Part 9 (1/2)
”What's this for?” she asked.
”Well, I sort of hoped you'd park it for me until I can catch up with you,” Matt said. ”I really can't leave it parked out in front.”
”When are you going to 'catch up with me'?”
”As soon as I can. Sometime tonight you're going to have to make a statement at Homicide.”
”I already told that detective everything I know.”
”You know that,” Matt said. ”He doesn't.”
She took the keys from him.
”I was about to say,” she said, a touch of wonder in her voice, ” 'You're not going to just leave me here like this, are you?' But of course you have to, don't you? You're really a policeman.”
”I'm sorry,” Matt said.
”Don't be absurd,” Amanda said. ”Why should you be sorry? It's just that-you don't look like a cop, I guess.”
”What does a cop look like?”
”I didn't mean that the way it came out,” she said.
She took his arm and they went the rest of the way up the stairway.
”Wait here, please,” Matt said when they came to the double doors leading to the dining room. He stepped inside.
”May I have your invitation, sir?”
”I won't be staying,” Matt said as he spotted the head table, and Mr. and Mrs. H. Richard Detweiler, and started for it.
”Hey!” the man who'd asked for the invitation said sharply, and started after him.
Mr. H. Richard Detweiler, who obviously had had a couple of drinks, was engaged in animated conversation with a youthful, trim, freckle-faced woman sitting at his right side. She was considerably older than she looked, Matt knew, for she was Mrs. Brewster Cortland Payne II, and she was his mother.
She smiled at him with her eyes when she saw him approaching the table, then returned her attention to Mr. Detweiler.
”Mr. Detweiler?” Matt said. ”Excuse me?”
”Matt, you're interrupting,” Patricia Payne said.
The man who had followed Matt across the room came up. ”Excuse me, sir, I'll have to see your invitation,” he said.
H. Richard Detweiler first focused his eyes on Matt, and then at the man demanding an invitation.
”It's all right,” he said. ”He's invited. He'd forget his head if it wasn't nailed on.”
”Mr. Detweiler, may I see you a moment, please, sir?”
”Matt, for G.o.d's sake, can't you see that I'm talking to your mother?''
”Sir, this is important. I'm sorry to interrupt.”
”Well, all right, what is it?”
”May I speak to you alone, please?”
”G.o.ddammit, Matt!”
”Matt, what is it?” Patricia Payne asked.
”Mother, please!”
H. Richard Detweiler got to his feet. In the process he knocked over his whiskey gla.s.s, swore under his breath, and glowered at Matt.
Matt led him out of the room.
”Now what the devil is going on, Matt?” Detweiler asked impatiently, and then saw Amanda. ”How are you, darling?”
”Mr. Detweiler,” Matt said, ”there's been an incident-”
”Incident? Incident? What kind of an incident?”
Brewster C. Payne II came out of the room.
”Penny's been hurt, Mr. Detweiler,” Matt said. ”She's been taken to Hahneman Hospital.”
In a split second H. Richard Detweiler was absolutely sober.
”What, precisely, has happened, Matt?” he asked icily.
”I think it would be a good idea if you went to the hospital, Mr. Detweiler,” Matt said.
Detweiler grabbed Matt by the shoulders.
”I asked you a question, Matt,” he said. ”Answer me, dammit!”
”Penny appears to have been shot, Mr. Detweiler,” Matt said.
”Shot?” Detweiler asked incredulously. ”Shot?”
”Yes, sir. With a shotgun.”
”I don't believe this,” Detweiler said. ”Is she seriously injured?''