked Harold to do something about it, but he wouldn't. Harold said it was none of our business what a cop did, even a lady cop. I think he was a little afraid of the big guyâand he really was big. Of course, Felicity wasn't so little herselfâfive-ten at least. But I still don't know how she and the big guy everâwell, you know.” Her expression grew a bit dreamy and Dill wondered how often she had had fantasies about the big guy.
“So what happened?” Dill said.
“Oh, I went up the next morning and saw her and told her all that fuss'd kept Harold awake, which was a lie, because he'd slept right through most of it, and it was me they'd kept awake. She was nice as pie. But then she always was, even when Harold got the rent checks fucked upâoops. Sorry. Must be the bourbon.” She giggled. Dill smiled.
“The big guy didn't come back?” he asked.
“Nope. Never. Felicity said it'd stop and it did. Never a sound after that. She didn't even play her TV hardly any, not even in the morning for
Good Morning America
, and that's what I always watch. She'd sometimes turn it on for the evening news, but not loud.”
“Did Captain Colder come around much?” Dill said.
“Who?”
“Captain Colder. Gene Colder.”
“Oh. Him. He was here yesterday. Asking me and Harold questions and kind of pretending we'd never seen him before.”
“But you had?”
“Oh, sure. He used to come around and pick Felicity up, maybe once or twice a week.”
“Did he always bring her back?”
“Sometimes he did. But sometimes she didn't come home at all.”
Dill thought that the look she gave him over the rim of her glass was meant to be smoldering. Instead, it was a bit glazed. He realized she was a little drunk.
“You're saying she sometimes didn't come home at all after going out with Colder?” he asked.
“Does that bother you?”
“No.”
“I mean, when two people are all grown up and everything, it's the natural thing to do, right?”
“Right.”
“Take me and you, for example.”
“Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“Okay, let's take you and me.”
“Yeah, well, if you and me had a sudden yen for each other and decided to do something about it, who'd care?”
“Harold?”
“He wouldn't mind. He had a yen for Felicity, but he never got anywhere. Shoot, I wouldn't have minded if he had. He was always answering the door when she knocked in his Jockey shorts and a half hard-on. That's why I think he was late with the rent sometimes. So he could open the door for Felicity in his Jockey shorts and his half hard-on.”
“Harold sounds like quite a guy.”
“He's about what you'd expect. Any more bourbon out there?” She waved her glass a little and Dill decided she was even drunker than he had thought.
“Sure,” he said, rose, took her glass, and went back into the kitchen, where he mixed her another drink, but filled his own up with the last of the Perrier. When he came back into the living room, the halter was all the way off. Dill handed her the drink, smiled, and said, “Looks a lot cooler that way.”
“What d'you think of them?” she asked, cupping her left breast and offering it for display.
“Nice.”
“Just nice?”
“Extremely nice.”
“This is sort of a pass I'm making at you.”
“I know.”
“Well?”
“Well, it's a shame I have to be downtown in fifteen minutes.”
“No kidding.”
Dill nodded regretfully.
Cindy McCabe drank a third of her new drink. When the glass came down, her eyes were still glazed and also a little crossed. They stared at Dill anyway. “You know something?” she said.
“What?”
“I made a pass at Felicity onceâout there in the backyard.”
“What happened?”
Cindy McCabe laughed. It was a brief harsh laugh, more sad than merry. “She brushed me off real nice.” McCabe paused, frowned, looked down at her bare breasts, looked up, and added, “Almost like the way you're brushing me off right now.”