maria took her lucky flower from behind her ear and put it in her purse.
she put on her best dress and shoes, and hat and coat - all of which she preserved for special occasions - and drove over to the hill geraldine hopkins lived on.
she parked her car a couple of blocks away, so that geraldine or her servants would not see how old it was.
she climbed the hill and a maid - not a butler - answered the door and let her in.
maria had been in rich folks houses a few times before, and always been a bit disappointed.
her idea of rich peoples houses had been formed from movies, and from reading mystery novels, such as those of mr raymond chandler, where the drawing rooms were “the length of the decks of two aircraft carriers” and the chandeliers were “polished brighter than the sun coming up over a desert” and so forth.
the room geraldine was sitting in was nothing much either. in fact it did not look like much at all. a lot of soft looking chairs and couches, and a single chipped and stained coffee table in front of the couch geraldine was lying back on.
geraldine did not get up when the maid brought maria in. “what did you say your name was?” she asked maria.
“patricia. patricia williis.”
“right. have a seat, miss willis. would you like some tea?”
“yes, thank you.”
geraldine nodded at the maid and the maid disappeared.
“so you are working for some character writing a book?” geraldine asked.
“yes, mr charles conover.” maria had no elaborate story prepared. she trusted to her ability to make details up on the spot as fast as they could be asked for. and she thought it was fun. also, if someone was really determined to find out if she really was who she said she was, they would anyway.
“has this mister conover written any other books?”
“oh yes, he wrote a book about arctic explorers looking for buried treasure at the north pole. and he also wrote a novel - it was about - it was about king richard the lion hearted.”
“hmm.” geraldine did not really seem all that interested. “i’m not much for reading books myself, not since i was in school. so he wants to know about ted tenner?”
“yes, that was one of the people he asked me to research.”
“did you look up old newspapers?”
“i did, but that is not as easy as people think. i mean, you can do it, but you don’t find out very much. unless you don’t know anything at all to begin with.”
“where did you get my name?”
“there was a murder at the time mr tenner disappeared. of joshua james. and some people thought there might be a connection.”
“a lot of people thought there was definitely a connection. and?”
“i talked to a man who used to work for joshua jones and he said mr jones had a daughter who was in an asylum. but when i asked about seeing her i was told it would not be easy. i might try later. then i asked if the daughter had any old friends and your name came up. ”
“came up from who?”
maria was making everything up and kept on going. “a woman named betty carter who worked for mrs james.” there must have been a mrs james, maria thought.
“i don’t remember any betty carter,” said geraldine. but then she shrugged. “but who can remember anything, right?”
“i just thought you or some of the daughter’s other friends might remember something she said at the time.”
“you keep calling her ‘the daughter’.” geraldine scowled slightly at maria. “her name was taffy, and i remember her very well. and i remember ted tenner even better.”
“oh! then maybe you can help me. of course,” maria added. “you are under no obligation to tell me anything.”
“i am well aware of that. but here is our tea.”
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