Deadly Beloved(24)

“They wanted me to go out to the Midwest and tour the week of Donna’s wedding,” Bennis had said as she let Gregor through her door. He had a key to her apartment, but he never used it. It made him feel odd—somehow—to have it. “But I told them to forget it. I mean, for God’s sake. I just got back from England. I’m going up to Canada in four days. It’s not like I’m recalcitrant about doing publicity.”

“Mmm,” Gregor had said.

Bennis led him into her kitchen. Her thick black hair was piled on top of her head. Her legs and feet were bare under her jeans. Her long-fingered hands looked cold. Gregor sat down at her kitchen table and cleared a place for himself. Bennis had pieces of a copyedited manuscript spread out everywhere. Every single page seemed to display a pale yellow Post-it Note with a message in navy blue ink and a plain white Post-it Note with a message in red. Don’t you think you should mention Hitler here? one of the blue-inked messages read. This is taking place in 1882, for Christ’s sake, the red-inked message shot back. Hitler hadn’t even been BORN yet. Gregor wanted to ask what Hitler had to do with Zed and Zedalia, but he didn’t. Bennis put a large cup of coffee down in front of him.

“Donna’s mother is practically living upstairs these days,” Bennis said, turning her back to him and fussing with the pile of dirty dishes in her sink. Bennis never seemed to wash dishes, only to fuss with them—but they got done every once in a while, and put away, so she must have gotten serious or used the dishwasher or hired help when he wasn’t looking. Gregor drank coffee and wondered why he was thinking so hard about Bennis Hannaford’s dishes.

“Donna’s mother is upstairs practically every minute of the time these days,” Bennis said, actually rinsing out a glass and putting it in the dish rack. She picked it up again, reinspected it, and put it back in the sink. “Donna’s going crazy, as you can imagine, and I’m about to go crazy too, because Donna’s mother is a nice woman, but honestly, Gregor, she keeps wanting to change things. Do you remember how I was supposed to wear this sort of claret-colored satin skirt to be maid of honor in?”

“Mmmm,” Gregor said.

“Donna’s mother thinks red is red and wearing red makes me look like a scarlet woman, which Donna’s mother half thinks I am anyway. Do you think that’s true, Gregor? That I’m some sort of scarlet woman?”

“Mmmm,” Gregor said again.

Bennis turned around and leaned back against the sink. She was wearing a turtleneck and a flannel shirt over her jeans. Her great masses of black hair were straining against their pins, showing a little gray here and there. She looked the way she always looked, Gregor thought—as if she were in costume. There was something about her face, something so Old Money Philadelphia Main Line, that didn’t go with this style she had developed and now seemed permanently addicted to. Gregor thought she would look more natural playing Elizabeth I of England in an old movie—except that Elizabeth I had never been this good-looking.

Bennis crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” she demanded. “I mean, for God’s sake, Gregor, you’re beginning to remind me of Banquo’s ghost.”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” Gregor told her. “I’ve just been a little tired lately. I’ve got the right to be a little tired.”

“Maybe you should see a doctor. You haven’t been doing anything to be tired.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Well, I mean it. You’ve been moping around the neighborhood for weeks now. You haven’t been investigating a case—”

“There hasn’t been a case for me to investigate.”

“John Jackman asked you to help with something three weeks ago. I know. I read the note.”

“Now you’re reading my mail.”

Bennis sighed. “Gregor, seriously. Even Sheila Kashinian’s beginning to worry about you, and Sheila wouldn’t notice if an atom bomb dropped in the middle of her living room. Unless it messed up her curtains, of course, because she just got new white curtains. Don’t listen to me. I’m just trying to get across to you—”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Gregor said stubbornly.

“You’re off your food,” Bennis told him. “Lida left a plate of stuffed grape leaves for you a week ago and half of them are still in your refrigerator.”

“You were looking in my refrigerator?”

“I’m always looking in your refrigerator. Gregor, please—”