Rose Marie is trying something a little different, serializing a book she has written — "The Evil Men Do." Each month she will be sharing a chapter with you. As the months go by, you will be able to go back and re-read previous chapters if you wish to. This book is presented here exactly as she has written it. We welcome your thoughts on both the book itself and the process we are trying. So — jump in!

If you missed previous chapters, they can be read here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

The Evil Men Do  — Chapter Six

What did it do to Joyce, Reed's daughter, Stu wondered, a girl raised without a mother, Reed at the office day and night, putting in the kind of hours required by Prudhomme. Or Reed required of himself. Of course, because of the difference in their ages Stu did not know Reed, the man—only Reed, the loyal employee. Once Stu had asked his father what had happened to Joyce's mother. What he really wanted to know was what had happened to his own mother, but Prudhomme wasn't going to tell him. Stu was hoping Reed's experience would give him a clue by the way Prudhomme told it, but Prudhomme had been vague, Reed's marriage hadn't worked out, that was all. What had Reed done before working for Prudhomme? Had they known each other in the service? Both had served in Viet Nam, but neither talked about it.

Stu remembered Joyce from when she was a little girl, a tomboy who followed him around, because she had no friends of her own.  How could she?  She was not home long enough to make friends, had been raised in boarding schools and summer camps. Reed had no time for her. What motivated him, Stu asked himself—didn't he ever get lonely?  Solitude, bane of the young, was the blessing of the old. Or so Stu had read. But Reed wasn't old.  What pleasure derived from coming home at the end of the day to a big empty house, empty of people, full of things. Did things turn him on in a way that people, even his own daughter, did not

George phoned him on the night of Joyce's party, wanting to know if he'd told the police about his gambling debts.

"I said I wouldn't," Stu told him.

"You said you wouldn't unless you had to."

"Well, it hasn't come to that yet."

"Suzanne got a call from Sharon. My brother's girlfriend?"

"I know who she is," Stu said.

"Yeah, I forgot you said you met her."

"And?" Stu wanted to know if Suzanne had given him the same account as Sharon had given him.

"Seems she's looking for a place in town and remembered that Suzanne's a real estate agent."

He waited for Stu to say something.

Stu said, "oh."

"I was hoping you'd know if it's true or not."

"That she's looking for a place?  Why shouldn't it be true?"

"If she wanted to pick Suzanne's brains, she's say that." George said.  "Which she did.  Suzanne told her about Las Vegas." 

Stu didn't let on that Sharon already knew. "What else?"

"That's all," said George.

"It's natural she'd want to know what really happened."  Stu thought it was time for him to tell George he spoke to her too.

"I see." Stu wanted to ask him what he saw but decided not to put ideas in his head. George already had ideas, however.  "Something going on between you two?"

"Of course not," Stu said. "We just want to know the truth. By the way, you know this guy Jenkins? Reed hired him shortly before my father's death. Suzanne met him."

"Never met him," George said.

"Reed said the firm's in trouble so why'd Reed hire him?"

George laughed. "The firm's not in trouble, Stu."

"Pardon me, George, but how would you know?" George said nothing so Stu went on. "According to Reed, they have a chance to pull out of it, some new project. He promised to give me the details."

"Does my father know?" George asked. 

"I have no idea," Stu said.

"Somebody should tell him." Stu wondered what his grandfather could do. "That'll be me," George added.  "I'm the only one who goes up there anymore."

"I'll be talking to him too," Stu said.

"Don't say anything, let me do it," George said. "You going to Reed's party?"

"I said I would."

"What's he doing giving a party if there's no money?"

"He didn't say there's no money, only that the firm's in trouble."

"The same thing," George said. "Suzanne says something funny's going on with Joyce too."

Stu frowned.  "What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know Suzanne. She and Joyce have always been close, Suzanne sort of adopted her. Joyce regards her as a sort of surrogate mother so she brings her her troubles. Joyce complains that Reed keeps pushing her at this new guy you mentioned, who just joined the firm."

"Roy Jenkins?" Stu was horrified. "He's too old for her."

"You didn't tell me you met him."

"Well, I have."

"Suzanne agrees with you. The whole thing's fishy. What's Reed's angle, why is he doing this?"

"That's the question all right. I'll try and find out. Will the uncles be there?" he asked.

