“He said no. Just wanted to get a last line out.”
“Hell, I expected them to be going any time now.”
“So did I. He claimed he wouldn't be gone long, though.”
“How did he seem today?”
“Hung over. But holding it together-maybe.” I sipped at my coffee. “Talesco and Knox are leaving today too, this afternoon.”
“How do you know that?”
“Knox told me. It's probably for the best.”
“I suppose so,” he said moodily. “But it's also another couple hundred bucks shot up the ass.”
“I thought you were going to send them packing anyway.”
“I need the damned money,” he said. “All right?”
“Easy. I'm not needling you.”
He pinched his eyelids with a thumb and forefinger. “Yeah, I know that. I'm just on edge and looking for somebody to take it out on, I guess.”
I said nothing. The less talking we did the better it would be for both of us.
When he had finished picking at his eggs we went out onto the porch and sat watching the sun climb and the heat begin to shimmer on the morning air. Pretty soon the sound of an outboard came from the lake; after another minute or so I could see the skiff and Jerrold sitting inside at the tiller. We watched him bring the skiff in, tie it up, shove his fishing gear up onto the pier, and then climb out and hurry away with the stuff at a hard jerky pace. He had been gone a little more than an hour-barely enough time to get a line out. Some last-minute fishing trip.
Harry lighted one of his little cigars. “Now it gets hairy again,” he said.
“Maybe not.”
“Sure,” he said grimly. “Maybe not.”
Time dragged on. Eight o'clock, eight-fifteen, eight-thirty. Jerrold did not show up again. The air began to swelter, making sweat flow thinly under my arms; the sky had a hard glazed-blue look, like something made out of polished turquoise.
Harry said finally, “Maybe I ought to go over and ask him straight out when they're planning to leave.”
“If you can do it without pushing.”
“I won't push him, don't worry.”
He started down off the porch, but before he had gone three steps Mrs. Jerrold appeared on the beach, walking in our direction. Harry stopped, glanced back at me. I made a small gesture for him to stay where he was so I could hear what she had to say when she came up.
She had her hair tied in a bun today, and the sun made it shine with glossy red highlights, the same color as burgundy wine. She wore a pair of loose-fitting shorts and another one of those sleeveless, abbreviated blouses, and she was carrying a small woven-straw handbag. The glance she gave me was cursory, as if she was embarrassed-or annoyed-at what had happened on the beach last night; she gave her attention to Harry.
He said, “About ready to head off, Mrs. Jerrold?”
“No, not just yet.” She did not sound either pleased or displeased. It didn't seem to make much difference to her either way. “Ray has some things he wants to do in Sonora first. I imagine it will be early afternoon before we can get on our way-around one o'clock. You don't mind if we stay the morning, do you?”
“Not at all,” Harry lied. “No problem.”
“Ray wants to know if you'll help with the luggage.”
“Sure. I can get it now if you want.”
“Well, we're not packed yet.” She opened the handbag and handed him what looked to be a check. “He asked me to give you this.”
Harry took it and tucked it into his shirt pocket without looking at it. “Thanks. Just let me know when you're ready.”
She smiled at him, transferred the smile to me for all of a second, and moved back the way she had come.
Harry came up beside me. “Jesus, one o'clock.”
“I don't care for it either,” I said. “But if he's going to be off in Sonora, it won't be so bad. I've got to go into The Pines myself around ten.”
“What for?”
“I have to make a couple of phone calls, and I've got to see Kayabalian again. He hired me yesterday to help find the missing carpet, working backward from San Jose-I didn't tell you that.”
“How long'll you be?”
“An hour or so. I'll be back well before one.”
“You have to go in this morning?”
“Kayabalian's leaving before noon,” I said. “I need the money too, Harry.”
“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”
He went inside and got a deck of cards, and we made a halfhearted attempt 1:0 play gin rummy. Seconds and minutes crawled away, and my nerves started to fray badly-but it was not Jerrold, it was the telephone call I would have to make from The Pines to Dr. White, and the results of the sputum test. Malignant or benign. Benign or malignant. The answer was just an hour or two away now, I was standing right up against it, and there was no denying the fact that I was as gut-scared as I had ever been in my life.