Mystery

For the first time, the reclusive detective struck Tom as intensely lonely, in a way that illuminated Tom’s own loneliness. If Tom spent six weeks away from Mill Walk, he would be depriving the old man of his only companionship. But Tom could not speak of this, and von Heilitz merely continued to look distressed and uncomfortable and as if he had things to do that Tom could not witness. So Tom felt excluded, as uncomfortable as his friend—it was the first real coolness between them. Tom had thought of asking von Heilitz if he knew of any trouble at Shady Mount Hospital, but the old man had moved across the room and put on a record. “Mahler,” he said, and an instant later sounds like pistol shots and battlefield moans filled the room. The old man collapsed into a chair, put his feet up on his table, and closed his eyes. Tom let himself out. It was like his grandfather, he supposed—you couldn’t expect a man like that to behave like an ordinary person.

Now he looked up from the sidewalk and saw the front door of an enormous Spanish mansion on The Sevens swing open. He immediately wished that he were invisible, then that he were right in front of the house. A small brown and white dog appeared first, tugging at a leash and bouncing on his forefeet. Tom gave in to his desire for invisibility, and moved to the side of the red booth. In a blue shirt with rolled sleeves, white shorts, and white tennis shoes, Sarah Spence appeared at the other end of the leash. Laughing, she said something to the dog and closed the door behind her.

Sarah followed the eager dog down the red brick steps, her hair swinging, and began moving down the wide stone walk to the sidewalk. Her free arm swung, her tanned slender legs swung, even her neat white feet swung. Her back was very straight, and her hair gathered and released with every step. The dog trotted out on the sidewalk and pulled Sarah down the block.

He stepped away from the telephone booth and watched her moving away from him. Then he crossed An Die Blumen and began walking down The Sevens, half a block behind her. The day, which he had hardly noticed earlier, now seemed astonishingly clean and fresh: limpid sunlight fell directly on Sarah’s glowing hair and the straight line of her shoulders. He realized that he took pleasure simply in the eloquent way she walked, her golden legs almost striding and her feet skimming above the sidewalk as if they were winged.

Tom quickened his pace. He could not imagine why he had wanted to hide from Sarah Spence, nor what he would say to her when he finally caught up.

At that moment Sarah turned her head and saw him. “Tom!” she all but cried out, and stopped moving so abruptly that the dog’s front legs rose up off the ground. She turned around to face him, transferred the leash to her other hand, and yielded one step to the dog, who began to sniff a tree. “Why are you grinning at me? Why didn’t you say something?”

“I was going to catch up to you,” he said, answering the second question.

“Good,” she said. “You can help me walk Bingo. I don’t think you ever met him, did you?”

He shook his head and looked down at the suddenly attentive dog, who looked back at him, pointed ears and thin rope of a tail perked up.

She bent down to pat the dog, who continued to look at Tom with very alert, intelligent eyes. “Tell Tom your name is Bingo, he’s such a stranger he doesn’t even know you.”

“How old is he?”

“Seven. I told you about him—but I’m not surprised you didn’t remember. It was that day I visited you in the hospital. When I covered myself with embarrassment.”

Tom shook his head. His mouth open and tongue lolling, Bingo stopped looking at him and waited for his mistress to resume walking.

“It’s okay—I got him the day I heard about your accident.”

“So he’s as old as I am,” Tom said, not thinking at all about what he was saying. Then he took in Sarah’s expression, and said, “Sorry, that must have sounded funny. I mean, ah, I guess I don’t know what I meant.” He took a step forward, and Sarah smiled at him, still with a trace of puzzled amusement clear in her face, and began walking beside him.

“I don’t even know where you’re going to college,” he said after a few moments of silence.

“Oh, I was accepted at Hollins and Goucher, but I’m going to go to Mount Holyoke—it sounded interesting, and Moonie Firestone got accepted there too, so …” She glanced sideways up at him, and closed, then opened her mouth. She said, “Tom—” and then stopped. She looked down at the dog straining ahead, and then spoke again. “My parents really wanted me to go to a girls’ school. I guess it’s okay for a year or so, but I’m already thinking about transferring. Isn’t that ridiculous? I’m not even there yet. Buddy thinks I ought to switch to Arizona. Do you know where you’re going to go?”

“I guess I’ll probably go to Tulane. If I get in.”