Death Likes It Hot by Gore Vidal Read Free Book Online

“Did he have anything interesting to say about the accident?”
    The penwoman shook her head. I wondered wildly if there was a bone beneath that mass of fat which flowed like a Dali soft watch over my own thigh: she was more like a pulpy vegetable than a human being, a giant squash. “No, we talked mostly about books. He likes Mickey Spillane.” She wrinkled her nose which altered her whole soft face in a most surprising way; I was relieved when she unwrinkled it. “I told him I’d send him a copy of
Little Biddy Bit
for his children but it seems he isn’t married. So I told him he’d love reading it himself … so many adults do. I get letters all the time saying.…”
    I was called next but not before I had heard yet another installment in the life of Mary Western Lung.
    The policeman was trying to do his job as quickly as possible. He sat scribbling in his notebook; he didn’t look up as I sat down in the chair beside the Queen Anne desk.
    “Name?”
    “Peter Cutler Sargeant Two.”
    “Two what?” He looked up.
    “Two of the same name, I guess … the second. You make two vertical lines side by side.”
    He looked at me with real disgust.
    “Age … place of birth … present address.”
    “Thirty-one … Hartford, Connecticut … 280 East 49th Street.”
    “Occupation?”
    I paused, remembering my promise to Mrs. Veering. I figured, however, the law was reasonably discreet. “Public relations. My own firm. Sargeant Incorporated: 60 East 55th Street.”
    “How long know deceased?”
    “About eighteen hours.”
    “That’s all.” I started to go; the policeman stopped me, remembering he’d forgotten an important question. “Notice anything unusual at time of accident?”
    I said I hadn’t.
    “Describe what happened in own words.” I did exactly that, briefly; then I was dismissed. Now that I look back on it, it seems strange that no one, including myself, considered murder as a possibility.
II
    Lunch was a subdued affair. Mrs. Veering had recovered from her first grief at the loss of a beloved niece and seemed in perfect control of herself or at least perfectly controlled by the alcohol she’d drunk which, in her case, was the same thing.
    Brexton received a tray in his own room. The rest of us sat about awkwardly after lunch making conversation, trying not to mention what had happened and yet unable to think of anything else to talk about.
    The second reaction had begun to set in and we were all shocked at last by what had happened, especially when Mrs. Veering found Mildred’s scarf casually draped over the back of a chair, as though she were about to come back at any moment and claim it.
    It had been originally planned that we go out to the Maidstone Club for cocktails but at the last minute Mrs. Veering had canceled our engagement. The dance that night was still in doubt. I had made up my mind, however, that I’d go whether the others did or not. I hoped they wouldn’t as a matter of fact: I could operate better with Liz if I were on my own.
    I had a chat with Mrs. Veering in the alcove while the others drifted about, going to their rooms, to the beach outside … in the house, out of the house, not quite knowing, any of them, how to behave under the circumstances. No one wanted to go in the water, including myself. The murderous ocean gleamed blue and bright in the afternoon.
    “Well, do you think it will upset things?” Mrs. Veering looked at me shrewdly.
    “Upset what?”
    “The party … what else? This will mean publicity for me … the wrong kind.”
    I began to get her point. “We have a saying.…”
    “All publicity is good publicity.” She snapped that out fast enough. “Socially, however, that isn’t true. Get a certain kind of publicity and people will drop you flat.”
    “I can’t see how having a guest drown accidentally should affect you one way or the other.”
    “If that’s all there is to it, it won’t.” She paused significantly; I waited