them lovingly. "Don't try to tell me Roy didn't write these. They're inhis writing and his style."

"He wrote them in Reno," I said,"and shipped them for remailing to a friend or accomplice who wastraveling in Europe."

"Do you know this?"

"I'm afraid I do. Can you think ofany friend of his who might have helped him?"

She bit her lower lip. "Dr. Godwinspent the late summer traveling in Europe. He and Roy are very close. In factRoy was his patient for a long time."

"What was Godwin treating himfor?"

"We haven't discussed it, really, butI expect it had something to do with his excessive—his excessive dependence onhis mother." A slow angry flush mounted from her neck to her cheekbones.She turned away from the subject. "But why would two grown men collaboratein such a silly letter-writing game?"

"It isn't clear. Your husband'sprofessional ambitions probably enter into it. He obviously didn't want anyoneto know about his previous, bad marriage, or his divorce, and he went to greatlengths to keep everything quiet. He got off a similar set of Europeanpostcards and letters to his mother. He may have sent a third set toLelitia."

"Who is she? Where is she?"

"I think she's here in town, or wasas recently as last Friday night. She's very likely been here for the last tenyears. I'm surprised your husband never gave it away, even to someone as closeas you."

She was still standing over me, and Ilooked up into her face. Her eyes were heavy. She shook her head.

"Or maybe it isn't so surprising.He's very good at deceiving people, living on several levels, maybe deceivinghimself to a certain extent. Mother's boys get that way sometimes. They needtheir little escape hatches from the hothouse."

Her bosom rose. "He isn't a mother'sboy. He may have had a problem when he was younger, but now he's a virile man,and I know he loves me. There must be a reason for all this." She lookeddown at the cards and letters in her hand.

"I'm sure there is. I suspect thereason has to do with our two murders. Tish Macready is the leading suspect forboth of them."

"Two murders?"

"Actually there have been three,spaced over a period of twenty-two years: Helen Haggerty on Friday night,Constance McGee ten years ago, Luke Deloney in Illinois before the war."

"Deloney?"

"Luke Deloney. You wouldn't know about him, but Ithink Tish Macready does."

"Is he connected with the Mrs. Deloney at theSurf House?"

"She's his widow. You know her?"

"Not personally. But Roy was talking to her onthe telephone shortly before he left here."

"What did he say?"

"Simply that he was coming over to see her. Iasked him who she was, but he was in too great a hurry to explain."

I got up. "If you'll excuse me, I'll see if I cancatch him at the hotel. I've been trying to catch him all day."

"He was here, with me." Shesmiled slightly, involuntarily, but her eyes were confused. "Please don'ttell him I told you. Don't tell him I told you anything."

"I'll try, but it may come out."

I moved to the door and tried to open it. The chaindelayed my exit.

"Wait," she said behind me. "I'veremembered something—something he wrote in a book of poems he lent me."

"What did he write?"

"Her name."

She started into the other room. Her hipbumnped the doorframe, and Bradshaw's cards and letters fell from her hands.She didn't pause to pick them up.

She returned with an open book and thrustit at me a little blindly. It was a well-worn copy of Yeats's Collected Poems,open to the poem "Among School Children." The first four lines of thefourth stanza were underlined in pencil, and Bradshaw had written in the marginbeside them the single word, "Tish."

I read the four lines to myself:

Her present image floats into the mind—

Did Quattrocento finger fashion it

Hollow of cheek as though it drank the wind

And took a mess of shadows for its meat?

I wasn't certain what they meant, and saidso.

Laura answered bitterly: "It meansthat Roy still loves her. Yeats was writing about Maud Gonne—the woman he lovedall his life. Roy may even have lent me the Yeats to let me know about Tish.He's very subtle."

"He probably wrote her name therelong ago, and forgot about it. If he still loved her, he wouldn't have divorcedher and married you. I have to warn you, though, that your marriage may not belegal."

"Not legal?" She was aconventional woman, and the possibility jarred her. "But we were married

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009