Mildred Pierce - James M. Cain [134]
"I can't ask her for money, Bert."
"Then I'll do it. I'll drop over there this afternoon, and bring it up friendly, and let her know what she's got to do. It's just ridiculous that you should have your back to the wall, and she be living off you, and rolling in dough."
"No, no. I'll morgtage the house. In Glendale."
"And what good will that do you? You raise five grand on it, you square up for a few weeks, and then you're right back where you started. She's got to kick in, and keep on kicking."
They ran up the beach to Sunset Boulevard and rode homeward in silence. Then unexpectedly Bert pulled over, stopped, and looked at her. "Mildred, you've got to do it yourself."
". . . Why?"
"Because you've got to do it tonight."
"I can't, it's late, she'll be asleep—"
"I can't help how late it is, or whether she's asleep, or she's not asleep. You've got to see her. Because you forgot, and I forgot, and we both forgot who we're dealing with. Mildred, you can't trust Wally Burgan, not even till the sun comes up. He's a cheap, chiseling little crook, we know that. He was my pal, and he crossed me, and he was your pal, and he crossed you. But listen, Mildred: He was Veda's pal too. Maybe he's getting ready to cross her. Maybe he's getting ready to grab her dough—"
"He can't, not for corporate debts—"
"How do you know?"
"Why, he—"
"That's it, he told you. Wally Burgan told you. You believe everything he says? You believe anything he says? Maybe that meeting tonight was just a phony. Maybe he's getting ready to compel you to take over Veda's money, as her guardian, so he can attach it. She's still a minor, remember. Maybe you, I, and Veda will all have papers slapped on us today. Mildred, you're seeing her tonight. And you're getting her out of that house, so no process server can find you. You're meeting me at the Brown Derby in Hollywood for breakfast, and by that time I'll be busy. There'll be four of us at that table, and the other one will be a lawyer."
Conspiratorial excitement carried Mildred to Veda's room, where necessity might never have driven her there. It was after three when she came up the drive, and the house was dark, except for the hail light downstairs. She put the car away, walked on the grass to keep from making a noise, and let herself in the front door. Putting the light out, she felt her way upstairs, carefully staying on the carpeting, so her shoes would make no clatter. She tiptoed along the hall to Veda's room and tapped on the door. There was no answer. She tapped again, using the tips of her fingers, to make only the softest sound. Still there was no answer. She turned the knob and went in. Not touching any light switch, she tiptoed to the bed, and bent down to touch Veda, to speak to her, so she wouldn't be startled. Veda wasn't there. Quickly she snapped on the bed light, looked around. Nobody was in the room, and it hadn't been slept in. She went to the dressing room, to the bathroom, spoke softly. She opened a closet. Veda's things were there, even the dress she had put on tonight, before Mildred went to Laguna. Now puzzled and a little alarmed, Mildred went to her own room, on the chance Veda had gone there to wait for her, and fallen asleep, or something. There was no sign of Veda. Mildred went to Monty's room, and rapped. Her tempo was quickening now, and it was no finger rap this time. It was a sharp knuckle rap. There was no answer. She rapped, again, insistently. Monty, when he spoke, sounded sleepy, and quite disagreeable. Mildred said it was she, to let her in, she had to see him. He said what about, and why didn't she go to bed and let him sleep? She rapped again, imperiously this time, and commanded him to let her in. It was about Veda.
When he finally came to the door, half opened it, and found what Mildred wanted, he was still more annoyed. "For God's sake, is she an infant? Suppose she's not there, what do I do then? I went to bed—I don't know what