“THERE ACTUALLY IS a drink called a hurricane,” said Lou, filling a line of glasses along the bar, “but I tried it and I didn’t like it, so this is my version of it, the Hurricane Lou.”
When everyone had a Hurricane Lou, I raised my glass and said, “Here’s to Alice, whose room holds as many mysteries as Mrs. Jerrold’s.”
We drank, and then Alice said, “Okay, what was really going on in Mrs. Jerrold’s bedroom?”
“For thirty-some-odd years now,” I said, “I have wondered. First, was anyone in Mrs. Jerrold’s clothes closet? Maybe not. Maybe the door was just stuck. But I don’t think so. I think that there may have been a man there.”
“It must have been Mr. Jerrold, spying on Mrs. Jerrold,” said Otto.
“But it might have been Mr. Yummy, waiting for Mrs. Jerrold to return to him,” said Esther. “Maybe you interrupted them, Peter, by returning to the house to sell your flying-saucer detectors. What about Mr. Yummy’s tray of baked goods? Was it still on the counter in the kitchen?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t have a mental picture of it. Maybe I expected it still to be on the counter, and so I didn’t notice it, or maybe it was gone. Maybe you’re right, though; maybe my knocking had taken Mrs. Jerrold away from him. Perhaps I’d spoiled things for them a little, interrupted them. If so, maybe she sent me up to the room to — make mischief — you know — to make him scramble into the closet and hide.”
“In that case, she was kind of playing with you, wasn’t she?” asked Louise.
“Maybe,” I said reluctantly.
“I think it was Mr. Jerrold in the closet, spying,” said Otto.
“Then why would he also have the tape recorder running under the bed?” asked Elaine.
Otto shrugged and said, “I guess he wanted a recording for proof, so it wouldn’t just be his word about what he’d heard from the closet.”
“What if it was Mr. Jerrold in the closet,” said Miranda, “but he wasn’t spying? Like what if he had stayed home from work to screw around with his wife?”
“Could be!” said Lou. “Playing hooky for some nooky! Put in a couple of hours rekindling old feelings. Maybe so, maybe so.”
“Then maybe I spoiled things by returning with my stupid little gadget,” I said, occasioning some laughter at the expense of a boy and his stupid little gadget. “Really. If Mr. Jerrold-as-lover was up there, waiting for Mrs. Jerrold, wanting her, he must have been frustrated and annoyed by my being there.”
“And in that case why did she send you upstairs?” asked Albertine.
“To punish her husband for what he’d done to her,” said Alice without a moment’s hesitation.
“What had he done to her?” asked Clark.
“He had made her a lonely and unhappy woman,” said Alice.
“How do you know that?” asked Clark.
“Because she was looking for love from a bakery man and a little boy.”
“Oops,” I said.
“Well,” said Alice. “Sorry, but I think it’s true.”
Was it? I don’t know. I don’t know, but I wonder. I still wonder.
[to be continued]
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