"No," George said, sounding relieved. He didn't get on with his older brothers. It was one of the things Stu had in common with him. "They're in Canada."

"What are they doing there?" Despite himself, Stu was curious.

"Combination fishing trip and business deal," George said. "You know how they like to speculate. Timber, I think. They must be planning to build."

"What is it this time?" Stu asked.

"You don't think they'd tell me, do you," George said, and Stu, on reflection, had to admit he didn't think so.

On the night of the party, he started out early, intending to leave early too. Like Joyce, he wasn't sure he'd know many of the guests.

Reed's house was situated at the end of a long driveway lined with immense oaks. Viewed from outside, the house was a deceptively simple ranch, but, like George's cottage, sprawled over several acres. Not so simple at all, and not a bad showing for a man who, Stu inferred from Prudhomme's infrequent remarks, hadn't been born rich. Stu turned the car around, facing the way out, shut the door without locking it, didn't bother closing the windows. It wasn't going to rain. He shrugged into his blue linen jacket and walked the rest of the way to the house.The weather was warm and the windows stood open. He heard music, something about it different from the usual background sound Reed liked, probably more like what Joyce might prefer. Drawing nearer, Stu realized that Reed had hired live musicians. Reed, standing at the door, saw him at the same time he saw Reed and walked out to greet him. "Glad you're here, Stu." Taking him by the arm, he said, "Come along, I want you to meet someone. I won't let on who. You have to guess."  Stu had already guessed who--Joyce, Reed's daughter. 

She made an impression. A slim girl, not tall, five feet four maybe, with a white oval face and a halo of auburn hair, only vaguely familiar, something about the mouth. And the dress, what a dress.  How did Reed let her get away with a dress cut that low? Nothing childish about that neckline or the way she filled it out. "I've been away so long," she said. "You haven't seen me in forever so no wonder I don't look familiar."

"But you do look familiar," Stu said, trying not to stare at her cleavage.

"She doesn't favor me a bit—lucky for her." Reed was in a good mood, jovial, smiling, almost too much so, and Stu realized with a pang that Reed hardly ever smiled. He supposed that Reed may have been feeling uncomfortable with his daughter since he hadn't been around her long enough in the past for them to have bonded. They had spent so little time together. Blood alone wasn't enough. Stu could attest to that.

"Well, you're not familiar to me," Joyce said. "Who are you again?"

"You know me," Stu said, telling her his name. He thought she had been drinking. Her eyes had that glazed look.

"Oh.  You're right. I do remember you. Did you know I used to have a crush on you?"

"Joyce," Reed cautioned.

She turned to him. "Why can't I say that? I don't mind telling him. I don't anymore. It was a long time ago. I was just a kid. I remember your father, too," she said, "I remember him better than you.  He used to come and see me, and he brought me presents. He was so nice to me."  She frowned.  "He said he liked talking to me. Nobody else ever said that. You could've come with him, why didn't you?"

"Probably because I wasn't home much myself."

"How is he? He isn't here yet. Is he coming?"

"No," Stu said.  "He died."

She clapped a hand over her mouth. Reed said, "You'll have to forgive her. She doesn't read the newspapers."

And Reed didn't tell her? Although they were close? "No harm done," Stu said. "My father used to say, you don't read the newspaper, you smell it and throw it away."

"I'm sorry," Joyce said.  "I really am.  I wish someone had told me. I'd like to have known. Nobody tells me anything." She gazed beyond Stu, said, "that man over there is waving at us. At you. I think he's trying to get your attention."

Reed turned and looked at the man, and Stu did too. Stu didn't know him, but Reed said, "I better go talk to him. Business. Don't monopolize her, Stu."

A funny thing for him to say.

A woman who had been speaking to Joyce before Reed dragged Stu over and interrupted them still stood on the fringe of the small group. Seeing Reed leave, she moved in again, a plump woman with orange hair. At the same time, Joyce grasped Stu's arm firmly and led him in the opposite direction, pretending not to notice her. "She asked me what I use on my hair to get this color. Silly bitch."

"No doubt she meant it as a compliment."

"I hate red hair. Nobody in my family has red hair."

"Aunts and uncles, maybe?" Stu had never met any of Reed's family, and Reed didn't talk about them.

"No," she said.

"Where do they live?" Stu asked.

"Chicago. I've been there. I don't like it, not in the summer. Hot and humid."

