“Until I either get what I came for, or know that it was never here in the first place.”
“Where are you staying?”
“At the Penn-Harris.”
“That’s the best place. Room all right?”
“Very nice, sir.”
“Good. Do you play golf?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you like me to call out to River View and get you a guest card?”
“That’s very kind, sir. But a friend’s father, Mr. Reynolds, already did that for me.”
“Tom Reynolds?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, in that case, I won’t have to ask what was going to be my next question.”
“Sir?”
“Which was going to be, ‘Would you like me to see if I couldn’t find a nice girl to introduce you to?’ ”
Matt chuckled.
“That won’t be necessary, sir. But thank you very much.”
Chase touched Matt’s shoulder and walked back to his office.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee, Mr. Payne?” Dolores asked.
“That would be very nice,” Matt said. “And may I use the phone?”
“Of course. Just make yourself comfortable.”
She waved in the direction of Hausmann’s desk. Matt walked into the office, settled himself in the comfortable green leather high-backed chair, took a look at a silver-framed photograph presumably of Mr. and Mrs. Hausmann and the four little Hausmanns, and then reached into the credenza behind the desk for the Harrisburg telephone book.
He found what he was looking for and dialed the number. He had to go through a switchboard, but in less than a minute, he heard:
“Appeals, Reynolds.”
“My, don’t we sound businesslike? I’m sure, hearing that no-nonsense voice, that the taxpayers of Pennsylvania are getting a good day’s work for a fair day’s pay out of you.”
“Oh, God! What do you want?”
“There are several things on my mind, actually.”
“Make it quick. They don’t like personal calls around here.”
“Okay. First and foremost, I wanted to assure you that I haven’t washed my face.”
“What?”
“I may never wash it again, as a matter of fact.”
“Oh,” Susan said, finally taking his meaning. “Jesus! Grow up, Matt!”
“You mean you washed your face?” he asked incredulously.
“Of course. . . . What’s on your mind, Matt?”
“I think you already know.”
“God!” she responded in what she hoped was an expression of disgust and disbelief.
“If you have a pencil, Susie, I’ll give you the telephone number of my new office. Very classy. It gives me a splendid view of the polished marble floors and ornate bronze fixtures of the lobby of the First Harrisburg Bank and Trust Company. In case you want to call me in the next couple of hours.”
“I don’t think that’s likely.”
“You never know when you’re going to need a cop, and in case you do, you’ll have my number right at your fingertips.”
“Next?”
“Where are we going for lunch?”
“Nowhere.”
“Then where are we going for dinner?”
“Nowhere.”
“I thought maybe we could drive out to Hershey and have dinner in the Hotel Hershey.”
“No.”
“Well, any place you like is fine with me. What time shall I pick you up?”
“You don’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer, do you?”
“We have a deal, fair maiden.”
“I don’t know what you’ve got in your mind, Matt—”
“Really? No feminine intuition at all? I find that difficult to believe.”
“Damn you!”
“I seem to have offended you. Since—my intentions being so pure and noble—I can’t imagine how, what I am obviously going to have to do is call your mommy, tell her how sorry I am, and ask her if she can’t try to fix things up between us.”
There was a chuckle. Not a very pleasant chuckle, more one ringing of resignation.
“And you really would, wouldn’t you, you son of a bitch?”
“You can take that to the bank. The First Harrisburg Bank and Trust.”
“I’ll pick you up in front of the Penn-Harris at half past six. We’ll have a quick and early dinner.”
“To start,” Matt said. “You won’t have any trouble spotting me. I’ll be the handsome devil with the look of joyous anticipation in his eyes.”
“Oh, God,” Susan said, and hung up.
Matt put the phone in its cradle and only then noticed a mousy-looking female in her thirties standing in the office door. She held a deep metal tray full of strange-looking forms—bank records, probably, he decided—in both hands.
“Mr. Payne?” she asked.
Matt nodded. She came into the office and, with a grunt, laid the gray metal tray on the glass-topped desk.
“These are the safe-deposit box access records,” she said. “When you’re through with them, would you please tell Dolores, and I’ll come and get them.”
“Thank you,” Matt said, and smiled at her.
He ran his fingers down the forms. Each form was metal-topped, and designed to hang from the reinforced side