Part 40 (1/2)
Mrs. Reynolds came into Susan's room as she was undressing.
”Did you have a good time?”
”Yes, as a matter of fact, we did. He taught me to put Roquefort on a cracker and then take a swallow of wine.”
”Daddy used to do that,” Mommy said.
”Did he really?”
”He seems to be a very nice young man,” Mommy said.
”For a cop,” Susan said.
”What's that supposed to mean?”
”Nothing.”
”At least he's working, and according to Mr. Emmons, very highly regarded in his chosen profession.”
”And what else did Mr. Emmons have to report?”
”He's very comfortable. I mean, personally, now. And the Paynes are more than comfortable.”
”Where do you think we should be married, Mommy?” Susan said.
”Don't be like that, Susie, you asked!”
”Sorry.”
”Are you going to see more of him?”
”I'm afraid so.”
”I think you like him.”
”Good night, Mommy.”
Mrs. Reynolds turned as she pa.s.sed through Susan's door.
”Mary-Ellen Porter called,” she said.
”Who?”
”Mary-Ellen Porter. She said you were together at Bennington.”
Since I never heard the name Mary-Ellen Porter until this moment, then it has to be either Jennie or Eloise.
”Oh, of course. Mary-Ellen. Mary-Ellen. What did she want?” What did she want?”
”She said she would call you at work tomorrow. I told her they didn't like that, but she said she had to talk to you in the morning.”
”I wonder what she wants?” Susan asked, more or less rhetorically.
FIFTEEN.
”Good morning, Lieutenant,” James C. Chase said. ”It's always a pleasure to see you. How can we be of a.s.sistance this morning?”
The bra.s.s sign on Chase's large, highly polished desk in his gla.s.s-walled office off the main room of the First Harrisburg Bank & Trust Company identified him as ”Vice President.”
Matt had instantly decided that Chase was the exception to the general rule that most banks had as many vice presidents as they did tellers, and that the t.i.tle had come in lieu of a pay raise and carried with it very little authority.
This man-fifty-something, gray-haired, very well-tailored-had the look and bearing of someone in authority, used to making decisions.
”This is Detective Payne, of the Philadelphia Police Department,” Lieutenant Deitrich said.
The announcement visibly surprised Chase, but he quickly recovered and offered Matt his hand.
”How do you do?” he asked.
”How do you do, sir?” Matt replied.
”Payne, you said?”
”Yes, sir.”
”I was in school with a chap from Philadelphia named Payne,” Chase said. ”Brewster C. Payne. I don't suppose there's any chance-”
”He's my father, Mr. Chase,” Matt said.
”Then I really am delighted to meet you. How is your father? I haven't seen him in several years, I'm afraid.”
”Very well, thank you, sir.”
Well, I just got handed the keys to the bank didn't I?
”You make sure to give him my very best regards.”
”Yes, sir, I will.”
Wait a minute!
If this guy is really an old pal, why didn't Dad at least mention him when I told him I was coming to Harrisburg?
If Chase really is a good friend-and I think he thinks he is, which doesn't mean Dad reciprocates, of course-not mentioning him wasn't wasn't an inadvertent oversight. Because Dad doesn't think of him the same way? No. He would have warned me about something like that. an inadvertent oversight. Because Dad doesn't think of him the same way? No. He would have warned me about something like that.
Maybe because Dad didn't want to lean on his old school chum on behalf of the cops? Or because he knew that it would quickly come to Chase's attention that a Philadelphia detective named Payne wanted to nose around his bank? And that Chase would either ask-as indeed, he just did-or call Dad and ask.