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.Davy everywhere except here, damn it.Maybe he ought to chew another mouthful of kelp, even though he doubted he could bring himself to swallow it.18“Mrs.Flingett, this is Sarah Kelling Bittersohn speaking; I'm sorry that Mr.Bittersohn is not available just now.”Exactly how sorry she was brought a tightness to Sarah's throat that made it hard for her to speak.Fortunately or not, depending on a persons point of view, the woman at the other end was quite ready to do all the talking herself and proceeded to do so for the next twenty minutes nonstop while Davy tugged at his mother's sleeve in the hope of getting her attention and went off pouting to Uncle Jem when Sarah couldn't drop the phone and go with him to watch the seagulls smashing clamshells on the rocks.Dr.Colly had checked Davy over from his pink toes to the top of his curly blond head and had found nothing wrong.“Keep an eye on him for a couple of days,” he had advised.“He's sure not his usual rambunctious self.Could be somethings worrying him.I wouldn't badger him about running off, though, at least not yet.I don't hold with this business of interrogating kids about their worries until they get so nervous they start inventing stories they think the other person wants to hear.If he's not back to normal in a day or two, give me a call.”Davy had perked up a bit when his buddy Charles C.Charles carried, complete with trench coat and fedora and a Humphrey Bogart accent, Charles was an actor manqué when he wasn't butling for Theonia or tracking down stolen art objects for Max, and he believed in living his roles.He managed to distract Davy long enough for Sarah to give Sergeant Jofferty her version of the shooting of Alister Zickery.Jofferty assured Sarah that Calpurnia seemed quite comfortable in the local lockup.She had a nice clean cell all to herself, and Miriam Rivkin had already stopped by with chicken sandwiches and salad.“Bless her,” Sarah murmured.“Well, we re all grateful to the lady for coming to your rescue,” Jofferty said.“No question but that she'll be out on bail before long.Jake Bittersohn has already made the arrangements and will represent her when the case comes to trial.She's a queer duck, though, isn't she? Asked me to get her some, paper and pens on account of she planned to start writing her memoirs.”Sarah finally managed to get Mrs.Flingett to stop talking, reminding her that they'd been on the case for less than a week and that Max had warned her it would be several days before they could get to work on her missing Modigliani, what with a family wedding coming up and a large backlog of cases.He had added that he couldn't imagine why anybody would want a Modigliani back, though he hadn't said it to Mrs.Flingett.Sarah wiped her eyes.The hole Max's absence made in the family circle was growing wider every hour.Jesse was out beating the bounds again, knowing it was probably futile but feeling a desperate need to do something, anything but sit still and wait.Brooks and Theonia had gone back to Boston to pursue other lines of inquiry.Sarah would have been doing the same thing, if she had been able to.Instead she was sacrificing herself to a client, to well-meaning relatives, to her child, to whoever had to be placated or comforted or indulged or paid before she could take the time even to brush her teeth, much less help look for Max.Although Jem and Egbert wouldn't give up the ship, Sarah knew that Jem was hankering for Beacon Hill and the Comrades of the Convivial Codfish, and Egbert for his own little coterie of lady friends with whom he'd carried on a pleasant, tranquil relationship for many years, mostly playing Scrabble, occasionally making a daring foray into mah-jongg.She couldn't expect them to stay much longer; they'd be stricken with nostalgia for the Hill.“Mummy, wake up.”Somehow or other, Sarah had managed to drop off for a few seconds.“What's the matter, Davy?”“You took my alligator.”“No, I didn't.Look under your bed.”“You come with me.”“Davy, I'm very tired.”“No.I want my alligator.”“You didn't say ‘please.’”“I don't have to.I'm the man.”“Who told you that?”“You did.”Sarah couldn't believe she'd ever been fool enough to say such a thing, but there was no point in starting an argument with a three-year-old.She sighed from the bottoms of her sneakers to the top of her sorely aching head.“All right, Davy.I think you left the alligator in his den under my desk this morning.Why don't you look?”“You look.You have to get down on your tummick.”“No, I don't.I'm the woman.And it's stomach, not tummick.”Pouting, Davy retrieved his toy.Sarah said with false enthusiasm, “Good boy.Now show me how the alligator wiggles [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]