The Prodigal Son(67)

“For what reason?” Carmine asked.

“None, but it’s something to do, sir.”

“Have you a strategy, Deels?” Carmine asked.

“It’s been thumping in my head that I should have one, yet I don’t. Oh, I detest poison cases!” she burst out.

“John Hall’s inquest is next Monday,” Carmine said. “We wait until after that, then reconsider.”

“And Tinkerman’s inquest?”

“Wednesday. I’m afraid Mrs. Tinkerman is going to have to testify that she gave her husband a shot of vitamin B-12 at the banquet, but I’ll make sure that Paul testifies how well the poison was disguised. When does Wendover Hall arrive?”



“Sunday. He’ll be on a red-eye out of Seattle and should be at Max Tunbull’s house by noon,” said Abe. “He’s staying there.”

“Be waiting for him, Abe. He’s the answer to our problems with John Hall. In the meantime, have a good weekend.”





SATURDAY, JANUARY 11, 1969


When Millie came out of the bedroom, still blinking sleep from her eyes, she was astonished to see Jim sitting at the table over coffee, with a box of bagels and a bar of Philadelphia cream cheese sitting by her own place.

She came around the table to stand behind him, her cheek on his hair, inhaling the scent of his skin. “Not in the lab?”

“No,” he said, smiling and putting down his sheaf of papers. “It occurred to me that it’s Saturday, the rest of the world isn’t working, and when I took a walk, the smell of fresh bagels hit me like a truck.” He reached up and pulled her onto his knees. “I don’t know why, but I realized that it’s about two years since we last had toasted bagels and cream cheese for our breakfast. I couldn’t afford the lox, but I got you the rest.”

She pressed kisses against his lips, which always ravished her: silky-soft, yet muscular. “Jim, how thoughtful!” She began to scramble off his lap. “I’ll start the toasting.”



But he rose, picked her up and put her on her chair. “No, this is my treat, I do the toasting. You can watch.”

Head spinning slightly, she followed his movements — he was so efficient! Within ten minutes she was spreading Philly on a hot, brown bagel and chewing in bliss.

“I should have taken you out for breakfast,” he said.

“No, bagels taste better at home, especially made on a lopsided toaster.” She sipped her coffee. “Jim! Colombian?”

“It’s one of those mornings, Millie. I love you.”

“Well, I know that. I love you back.”

He wetted his lips, hesitated, then plunged in. “I had a serious talk to Davina yesterday.”

At mention of the name she stiffened, lifting clouded eyes to his face. “Since when is she a fount of knowledge?”

“About some things, she’s the only fount of knowledge,” he countered. “Don’t get your dander up, Millie, hear what we talked about first. I know your first time of meeting her properly wasn’t happy — John dying and all that, but I’ve known her for a long time, and in some matters I trust her opinions.”

“I looked at her and saw Medusa.”

He took her hands, chafed their backs with his thumbs. “I accept your feelings, Millie, but try to get past them this once! A Helical God is going to turn our world upside down, and none of the C.U.P. people is in touch with reality the way Davina is. Like us, they’re academics. Something Davina knows very well, which is why she decided to stick her oar in. Believe me, Millie, she apologized all the time she gave me her thoughts, and after a few hours thinking about what she said, I think she’s right.”

His earnestness was unmistakable; knowing her dislike of the woman was as illogical as instinctual, she tried to do as he asked, be detached at least. “Very well, Jim, you talked.”

“We have to change our lifestyle, she says. If the book’s a big success and the general public discovers that Chubb’s brightest biochemistry star lives in a semi-slum on State Street, it will harm both Chubb’s image and our own. It would look as if I, a black man, was being exploited, under-paid, and the truth is that I’m not. My fault entirely that I plough the money back into my work, but Davina says the adverse publicity could rebound on the book.” The full mouth tightened, the eyes hardened. “We have to be living better well before Publication Day, April second.”

“And where do we get the money?” Millie asked, voice harsh.

Jim looked enthusiastic. “Oh, Davina fixed that up! C.U.P. will give us an advance against royalties. Some thousands.”