Out of the corner of his eye Stu saw George and Suzanne bearing down on them, but he soon realized they were heading for Joyce, not him. Suzanne embraced her, and they kissed as women kiss, smacking lips in the air. Suzanne had auburn hair too, but whatever she used, if she used anything, remained a secret between her hairdresser and herself. Joyce looked startled, perhaps owing to the impact of Suzanne's jewelry, items which had belonged to Stu's mother, but Prudhomme, knowing how much Suzanne loved jewelry, had persuaded her to take. Tonight she wore it all, emerald earrings, an emerald necklace and a ring. Not many women could have carried off all three, but the emeralds suited her.  Stu's grandmother had had red hair, and he remembered seeing a portrait of her wearing the emeralds.  They had suited her, too. "What a well kept secret you are," Suzanne remarked.  "About time Reed decided to show you off."

"I just wish he asked me if I wanted a party because I don't. Especially not this one. He invited his friends, but he didn't ask me who I wanted to invite.  It's supposed to be my party, but I don't know a soul."

"He should have asked you," Suzanne said.  "I don't know why he didn't."

"He knows I don't know anybody," Joyce said, "except there is one person."

"Must be a boy."

"It is. I wanted to invite him, but my father said no."

"Why's that, I wonder," Suzanne said.

"Because he's my boyfriend. Is that so hard to believe," Joyce asked, "that I have a boyfriend?"

"Not at all," Suzanne said. "Tell me all about him. Girl talk," she said, dismissing Stu and George. "Let's leave the boys here and go somewhere by ourselves. Where did you meet him? Have you known him long?"

George, looking after them, remarked, "not like Suzanne at all to take a fancy to someone young, female and good-looking, but she sure took a shine to Joyce. Lucky she doesn't take after her father. How'd Reed get such a pretty girl?" Stu noticed that he slurred his words. How much had he drunk already, had he added drinking to his list of vices? Unfortunately, George noticed that Stu was studying him.  "What're you looking at? Can't a man have a few drinks?"

"You in the clear now?" Stu asked. "With the guys in Las Vegas?"

George nodded. "Thanks to your father. I should do something to prove my gratitude—even if he refused to give me the money while he was alive."

"What do you propose?"

"Suppose you're right about how he died. That it was murder. I told you, I know who did it—those crooks in Las Vegas, you should believe me."

"George, you're guessing," Stu said, "you have no proof."

"Proof is coming," George said, "now they know I know."

"How do they know?" Stu asked, hoping he heard wrong.

"I called them up and told them."

Just what Stu was afraid of. "They admitted it?"

"Of course not," George said, "but I'll make them talk."

It was the drink talking. "Leave it be, George. You'll just get into trouble. Nothing you do can bring him back. Besides, you haven't got a hope of bringing them to justice. You think they won't have alibis?"

"Nobody has any confidence in me, nobody thinks I can do anything. There's ways, and I intend to find them. I'm not the dunce you think I am." George swayed, and Stu said, "let's sit down."  They moved to a corner of the room, where chairs had been placed.

"Don't patronize me, Stu," George said, glaring at him.

"I'm not," Stu said.  He changed the subject. "You've known Reed a long time," he said.  Longer than me."  George nodded. "Where'd he come from anyway?  What brought the two of them together, him and my father?"

"He one of your suspects?" George was not too drunk that he couldn't put 2 and 2 together.

Stu refused to confirm it. "Just curiosity."

George smiled, a bitter little smile. "There you go again. You don't trust me. Reed did all right for himself, thanks to my brother."

"He seems very loyal."

"Yeah, loyal. You don't know the half of it."

"What do you mean, George?"

"Nothing. I don't mean anything. They were both in Nam," he said. "Me, I wasn't, but don't hold it against me. It was before my time." He waited for Stu to say something, but Stu didn't say anything. "My brother could have got a deferment, but he chose not to. They met there, and later on Reed looked him up. Big mistake."

"Why?" Stu asked. Why was it a mistake?" But George shook his head. "What happened to Reed's wife?"

"I don't know." Stu thought he was lying. "You must have met her."

"Don't remember. I was a lot younger than they were. They hung together, Reed and Prudhomme and their wives. Until Reed went off."

Stu's ears pricked. "Where'd he go?"

George smiled. "My brother said he was on a secret mission, but even I wasn't naïve enough to believe that. He came back eventually, but he refused to talk about it."  Stu asked again where Reed went. "Nothing to do with any of this," George said. "You can trust me on that."

