Free Seven Kinds of Death by Kate Wilhelm

getting back together again, that maybe this was her way to come back.” He laughed with great bitterness. “We said hello in the taxi, and sat together on the airplane. I asked her how she was doing, and she asked me the same, and that’s all we had to say to each other. I thought during the weekend there would be a chance. I didn’t press it.” He looked at Spence. “I’m going to walk to the village. You want a beer?” Spence nodded and the two men left together, one looking like a tired pugilist, the other like a half-starved art critic.
    Janet had watched and listened, as motionless as a carving; when she moved she was as jerky as a badly managed puppet. And Toni was only slightly less rigid; whenever Paul was within sight, she did not shift her gaze from him.
    Once more Ba Ba started to describe exactly how Victoria had looked. With a cry Janet leaped up and ran from the room, tore up the stairs; Toni was close behind her.
    “For God’s sake,” Tootles exclaimed, “Ba Ba, can’t you stop just for a while?”
    “I can’t get over how her face was so swollen—”
    “If you don’t cork it,” Tootles snapped, “I’m going to hit you in the head with something hard and maybe lethal.”
    “Well, if that’s how you feel,” Ba Ba cried, “I’ll just go home, now. This minute!”
    “You can’t leave until tomorrow,” Max said quietly. “And you do have to stop babbling.”
    Ba Ba drew in a sharp breath, and walked from the room with her chin quivering.
    “Tootles,” Constance said, “I want to talk to you before I leave tomorrow.”
    “Yes, of course,” Tootles said. “I mean, you came all the way from wherever you live now and we haven’t had a second together.”
    Then Janet came back, red-eyed, jumpy, and nearly in tears. “Johnny’s still talking,” she wailed. “I have to make a call. I have to call my mother.”
    Max strode from the room; in a minute he returned and nodded to Janet. Johnny was at his heels. “But make it quick,” Johnny snapped. Then he softened his voice, and looked contrite, even ashamed. “Sorry.” Janet was already out of the room, running toward the office.
    “I’ll go to town and finish,” Johnny said abruptly. “I’ll come back when I’m done. God, I haven’t been able to reach Stein yet. I’ll be back.” He hurried out, and soon they heard his car throwing gravel.
    In another minute or two, Janet said from the doorway, “I called my mom. And I have a reservation for tomorrow at twelve.” She drew in a quick breath and added in a rush, “I have to get out of here. I have to get out! I have to!”
    Tootles had been on the sofa; she got up and went to Janet. “Come along upstairs,” she said quietly. “We can talk, and I’ll help you pack. Of course, you have to go home for a while. Come along.” She put her arm around Janet’s shoulders and walked out with her.
    After they were gone Max said reflectively to Constance, “You called her Tootles. I like that. From her childhood?”
    She nodded.
    “Right after we acquired the land for the condos,” he said, walking to a sideboard where there was a bar setup, “I took a stroll over this way to meet the artist and her crew. I’d been warned that it was an unconventional bunch over here. They were all out in the front wrestling a tall wooden figure, eight feet, nine feet, into a truck. It wasn’t even her work, but Marion was right there with the kids, all of them filthy, sweaty. I pitched in and helped, too.” He poured a glass of mineral water and sipped it. “Next thing I knew she was asking me if I’d had dinner yet, and we all came in to eat chili and homemade bread. Marion’s bread; one of the kids made the chili. I don’t think they had a cent between them, her or the kids. It was the best food I’d had in years.” He drank the water and said, “I wish I’d known her when she was Tootles.”
    Constance wanted to tell him that would have been a mistake. Before Ed Holbein, or