The Counterfeit Murder in the Museum of Man_ A Norman De Ratour Mystery - Alfred Alcorn [111]
I found Alphus at the kitchen table picking at the keyboard of his laptop. I told him my good news. And that I was leaving him alone for the afternoon and possibly overnight as I had to go to the cottage.
“If you leave here, Alphus, and the police detain you, there will be nothing I can do. It will either be the zoo or the cages in the museum. Or worse.”
He nodded and signed, “Ridley’s coming over. We’ll be working on my memoir.”
“Okay. But the same applies if you burn the place down or make a lot of noise.”
“Trust me, Norman, I will be responsible.”
I did trust him. Since the meeting with Esther Homard, Alphus had undergone another transformation. He had become a writer, which is to say, careless of his appearance, careful about what he said, and altogether much less verbal, as though saving his words for the page. He wasn’t nearly as interesting to be around as he had been.
I drove as fast as my rattling old Renault would go, wishing I had one of those sleek little things that can do 130 standing still. Where had all the traffic suddenly come from? And what would I find when I arrived?
Diantha’s hulking SUV was parked as usual in the gravel space in front of the cottage. But there was no sign of her or Elsie. I went out the back and down into the garden. There they were, working on my espaliered apple trees.
Elsie turned without a sign and ran toward me. I swept her up into my arms and held her to me. She leaned back, all smiles, her little hands moving with words. “We missed you, Daddy. Where have you been?”
With her in my arms, I approached my young wife. I said, as I had in my heart on the way there, “I want to thank you for helping Felix.”
“The board didn’t fire you?”
“No. I am still Director of the Museum of Man.” I hesitated a moment. “But that is not important next to the fact that you helped me.”
She drew closer. I could see her eyes under the brim of the sunhat she wore. “It was the least I could do.”
“I love you,” I said.
She came into my laden arms, tears on her cheeks and lips as she kissed me.
Hand in hand, Elsie toddling behind us, we walked through the warm summer garden to the coolness of the cottage.
“Why didn’t you answer my calls?” I asked without animosity as we sat at the kitchen table still holding hands.
She shrugged as though to minimize it. “I was ashamed of myself. I thought you only wanted to rag on me.”
“Dear girl, I only wanted to beg your forgiveness.”
“Have you eaten?”
“No. I’m not hungry. Not for food.”
She made me a thick toasted cheese and ham sandwich, anyway, chatting, as she worked, about keeping up the cottage and the garden.
Bella came in after being dropped off by a neighbor with whom she had been earning some extra pay. A large, dignified woman, she greeted me with much evident joy. Then she took Elsie out to help her pick flowers.
I cracked open the two beers Di put on the table. I found I was ravenous. I ate the entire sandwich and an early apple from a neighbor’s orchard. At length, I asked, “So what brought about your change of heart?”
She blushed and covered it by pouring beer into a glass and sipping it.
“Sixpack didn’t work out?” I prompted gently.
She met my eyes. “That was never a real possibility. I knew it even before I got there.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well … his concert.” She made quotation marks with her fingers. “After five minutes I wanted to leave. You’ve spoiled me, Norman dear. I don’t know how anyone with an IQ over forty can listen to that stuff. They barely speak an intelligible language. They celebrate their stupidity.”
“It’s only an act.”
“I know, but it’s stupid to pretend to be stupid.”
She came and sat on my lap. I stroked her back as she talked. “I saw an old movie with Leslie Howard in it and all I could think of was you. You are civilization. And I need civilization.