Deep Water by Patricia Highsmith (romance novel chinese novels .txt) 📗

       "Dr. Franklin called us. They're going to have a coroner's inquest tomorrow in Ballinger at two-thirty and we're all supposed to be there. I suppose somebody'll notify you, anyway. It's in the courthouse."

       "All right. Thanks, Evelyn. I'll remember."

       "Vic—have you had any phone calls—about this?"

       "No."

       "We have. I—Phil didn't think I should say anything to you, Vic, but I think it's better if you do know. One or two people well, let's say one—said that they thought it was just possible that you had something to do with Charley's drowning. I don't mean they said it outright, but they implied it. You can imagine what I said. But I thought I should tell you that I do think there's going to be some whispering, Vic. It's too bad a lot of people noticed Charley and Melinda acting—you know as if they had quite a crush on each other. But a lot did, Vic."

       "Yes, I know," Vic said a little wearily. "Who was it who talked to you?"

       "I don't think I should say. It isn't fair, and it really doesn't matter, you know that."

       "Was it Don Wilson?"

       A slight hesitation. "Yes. You know, we don't know him very well, and he certainly doesn't know you. It'd be bad enough from someone who knows you, but he has no right whatsoever."

       Vic had hoped it was Don Wilson. He had hoped that was all Don Wilson had to say. "Let's let it go. He's got a bad chip on his shoulder."

       "Yes. Something's wrong. I can't say that I like him. I never did. We had them to the party just to be friendly, you know" "Yes. Well, thank you for telling me, Evelyn. Is anybody else saying anything—"

       "No. Certainly not like that, but—" The soft, earnest voice stopped and Vic waited again, patiently. "As I said, Vic, several people commented on the way Melinda behaved with him, asked me if I thought anything had been going on. I told them no."

       Vic squeezed the telephone in embarrassment. He knew very well that Evelyn knew better.

       "You know, Melinda's always getting these enthusiasms for people. Especially a pianist. I can understand it."

       "Yes," Vic said, marveling at the human capacity for self deception. It had become so much a habit for their friends to ignore, to wink at Melinda's behavior they could almost believe now that there was nothing to wink at. "How is Phil?" Vic asked.

       "He's still pretty shaken up. It's the first accident we've ever had in our pool, you know. And such a horrible one. I think Phil feels somehow personally responsible. It wouldn't take anything to make him fill the pool in, but I think that's a little unreasonable."

       "Of course," Vic said. "Well, thank you very much for calling me, Evelyn. We should all feel a little better after the inquest tomorrow It'll help settle everything. We'll see each other at two-thirty in Ballinger, I suppose."

       "Yes. If there's anything we can do today to help you, Vic—I mean with Melinda, don't hesitate to call us."

       "Right, Evelyn. Thanks. Bye-bye."

       "Good-bye, Vic."

       He had said that about the inquest's helping to settle everything with an absolute, unthinking confidence in his own safety, he realized. His friends would be there—Phil Cowan and Horace Meller and their wives. He trusted their confidence in him. But for a moment he questioned himself about Horace: Horace had been unusually quiet after they had dragged Charley out of the pool, and also in the kitchen. Vic tried to recall his expression—intense, shocked, and at the last he had looked haggard, but Vic did not think he had seen any shadow of doubt in his face. No, he could rely on Horace. Melinda might accuse him in front of the coroner tomorrow, but Vic really didn't think she would. It took a kind of courage that he didn't think Melinda had. Underneath all her wildness she was rather a coward and a conformist. She would know that all their friends would turn against her if she accused him, and Vic did not think she would want that. She might fly into a tantrum, of course, and accuse him, but if she did, everybody would know it was a tantrum and know why. If anybody examined her character, that was about the end of Melinda. He did not think Melinda would want to subject herself to a scrutiny of her private life.

       Vic came back from the plant a little before one on Monday, in time for a quick lunch and the drive to Ballinger before two-thirty. Melinda had spent the morning out—probably with Mary or Evelyn, Vic thought—because he had called her from ten o'clock onward to tell her about the inquest at two-thirty. She refused to eat any lunch, but she did not take a drink until just before they left the house at two. For all her sleep, there were circles under her eyes, and her face looked pale and a little puffy—appropriate for the mourning mistress of a dead lover, Vic thought. She did not reply to anything he asked her or said to her, so Vic gave it up.

       The inquest took place in the red brick courthouse on the main square of Ballinger. There were several straight chairs and two desks in the room, at one of which sat a male secretary who took down in shorthand everything that was said. The coroner's name was Walsh. He was a handsome, serious man of about fifty, gray-haired and erect. Everybody was present and punctual, the Mellers, the Cowans, himself and Melinda, and Dr. Franklin, who sat with folded arms. There were first the factual circumstances to be narrated and confirmed, and then everyone was asked if in his or her opinion the death was caused by accidental circumstances.

       "Yes," Phil Cowan replied firmly.

       "Yes," Evelyn said.

       "I believe so," said Horace, as firmly as