Free The Black House by Patricia Highsmith Page B

respected in Chicago and beyond. He was trim of figure, not balding, and without much gray in his hair. His face was clean shaven, with a crease in either cheek, and he had rather heavy eyebrows above friendly, thoughtful blue-gray eyes. He liked meeting strangers in his shop, summing them up, finding out whether they wanted to buy something because it would look nice somewhere in their house or because they really fell in love with an object.
    As the bus rocked and lumbered into Arlington Hills, Lee tensed himself, already uneasy, and unhappy. Well, he did not intend to see his mother this trip. He didn’t want to see her, and he didn’t have to. She was so far gone mentally that Lee had had power of attorney for nearly ten years. Winston had at last obtained his mother’s signature for that. She had held out for months, not for any logical reason but out of stubbornness, and because she enjoyed making difficulties for other people. Twenty minutes to four, Lee saw from a glance at his wristwatch. He stood up and hauled his suitcase down from the rack before the bus had quite stopped.
    â€œLee!—How are you, Lee?”
    Lee was surprised by the voice, and it took him a second to spot Win in the little crowd waiting for debarkers. “Win! Hello! I didn’t expect to see you here!” Lee’s smile was broad. They patted each other on the shoulder. “How’re things?”
    â€œOh—much the same,” Win replied. “Nothing much changes around here. That’s all the luggage you’ve got? . . . My car’s over here, Lee—and Kate and I expect you to be our guest . All right?” Win already had Lee’s suitcase in his hand. Win was in his early sixties with straight gray hair that looked always windblown. He wore navy blue trousers and a blue shirt with no tie. Win was head of an insurance company that he himself had founded, and the Mande-villes had insured their house and cars with Win for decades.
    â€œIt’s kind of you, Win, but honestly, for one night—I can just as well stay at the old Capitol, you know.” Lee didn’t want to say that he preferred to go to a hotel.
    â€œWon’t hear of it. Kate’s got your room all ready.”
    Win was walking toward his car, and Lee went with him. After all, Win had been helpful, very, with Edna, and Win seemed really pleased to have him. “You win, Win,” Lee said, smiling, “and thank you. How’s Kate? And Mort?” Mort was their son.
    â€œOh—the same.” Win stuck Lee’s lightweight suitcase onto the back seat of his car. “Mort’s working now in Bloomington. Car salesman.”
    â€œStill married?” Lee recalled some awful trouble with Mort’s wife—she’d run off with another man, abandoned their small child, and then, Lee thought, they had got back together again.
    â€œNo, they finally arranged a—a divorce,” Win said, and started the car.
    Lee didn’t know whether to say “Good” or not, so he said nothing. Now his mother, Lee thought. That was the next question. He didn’t care how his mother was. Instead, Lee said, “I was thinking we might wind this business up this afternoon, Win. It’s just a matter of signing a paper, isn’t it?” The house in Barrett Avenue was sold, to a young couple named Varick—Ralph and Phyllis, Lee remembered from the real estate agent’s letter.
    â€œYe-es,” said Win, and his heavy hands opened on the steering wheel for a couple of seconds, then closed tightly. “I suppose we could.”
    Lee gathered that Win hadn’t made an appointment as yet. “It’s still old Graham, isn’t it? He knows us both so well—can’t we just barge in?”
    â€œSure—okay, Lee.”
    Win Greeves steered the car into Main Street, and Lee glanced at storefronts, shop signs, seeing a lot of change since he had been here last, and