him and waved cheerfully.
“Well, did you have a good time?” Grace Detweiler asked.
“Oh, yes!” Penny said enthusiastically.
“She especially liked the part where Dave Pekach bit the head off the rooster,” Matt said.
“Matt!” Grace Detweiler said indignantly.
Matt saw his mother smiling. They shared a sense of humor. It was one of many reasons that he was extraordinarily fond of her.
“If you will excuse me, ladies, I will now go kiss my frail and aged mother.”
“You can go to hell, Matthew Payne,” Patricia Payne said, getting up and tilting her cheek to him for a kiss. “ ‘Frail and aged’!”
She took his arm and led him toward the door to the library.
“You look very nice,” she said. “Was that for Penny’s benefit?”
“I didn’t even know she was going to be there. Madame D. and Martha Peebles sandbagged me with that.”
His mother looked at him for a moment and then said, “Well, thank you for not making that clear to Penny. Obviously, she had a good time, and that was good for her.”
“I get a gold star to take home to Mommy, right?”
“Daddy,” his mother replied. “He’s with Penny’s father out there.” She made a gesture toward the veranda outside the library, then added, “Matt, it’s always nice if you can make someone happy, particularly someone who needs, desperately, a little happiness. ”
She squeezed his arm, and then turned back toward the “small” sitting room. The sitting room of the Detweiler mansion was on the second floor, and Matt could never remember ever seeing anyone in it, except during parties.
H. Richard Detweiler got out of his chair and, beaming, offered Matt his hand.
“Hello, Matt,” he said. “Sit down and help us finish the bottle.”
That’s my gold star. Your usual greeting is a curt nod of the head. Until I became He-Upon-Whose-Strong-Shoulder-Precious-Penny -Leans, I was tolerated only because of Dad.
“Hello, Mr. Detweiler.”
“He’s only being generous because he took all my money at the club,” Brewster Payne said. “I couldn’t stay out of the sandtraps.”
“Or the water,” Detweiler said. “Scotch all right, Matt?”
“Fine. Thank you.”
Matt reached into his pocket and took out his wallet, and then five one-hundred-dollar bills. When Detweiler handed him the drink, Matt handed him the money.
“What’s this?”
“The expense money. I didn’t need it.”
Detweiler took the money and held it for a moment before tucking it in the pocket of his open-collared plaid shirt.
“I didn’t expect any back, and I was just about to say, ‘Matt, go buy yourself something,’ but you don’t try to pay dear friends for an act of love, do you?”
Oh, shit!
Matt turned away in embarrassment, saw a cast-iron love seat, walked to it, and sat down.
“He doesn’t need your money, Dick,” Brewster C. Payne said. “He made a killing at the tables.”
“Really?”
“More than six thousand,” Brewster Payne said.
“I didn’t know you were a gambler,” Detweiler said.
“I’m not. That was my first time. Beginner’s luck.”
Detweiler, Matt thought, seemed relieved.
“You understand that the money I took from your father today,” Detweiler went on, “is not really gambling.”
“More beginner’s luck?” Matt asked innocently.
His father laughed heartily.
“I meant, not really gambling. Gambling can get you in a lot of trouble in a hurry.”
That’s why you give your guests at the Flamingo a ten-thousand-dollar line of credit, right? So they’ll get in a lot of trouble in a hurry?
“Yes, sir,” Matt said. He took a sip of his Scotch. “Nice booze.”
“It’s a straight malt, whatever that means,” Detweiler said. “it suggests there’s a crooked malt.”
Penny Detweiler, trailed by her mother and Mrs. Payne, came onto the veranda. She had a long-necked bottle of Ortlieb’s and a glass in her hands.
“What’s that?” Detweiler asked.
“It’s what Matt’s been drinking all afternoon,” Penny said. “When did you start drinking whiskey?”
“As nearly as I can remember, when I was eleven or twelve.”
“No, he didn’t,” Patricia Payne said.
“Yes, he did, dear,” Brewster Payne said. “We just managed to keep it from you.”
Penny sat beside Matt on the cast-iron love seat.
“What am I suppose to do with this?” she asked.
“You might try drinking it,” Matt said.
“Penny . . .” Grace Detweiler said warningly.
“A glass of beer isn’t going to hurt her,” her father said. “She’s with friends and family.”
There was a moment’s awkward silence, and then Penny put the glass on the flagstone floor and put the neck of the bottle to her mouth. Her mother looked very uncomfortable.
“Did you have a good time at Martha Peebles’s, Precious?” Detweiler asked.
“Very nice,” she said. “And her captain is just darling!”
“Polish, isn’t he?” Detweiler said.
“Don’t be a snob, Daddy,” Penny