"What happened to Joyce's mother?" Stu asked.

"One day she was there, and the next day she wasn't. I didn't ask, figured they wouldn't tell me anyway."

"Just like mine?" Stu asked.

"I don't know anything about that," George said.

"She a redhead too?"

"As I recall."

"Funny he never married again," Stu said.

"Well, if she's still alive, they're probably still married," George said. "He has a thing for Suzanne, did you know that?" Stu didn't. "Sometimes I think she has a thing for him too. What's he got that I don't?  Don't answer that. It's not him. It's me."

Finding himself standing next to Suzanne at the buffet table later on, Stu told her what George said.

"A thing for Reed."  She looked irritated. "George would say that. It's easier for him to blame somebody else. He drinks, he gambles—I don't know why I stick around."

"Why do you?" Stu asked.

"I don't know, Stu, I don't know.  I guess I'm used to the guy."

"I'm surprised Reed never married again. He must be lonely, and if he had a wife he wouldn't have to send Joyce away."

"Too late now," Suzanne said. "She's all grown up."

"Is she really?"

"Grown up enough.  No woman wants another female around, especially one who's young and pretty."

"You seem to like her."

"I don't live with her." She sighed. "I don't know why Reed never married again. I lied when I said I had no feelings for him. They're not romantic, that's all. I admire Reed because he's so different from George. He doesn't drink, he doesn't gamble, he doesn't chase women. I wish George was more like him."

"George doesn't chase either," Stu said.

"And two out of three ain't bad?"

Stu shrugged. "George says Reed's attracted to you."

"George thinks that? Isn't he sweet. Could he be right? I doubt it.  Reed is—austere.  I'm not saying he hasn't had affairs. He's a man, isn't he? But if so he certainly knows how to be discreet."  She moved off, a bright, jeweled bird even among the elegant crowd which Reed had mustered, leaving Stu absentmindedly loading his plate with caviar, which he loathed, to wonder about her. Studying people he'd known better than Reed, known for a lifetime, watching them circulate, he found it hard to imagine any of them as a murderer. For one thing, they weren't close enough.

Someone close to Prudhomme had killed him. One of the family, Stu couldn't get around it.

Unless George was right about the crooks in Las Vegas, but Stu didn't believe it.

Looking around the room, he realized he knew these guests even if he didn't know them—modern couples moving singly among other guests but keeping an eye out lest their spouses should appear to be enjoying themselves too much. Happy people, unhappy people, brittle women with hungry eyes, men who had made all their conquests except for one.  Few people Joyce's age. He wondered if she was enjoying herself. She was right; it was Reed's party, not hers.

He recognized a couple of familiar faces among the servants as well, hired for the occasion. A long time ago, Janet Mathiesen had been one of the hirees, helping out when Prudhomme had a party.  That in itself might have furnished the grist for Prudhomme's objections.

Stu accepted a drink and smiled into a pair of brown eyes which seemed familiar. He remembered her from somewhere. Suddenly he knew where—he had seen her with Janet. "Wait, come back.  I—I want to ask you something."  When she turned and approached, he hesitated.  "I just wondered if you spoke to Janet since she came back."

Wide eyes grew wider. "Janet's back?  She hasn't called me."

"You should call her. She may need a friend."

He didn't miss the contempt in her eyes and realized she knew. "Like she needed you? Listen, I'm busy, I don't have time to talk to you. I'm working, in case you didn't notice."  She walked off, turned, said, "I will call her."

After she disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, he decided he didn't want to be alone any more.  Not with himself for company. He spotted Roy Jenkins in a corner of the room, Joyce with him.  She was shaking her head vehemently. Catching sight of Stu across the room, must have given her the idea of using him as an excuse to get away from Roy. Stu's chance to do a good deed. Joyce said something to Jenkins, excused herself, flew across the room. She grabbed Stu's arm and pulled him along into the next room, where some of the guests were dancing.  "Dance with me," she ordered, but they had taken just a few steps when she pulled him off the floor.

"I hate him, I hate him." She wiped away angry tears. Stu had a sinking feeling he wasn't going to know what to say. "He says he wants to marry me. The way he says it, it's like a threat. Why, Stu? We don't know each other. Besides, I don't want to get married. And if I did it wouldn't be to him, it'd never be to him. He's old. Your age."

