Locked rooms - Laurie R. King [78]
“Why?”
“I don't . . . I would hate . . .” Holmes took a deep breath and began again. “I rather trust you won't do something foolish such as going to see your parents' summer house on your own.”
“‘Foolish'?” Russell's chin came up and her eyes flashed; with the raised colour in her face, she looked nearly herself. “Holmes, I should appreciate it if you would not try to tell me what I am and am not to do. If I choose to drive down the coast and look at the Lodge—my Lodge—then I shall do so. I need not ask your permission.”
“Russell, I merely request—”
But the heat of her response was only fed by placation. “You think it ‘foolish' when I investigate a matter, and not when you do it? Thank you, Holmes, I shall let you know what I decide to do with the week-end.” And with that she rose, dropped her table napkin on the cloth, and strode from the restaurant.
It was as well she did not look back. She might have seen Holmes, leaning back to tap his cigarette into the ash-tray, smiling gently at the rising smoke.
An hour later, while Russell was grappling with legal terminology in Norbert's office, Holmes presented himself at the Greenfield mansion. He took off his hat and handed it to the man who opened the door, saying, “You must be Mr Jeeves? My wife was here the other day. I had hoped to find Miss Greenfield at home, Miss Flo Greenfield?”
“Yes, sir, I shall see if she is at home. If you'd like to wait in here?”
“In here” was a room whose purpose could only have been the temporary parking of callers, as the seats were too far apart to be of any use for conversation and the décor was intended to impress rather than to please or entertain. It was, in the end, more pleasing than a room more lived in, for the cool, sparse furnishings set off the modern sculpture and fireplace tile as a more cluttered room would not. It reminded Holmes somewhat of the Japanese rooms they had seen on the other side of the ocean, rich materials used in an austere fashion. Restful.
After a quarter of an hour, he was shown into a warmer, more lived-in room. The young woman seated before the fire with a coffee service put out her hand to greet him, her dark eyes alive with interest although she showed all the signs of hasty dressing.
“Mr Holmes? Mary's husband? It's fantastic to meet you. Mary said you wouldn't like our kind of fun or I'd have had her drag you along. But I'm glad you tracked me down at home. Is she coming, too? Oh, manners, Flo!” She pulled together a mock-formal face and manner. “Sir, would you care for a cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you, Miss Greenfield, I've just come from breakfast. Actually, my wife doesn't know I am here. Tell me, have you spoken with her this morning?”
“She woke me up about half an hour ago, 'phoning to see if I had plans for the week-end.”
“And you've found yourself dragooned into a drive along the coast to her summer house in the mountains.”
“Yes,” she said, happily unaware that this plan ought to have been a surprise to him. “Although I wouldn't exactly say ‘dragooned.' There's a couple of boring parties going on but it's the same old people, and I'm happy to tag along. She's only here for a few days, after all.”
“Miss Greenfield, are you aware of the circumstances, and the place, of her family's death?”
“Well, sure, but why—oh, I see. Oh, I promise you, we'll drive the other way, through Redwood City. I wouldn't want to worry her.”
“You may find that she insists on the coastal route. She may feel it necessary to face the place where she survived, and they did not.”
The cup dropped into its saucer with a clatter. “Oh. Golly, yes, there is that. I hadn't thought . . .”
“May I be frank, Miss Greenfield?”
“Well, sure.”
Holmes took a breath, and committed treason against his wife. “For some weeks now, my wife has not been herself. Something about this place has been preying on her mind. I should appreciate it very much if you were to keep an eye on her, in my absence.”
“What do you mean, ‘keep an eye on her'?