Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [199]
“Well, we certainly shan’t be staying for the funeral,” she said briskly. “I’m sorry about Harry, but I must get back to the children, I’m away from them far too much.”
Surprised, he glanced at her. She saw the children as infrequently as he did and it was by her own choice. He finished his drink and went to take a shower and when he carne back the room-service waiter was wheeling in a trolley. Maryanne disappeared quickly into her room. “Take care of things, will you, Buck,” she called hurriedly.
“Good to see you, Senator.” The man smiled while arranging the dishes. “Though I guess you must be real cut-up about your friend, Mr. Harrison.”
“It’s sad news,” Buck agreed, signing the bill.
“I wonder, did Mrs. Wingate ever find her keys, sir?” he asked solicitously. “I sure looked everywhere for ’em that night, all along the corridor and the elevator, sir, but no sign of ’em.”
“Her keys?”
“Well sure, yes sir. Wednesday night when she came in, she said she had lost them. It’s all right though, you tell her not to worry. Mrs. Aysgarth always has plenty of spares. These things happen, don’t they, sir?”
“I guess they do,” Buck replied, wondering vaguely where Maryanne had gone on Wednesday night.
He tipped the waiter, said good night, and poured himself another drink, staring moodily out the window, wondering if Francie was home, and what she thought about her hated brother’s death. She must be glad, he thought, even though she would tell herself it’s a terrible way to feel. He thought about calling Annie to ask, but Maryanne came back into the room just then, and anyway he didn’t have the right.
“Consommé,” she said, lifting the lid of a tureen and inspecting it. “Roast quail for you and lobster salad for me. You look dreadful, darling. Come and eat, it smells good.”
He sat opposite her, watching as she ate her salad, listening to her chatter of what they would do next week in Washington, of the parties where they had to appear and of the dinner she was giving for the British ambassador. The telephone rang and she stopped in mid-sentence.
“I’ll get it,” he said, walking across and picking it up.
“Sorry to disturb you, Senator Wingate,” the voice on the phone said. “Detective Sergeant Mulloy here, sir. I’m sure you know about the fire at Mr. Harrison’s? I’m sorry, Senator, I know he was a friend of yours and your wife’s. In fact, that’s what brings me here tonight sir. It’s our job to sort through the ruins, searching for a reason for the fire, really, and for anything that might have been saved. Well, it turns out something rather valuable was found in the ashes, sir, and the butler identified it as belonging to your wife. It’s a little powder compact with her initials on it. The servants said you and your wife had dined there Tuesday night, sir, and I guess she forgot it.”
“Thank you,” Buck said automatically.
“We cleaned it up a bit, of course, sir,” the detective sergent said. “I think you’ll find it’s all right. Even has the powder still inside. It’s amazing how some things survive a fire and others don’t, you’d be surprised what we find: toys, shoes, wristwatches…. It never ceases to amaze me.”
“Yes,” Buck agreed.
“I’ll send it up then, Senator, and if you could just sign the receipt for me and send it back with the boy, I’d be very grateful.”
“Don’t bother,” he said. “I’ll come down and get it.”
He could feel Maryanne’s eyes on him as he walked to the door and he said, “There’s someone who wants to see me downstairs.”
“But your supper—”
The door closed behind him and she pursed her mouth angrily, wondering what was so important.
Buck collected the compact from the officer and signed the receipt. He slipped it into his pocket and walked out into the street; he needed to be alone with his thoughts. He walked rapidly through the square along Geary and up Nob Hill. A crowd still lingered round the cordoned-off ruins of the Harrison house and he stopped and stared. He remembered how he had dined in that house just four nights