Oh, God, thought Annie, he had been trying to follow her to Cambridge. While she had been gossiping with Minnie Peck in the restaurant on JFK Street, poor old Eddy had been stumbling through the woods, fighting his way through the underbrush, heading for the highway. Why didn’t Eddy’s mother keep a closer watch on Eddy?
At home Annie brought Eddy to the Gasts’ front door and confronted Roberta. “I was driving home from Cambridge on Route 2 when he ran out on the road.”
Roberta said, “Oh dear.” She took Eddy’s hand and said faintly, “Thank you.”
At home, in her own part of the house, after flinging down her bag, and tearing off her coat, Annie stopped to stare at the wall. The face was back. It was no longer the bleeding blank face of a woman with golden hair. This time it was dark and brutal, with pointed teeth, bulging eyes, and a bright-blue beard.
Chapter 17
“Oh, Flimnap,” said Annie, “I forgot to tell you. Bob Gast wants to know if you could fix some things over there. You know, clogged drains, doors that won’t shut.”
Flimnap glanced at her. “Well, okay, fine.” His voice was flat.
“And they say the trapdoor on the floor of the laundry porch is rotten.”
“I’ll do that first. It’s not rotten, but I wouldn’t put it past those people to fall through on purpose and sue you. Mrs. Cast’s law firm specializes in that kind of thing.”
“It does! They sue people? How do you know?”
“Ear to the ground.”
It was a typically evasive Flimnappian remark. There were a lot of questions Annie wanted to ask him, such as, “Exactly what is your marital status?” But she knew he’d dodge around them somehow. The truth was probably something like, Married and divorced, six children in child support.
Flimnap asked Annie a question instead. “What does Bob Gast do? Is he another lawyer?”
Annie wasn’t sure. “He’s in some kind of real estate, I think. You know, land management, something like that.”
Next day Flimnap began doing things for the Gasts, knocking on their front door, using Annie’s key when they weren’t at home. After replacing the trapdoor on the side porch, he climbed the stairs with bucket and pipe wrench to work on the stopped-up drain in the bathroom sink.
He was alone in the house. Bob and Roberta Gast were at work, the children were in school. Flimnap put the bucket down softly and began moving around among the bedrooms. One was an elegant master bedroom with a canopied bed. Another was a boy’s room, Eddy’s, rather spartan. A third was full of dolls and swimming trophies, Charlene’s.
There remained the small room on the north side. The door was closed. Flimnap opened it boldly. The room was a study with a desk, a filing cabinet, and an electric typewriter.
Slowly Flimnap walked up to the desk and looked down at the rows of papers, neatly arranged in piles. Was this Roberta’s stuff, or her husband’s? Or did they both use the room?
Big manila envelope, “Weingarten and Morrissey, Attorneys at Law.” That sounded like Roberta.
Legal-sized envelope, “Winchester, Board of Appeals.” That was more like Bob.
Folded plot plan, “Rolling Pastures, footprint.” Footprint? It was a land planner’s term, the shape of a structure on a lot. That was surely Bob Cast.
A sheaf of stapled pages, “Songsparrow Estates, Southtown, Preliminary Estimates.”
Flimnap picked up the sheaf and began to read.
Bob Gast came home early from his downtown office. Roberta was late. Eddy’s driver had not yet brought him home. Charlene was at swimming practice. Bob ran upstairs to make a few phone calls.
Sitting down at his desk, he picked up the phone. For a moment he held it in his hand, ready to dial, then put it down.
His papers didn’t look right. “Songsparrow Estates, Southtown, Preliminary Estimates,” what was it doing right there on top? He had thrust it carefully underneath all the rest before he left the house. His dealings with Fred Small were still in a shaky state, and there was a tricky question about ownership. It was too soon to go public.
Could Eddy have been messing around with his papers? No, surely it wasn’t Eddy. Charlene? Roberta? Not very likely. Gast stood up and looked doubtfully out the window, as though an interfering marauder might be visible below.
Fee, ft, fo, fum!
I smell the blood of an Englishman;
Be he alive or be he dead,
I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.
English nursery rhyme
Chapter 18
When he had crossed the water he found the entrance to Hell. It was black and sooty within, and, the Devil was not at home….
The Brothers Grimm,