in Reno by a judge."

"His divorce from Tish," I said,"is probably voidable. I gather she wasn't properly informed of Bradshaw'saction. Which means that under California law he's still married to her if shewants it that way."

Shaking her head, she took the book ofpoems from my hands and tossed it with some violence into a chair. A piece ofpaper fluttered from between the leaves. I picked it up from the floor.

It was another poem, in Bradshaw'shandwriting:

TO LAURA

If light were dark

And dark were light,

Moon a black hole

In the blaze of night,

A raven's wing

As bright as tin,

Then you, my love,

Would be darker than sin.

At breakfast I had read the same poemaloud to Arnie and Phyllis. It had been printed twenty-odd years ago in theBridgeton Blazer, over the initials G.R.B. I had a gestalt, and Bridgeton andPacific Point came together in a roaring traffic of time. G.R.B. George RoyBradshaw.

"When did he write this poem to you, Laura?"

"Last spring, when he lent me the Yeats."

I left her reading it over to herself, trying torecapture the spring.

chapter30

Passing through the lobby of the SurfHouse, I noticed Helen's mother sitting by herself in a far corner. She wasdeep in thought and she didn't look up until I spoke:

"You're sitting up late, Mrs.Hoffman."

"I don't have much choice," shesaid resentfully. "I'm supposed to be sharing a cottage with Mrs. Deloney,and it was entirely her idea. But she put me out so she can entertain herfriend in private."

"You mean Roy Bradshaw?"

"That's what he calls himself now. Iknew George Bradshaw when he was glad to be given a good hot meal, and I servedhim more than one in my own kitchen."

I pulled up a chair beside hers. "All this addsup to an interesting coincidence."

"I think it does, too. But I'm not supposed totalk about it."

"Who says so?"

"Mrs. Deloney."

"Does she tell you what to do?"

"No, but it was nice of her to take me out ofthat crummy room in the Pacific Hotel and—" She paused, considering.

"And stash you in the lobby here?"

"It's only temporary."

"So is life. Are you and your husbandgoing to take orders from people like the Deloneys until the day you die? Youget nothing out of it, you know, except the privilege of being pushedaround."

"Nobody pushes Earl around," shesaid defensively. "You leave Earl out of this."

"Have you heard from him?"

"I haven't, and I'm worried aboutEarl. I tried to phone home two nights in a row, and nobody answered. I'mafraid he's drinking."

"He's in the hospital," I said.

"Is he sick?"

"He made himself sick with too much whisky."

"How do you know that?"

"I helped to get him to the hospital.I was in Bridgeton yesterday morning. Your husband talked to me, quite freelytoward the end. He admitted Luke Deloney had been murdered but he had ordersfrom the top to let it go as an accident."

Her eyes darted around the lobby, shylyand shamefully. There was no one in sight but the night clerk and a couple whodidn't look married renting a room from him. But Mrs. Hoffman was as nervous asa cricket on a crowded floor.

"You might as well tell me what you know," Isaid. "Let me buy you a cup of coffee."

"I'd be up all night."

"A cup of cocoa then."

"Cocoa sounds good."

We went into the coffee shop. Severalorchestra members in mauve jackets were drinking coffee at the counter andcomplaining in the language of their tribe about the pay. I sat in a boothfacing Mrs. Hoffman and the plate glass door, so that I could see Bradshaw ifhe came out through the lobby.

"How did you come to know Bradshaw,Mrs. Hoffman?"

"Helen brought him home from CityCollege. I think she was stuck on him for a while, but I could see that hewasn't stuck on her. They were more friends. They had interests incommon."

"Like poetry?"

"Like poetry and play-acting. Helensaid he was very talented for a boy his age, but he was having a hard timestaying in college. We wangled him a part-time job running the elevator in theapartments. All it paid was five a week, but he was glad to have it. He was asthin as a rake and as poor as Job's turkey when we knew him. He claimed he camefrom a wealthy family in Boston, that he ran away from his freshman year atHarvard to be on his own. I never really believed him at the lime—I thought hewas maybe ashamed of his folks and putting on the dog—but I guess it was trueafter all. They tell me his mother is loaded." She gave me a questioninglook.

"Yes. I know her."

"Why would a young fellow run awayfrom all that money? I spent most of my own life trying to get a little tostick to my fingers."

"Money usually has strings attachedto it."

I didn't go into a fuller explanation. Thewaitress brought Mrs. Hoffman's cocoa and my coffee. I said when she hadretreated behind the counter:

"Have you ever known a woman namedMacready? Letitia 0. Macready?"

Mrs. Hoffman's hand fumbled with her cupand spilled some brown liquid in the saucer. I was fleetingly conscious thather hair was dyed an unlikely shade of red and that she might once have been ahandsome woman with a good figure and a gaudy taste in clothes. But shecouldn't be Tish Macready. She'd been married to Earl Hoffman for over fortyyears.

She put a folded paper napkin under her cup to absorbthe spillage. "I knew her to say hello to."

"In Bridgeton?"

"I'm not supposed to talk about Letitia. Mrs.Deloney—"

"Your daughter's in a refrigerated drawer and allyou give me is Mrs. Deloney."

She bowed her head over the shiny formica table."I'm afraid of her," she said, "of what she can do toEarl."

"Be afraid of what she's already doneto him. She and her political pals made him seal up the Deloney case, and it'sbeen festering inside of him ever since."

"I know. It's the first time Earl ever laid downon the job deliberately."

"You admit that?"

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009