If Death Ever Slept

I headed for the door, was told by Mrs. Jarrell there would be cocktails in the lounge at six-thirty, halted to thank her, and left. As I moved down the corridor toward the front a female in uniform came around a corner and leered at me as she approached. Taken by surprise, I leered back. Evidently, I thought, this gang doesn’t stand on formality. I was told later by somebody that Freda had been born with a leer, but I never went into it with Freda.

I had stepped out to the front terrace for a moment during my tour, so had already met the dogwoods and glanced around the layout of redwood slabs and chrome and plastic, and now I crossed to the parapet for a look down at Fifth Avenue and across to the park. The sun was smack in my eyes, and I put a hand up to shade them for a view of a squirrel perched on a limb high in a tree, and was in that pose when a voice came from behind.

“Who are you, Sitting Bull?”

I pivoted. A girl all in white with bare tanned arms and a bare tanned throat down to the start of the curves and a tanned face with dimples and greenish brown eyes and a pony tail was coming. If you are thinking that is too much to take in with a quick glance, I am a detective and a trained observer. I had time not only to take her in but also to think, Good Lord, if that’s Susan and she’s a snake I’m going to take up herpetology, if that’s the word, and I can look it up.

She was still five steps off when I spoke. “Me good Indian. Me good friend white man, only you’re not a man and you’re not white. I was looking at a squirrel. My name is Alan Green. I am the new secretary, hired today. I was told to get my bearings and have been trying to. I have met your husband.”

“Not my husband, you haven’t. I’m a spinster named Lois. Do you like squirrels?”

“It depends. A squirrel with integrity and charm, with no bad habits, a squirrel who votes right, who can be counted on in a pinch, I like that squirrel.” At close quarters they weren’t what I would call dimples, just little cheek dips that caught shadows if the light angle was right. “I hope I don’t sound fussy.”

“Come here a minute.” She led me off to the right, put a hand on the tiled top of the parapet, and with the other pointed across the avenue. “See that tree? See the one I mean?”

“The one that lost an arm.”