Back Deadlock
Chapters (64)
  1. Other Books by This Author
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Contents
  6. Chapter 1
  7. A Hero’s Death
  8. Chapter 2
  9. Love’s Labors Lost
  10. Chapter 3
  11. Reflections
  12. Chapter 4
  13. On the Waterfront
  14. Chapter 5
  15. A Glass in the Hand
  16. Chapter 6
  17. A Capital Ship
  18. Chapter 7
  19. Watchman, Tell Us of the Night
  20. Chapter 8
  21. Learning the Business
  22. Chapter 9
  23. Just Another Dead Black
  24. Chapter 10
  25. Down the Hatches
  26. Chapter 11
  27. Grounded
  28. Chapter 12
  29. Bedside Stories
  30. Chapter 13
  31. Sherry at Valhalla
  32. Chapter 14
  33. Potluck
  34. Chapter 15
  35. The Frozen North
  36. Chapter 16
  37. Stowaway
  38. Chapter 17
  39. Deadlock
  40. Chapter 18
  41. The Long Journey Home
  42. Chapter 19
  43. Pavane for a Dead Hockey Player
  44. Chapter 20
  45. Unloading
  46. Chapter 21
  47. Fishing Trip
  48. Chapter 22
  49. Nighttime Chiseler
  50. Chapter 23
  51. A House of Mourning
  52. Chapter 24
  53. A Question of Policy
  54. Chapter 25
  55. The Old Girl Network
  56. Chapter 26
  57. On the Tiles
  58. Chapter 27
  59. On Board the Dragon Ship
  60. Chapter 28
  61. The Fire Ship of Wodin
  62. Chapter 29
  63. The Long Good-bye
  64. Cover

I told her we’d just take a typical day in their lives together and go through it—say last Thursday. What time they had gotten up, what they had for breakfast, what she did with herself. What time her husband got home from work. I heard all the dreary details of a life without focus, the hours at the tennis club, at the beauty parlor, at the Edens Plaza Shopping Center, before I got the information I’d come for. Clayton hadn’t gotten home that night until nine. She remembered because she’d cooked a roast and finally she and the girls ate it without waiting for him. She couldn’t remember if he seemed upset or tired or if his clothes were covered with grease.

“Covered with grease?” she echoed, astonished. “Why would your research firm want to know a thing like that?”

I’d forgotten who I was supposed to be for a minute. “I wondered if you do your own laundry, or sent it out, or have a maid do it.”

“We send it out. We can’t afford a maid.” She gave a sour smile. “Not yet, anyway. Maybe next year.”

“Well, thank you for your time, Mrs. Phillips. We’ll mail you a copy of the report when we complete it. We’ll be bringing it out later this summer.”

She took me back through the house. The furniture was expensive but not very attractive. Someone with more money than taste had picked it out—she, or Phillips, or the two of them together. As I said good-bye I idly asked who lived in the big brick place up the road, the one with the tennis courts.

An expression combining awe and envy crossed her well-made-up face. “That’s the Grafalks. You ought to talk to her. Her husband owns one of the biggest first in town, ships. They have maids and a chauffeur—the works.”

“Do you spend much time with them?”

“Oh well, they lead their lives, we lead ours. They sponsored us in the Maritime Club and Niels takes Paul and Clayton sailing with him sometimes. But she’s pretty standoffish. If you don’t belong to the Symphony Board you aren’t worth much to her.” She seemed to feel she might have said too much, for she hastily changed the subject and said good-bye.