but they were a trusting bunch in Anodyne Park, at least trusting in their guard at the gate.
At Geraldine Graham’s own front door, Lisa answered my insistent ring. She was so startled she didn’t react at all for a second. By the time she decided to slam the door in my face, I had given her a genial “good evening,” dropped my shoes outside the door, and moved past her into the hallway. I could hear Ms. Graham calling from the living room, demanding to know who was at the door.
I went in to greet her, and had the satisfaction of hearing her admonish Lisa for trying to keep me out: I was there at Geraldine’s request, to tell her what had happened at Larchmont on Friday night. When I’d run through enough of the highlights-including my interrogation by the FBI-to satisfy her, I finally turned to my own agenda.
“I know we had an appointment for tomorrow afternoon,” I said, “but I had Edwards Bayard with me this afternoon and he told me an odd tale.” “Edwards? I suppose he came out here because of the girl.”
“Among other things. Do you know, I actually found him in Olin Taverner’s apartment Thursday night? He had broken in, trying to find some secret papers that Taverner had promised him.”
“How extraordinary. And did he find the papers?” She did a good job, keeping a tone of light interest in her flutey voice, but her hands had clenched at her sides.
“No.” I waited for her hands to relax before adding, “but he did tell me about a letter he found from your mother to Calvin Bayard.”
“And I suppose you drove out here to tell me about it?” Her hands tightened again, but she still managed to keep her voice steady.
“Your mother wrote Calvin about depredations he was committing against her household, and a demand for restitution-or she would take action.”
The light bouncing from her heavy glasses made it impossible for me to see Geraldine’s eyes. “Mother thought she was a law unto herself. She defined theft according to her own canons.”
“And?” I prompted, when she fell silent again.
“I wrote a check for Calvin to one of his pet charities. It was a group Mother disapproved of, because it provided assistance to indigent Negroes
who needed legal assistance.” She gave one of her involuntary glances at the full-length portrait behind her. “I was fortyfive years old, but she still thought it within her rights to examine my bank statement when it arrived each month. I didn’t realize she was doing it until she confronted me over this check; for once I held my ground with her. I should have realized she would next turn to Calvin.”
“She had such strong anti-black prejudices?” I was bewildered. Geraldine Graham gave a tight little smile. “She had such strong feelings against her will being thwarted that I imagine she lost sight of the original issue.
“She threatened Mr. Bayard with reprisals. What would those have been?” “Mother owned shares in Bayard Publishing. She was always threatening to sell them to Olin, who was her nephew, or to will them to him, whenever Calvin published something she thought was risqu&. It was a hollow threat-she disapproved of Olin’s sexual proclivities far more than she did of Calvin’s daring authors. How odd it seems that Calvin’s authors were once considered daring, now that every sexual act is described in such detail that they all become merely boring. Not to mention how they appear in films. Men like Armand Pelletier, who were glamorized for their bold language, have become passe.”
“Why was Lisa so determined I shouldn’t talk to you about this?” I refused to be diverted. “She accused me of working for the newspapers, trying to dig up old dirt.”
“That’s right, madam.” Lisa popped into the room from her self-appointed listening post. “I remember well what Mrs. Drummond went through when Mr. MacKenzie passed, the work to keep-“
“That will do, Lisa. Miss Victoria is trying to find out who killed the Negro writer in our pond. She has no prurient interest in my affairs and we have nothing to hide from her.”
The last phrase was uttered like a warning, like a way of saying, our hand is so much quicker than her eye, that you can speak of everything, except the elephant in the drawing room which she can’t see. Lisa muttered something that might have been an apology. She retreated to the edge of the carpet, but she didn’t leave the room.