NOTE: If you haven’t been following this from the beginning, and if you want to know the full sequence of events, start with the introduction. Click on Archives on the right.
Light that brightens late in the day seems to have been pilfered from some other time and pasted into the scene by the god who laughs at our plans for tomorrow. It has been a dark dry day. Now the picture has changed and the cross beams on Lou’s shed are highlighted against the planks. A crooked length of dogwood branch is illuminated as if on a whim. A chickadee settles on it only long enough to be recognized and flies deeper into the autumn greens. The sun is low and coming in through a slit in the clouds like the sweep from a lighthouse, dramatizing grey peeling trunks of the four white oaks along the property line where Lou’s shed fills the corner. This is where he brought out the powder blue wooden trunk a few months ago. The setting sun constructs it differently now.
Having passed Lou’s place, I have walked over to the Strether’s house expecting to meet them. A low flying plane passes close enough to cast a shadow, which feels, as it flits over, like the sun has blinked in response to the rolling reverberations of jet engines.
“That was way too low!”
Bel Vionnet is poking the gravel in her driveway with the point of her umbrella. We are waiting under low clouds for Steve to come back out after going in to the check his back door.
“I knew you had locked it Steve.”
“I don’t remember doing so.”
“It was locked though, wasn’t it?”
“Yes it was.”
Steve threw the unlit stub of his Dutch Master cigar into a thicket of azaleas. Lambert barked twice and retrieved it before we had taken a couple of steps. He raced ahead and dropped it. Then picked it up again and waited for us to catch up, panting past it in the side of his mouth.
“Steve, what’s on your mind?”
“Fred I can’t exactly say.”
“Honey do you mean you can’t put it into words or that you don’t want to?”
“Of course I want to bel.”
“So what is stopping you?”
“I can’t say.”
“Is this an emotional thing Steve? Steve if you and Fred want to go off and have a chat I can take Lambert up the hill to the Ashes.”
“No, no, no, this isn’t anything like that bel.”
Steve took off his gold wire rim glasses and looked at the lens. He dislodged a tiny insect from the inside of his left lens and put them back on.
“So what is it Steve? Honey you have been withdrawn for the last week, ever since you came home soaked from that incident in the gulley.”
We are walking up Wicket Street towards the river, past Armond Macadamia’s place. They often take Lambert out at dusk in keeping with his crepuscular habits.
“It’s a legal matter.”
“So Steve, are you involved in a law suit?”
“Not yet Fred.”
“Why haven’t you said anything before honey?”
“Bel, I shouldn’t even have said that.”
“You’ve made a start honey, keep going. Fred I think you are good for him!”
“I believe some one has broken into our house, not a thief.”
“What tipped you off.”
“It was Lambert’s sniffing around. If any one did come in, it must have been while we were all out yesterday. I’ve been home all week reading up on Rembrandt especially “Night Watch.”
“Oh that huge thing he did of a shooting party.”
“Fred the subject was more like a local militia. In the 1940s they removed a layer of old varnish and found it was not a night scene at all.”
“Oh I thought it is still called “The Night Watch”.
“It is, probably always will be, but any way, where was I?”
“You were talking about Lambert, honey and the fact that he was sniffing around got your attention. But he is always doing that.”
“Not like this. I think he followed a trail from the back door into the utility room and back. He was single minded, going back and forth, not just mooching around. He got excited, and growled, and I finally let him out again”
“Steve is this connected with the incident?”
“That’s what I was wondering. Somebody did something or left something in our utility room behind the kitchen.”
“Maybe one of us tracked something in, Steve.”
“Did you look for stuff on the floor, a bit of insulation or something?”
“Yeah, there was nothing. No I don’t think it could have been one of us. We haven’t been out that door lately. If they planted something it probably just fitted into place somewhere, so you’d have to be an electrician to notice it.”
“Okay, I get it. This is about Juanita’s disappearance and that thing they found in the gulley.”
“Oh the prosthesis.”
“Right Fred, if that’s what it was.”
“Are you in doubt bel? I know Lark is.”
“Fred, I never know what to believe about that case, but I think Steve is getting too far out.”
“What’s he done with my cigar?”
“Lambert, where is it?”
“Oh I hope he didn’t eat it!”
Lambert is looking up at us with white hair arching over his black eyes and showing his incisors behind black lips. He moves his head to the left, then to the right as Steve questions him, as if he is sympathizing with his plight.
“Did you eat my cigar butt Lambert? I hope you dropped it.”
We walk on to look out over the river to our right through the growth of Kentucky coffee trees in jagged zigzags.
“Why would any one want to plant anything in our house?”
“Bel dear, who knows?”
“So what gives you that idea?”
“Watching those klutzes getting wet and screwing around in the gulley … I mean it made no sense when the cops arrived
and the DEA arrived and people with weapons and no uniforms or IDs. Then one of these big bruiser types came swaggering over and told me to move on. It was insulting and inappropriate.”
“DEA, what are they doing here? Are you sure?”
“Yeah I over heard them mentioned on a squawk box several times. Right after that I was kicked off my own street.”
“These security people are getting more and more arrogant.”
“It’s the terrorist threat Fred.”
“Look what happened at the Navy Yard bel!”
“Fred that was not a political terrorist from the Middle East.”
“Oh I know bel, he was hearing voices in his head.”
“Too many different kinds of violence get lumped together. It’s the terrorist threat that is blown out of all proportion in my opinion and that has lead to militarizing law enforcement.”
“Its worth remembering bel, that a lot of people are making their fortunes out of it, and many others depend on those security appropriations for a salary.”
“Anyway, if there was a break-in, I am going to court.”
“Honey, I am not so sure there was a break-in.”
“Okay bel, an unlawful entry. How’s that for jargon!”
“The jargon is great, but you need to identify the culprit.”
“Yes and that’s the hang up. Some of these characters don’t need to break anything to get in. Suppose it was an agent of my own government?”
“Then your case will gather in a media blitz.”
“Possibly Fred, more likely I will never know for sure who it was, and that’s what bothers me most.”
“Maybe no one ever came in, honey.”
“Maybe not, bel, I got your message the first time but our house overlooks the gulley. Remember what a racket those generators made all night?”
“Oh so you’re thinking surveillance!”
“Strong possibility Fred, and more to the point who are they looking at or listening to?”
“Is that why you haven’t said anything at home?”
“It is on my mind bel.”
We have stopped at another new driveway. Bel runs the metal tip of umbrella across the surface as if she is painting. We have been past several new driveways. They seem to be in fashion in Fauxmont. Some choose a light crushed stone, which drains well and shows up at night. We have paused at a shining black asphalt driveway where a sunburst reflects in brilliant contrast to the new tar black shadow.