Stu ignored the insult.  "Maybe you're wrong," he said, "and he just wants to get to know you better. And who could blame him?" He smiled, she didn't. He didn't blame her, he shouldn't joke. "Aren't you  jumping to conclusions? What makes you so sure?"

"I'm sure all right," she muttered. "He came right out and said it, when we get married, that's what he said, as if it was a foregone conclusion, as if everybody knows about it except me. Why," she asked, "why's he want me? Is it my father?"

"What do you know about him?"

"Nothing. He works for my father. That's all I know. It's all I want to know."

"Have you talked to Reed?"

"Like he cares.  For all I know, he's in on it.  He dotes on the guy."

"No, he doesn't," Stu said, remembering Reed's irritation when Jenkins interrupted them.

"Well, he talks about him like he does."

Why should Reed want to marry off his only daughter to a man she hardly knew, a man who just started working for him?

"What am I going to do?"

He tried reassuring her. "Nobody can make you marry somebody you don't want to marry. This isn't Iran."

"Is that true?  I wonder."

"Sure it's true." But Stu wasn't as sure as he made it sound. Between them, Reed and Jenkins might make Joyce think she had no alternative, badger her into marrying Jenkins. She might run away.  Stu figured she would, but where would she go? If Suzanne knew what Reed was planning, she'd change her mind about Reed. Would she still think of Reed as harmless, or would she take a second look and see something ugly, sinister even. He spied Suzanne and George at the temporary bar which had been set up near the French windows leading to the patio. "I'm going to get drinks," he said. "Wait for me."  He hoped to overhear what Suzanne and George were saying to each other.

Luckily, they had their backs to him, and there was enough noise in the room to cover his approach. Stu pointed to the drink the bartender had just handed somebody and gestured for two of the same. They looked like pina coladas. Joyce would probably like it.  He hoped it wouldn't be too strong.  While the bartender mixed the drinks, he eavesdropped.  "…nothing to hide."  Now what did Suzanne mean by that?  He moved closer. Was she talking about him?

"Not any more," George agreed. "He knows I was in hock, and he knows who to. If my brother hadn't died, I don't know what I'd have done, but that doesn't mean I'm glad he's dead or that I killed him."

George's voice had risen, and Suzanne shushed him. "Get to the point, George."

"The point is, I'm a suspect. He doesn't want to admit it, he doesn't have to. That's why I have to figure it out myself."

"Do you know where he was, what he did that day?"

"The day he died—no, I don't know. Why do you ask? Oh, God, Suzanne, do you think I did it too?"

Stu would have asked her the question himself if he had thought of it. "Answer him, damn you," he prompted silently.

But she didn't answer George's question. "That's it, isn't it?" he moaned."You think I killed him. You do, don't you? I had a motive."

"I told you before," she said. "You couldn't kill anyone, George. You don't have the nerve."

"And that's a bad thing?"  George sounded all in. "Fact is, if Stu's right somebody did kill him, and if I know who did it I should do something about it, shouldn't I?  Who else is there?"

"There's Stu."

"He doesn't know Las Vegas. Not like me."

"You and your goddamn gambling."

"You know what they say, it's a disease, like alcoholism. I can't help myself."

"I'd rather you were an alcoholic."

"I need help, Suzanne. You're not helping."

But she went on. "I heard it all before.You're not responsible, it's your genes, it's your environment. If it's genes, how come you're the only one who gambles?"

"How do you know? There's different ways to gamble."

"The rest of them all made money," she said. "You're the only one with a talent for losing it."

They walked away, leaving Stu to wonder how deep George's problems went and what they might have led to. Returning to Joyce with their drinks, Stu found her gone, then, looking around, spied her standing nervously by the door. Ready to bolt at a moment's notice. He handed her the glass and, to his consternation, she drained it. "Let's go for a drive," she said.

"Now," he asked, "during the party?"

"Why not? You don't seriously think anyone will miss me, do you? Take me to the beach. It's dark now. I love the beach at night, it looks so mysterious." She gazed at him with big, green eyes, slightly unfocused now. "What's wrong with that? I like to look at the water. It helps me think.  I look at it, and I don't know what happens, it's like falling asleep while I'm still awake, and after a while I feel really peaceful." Her gaze moved behind him. "Roy's coming. He's looking for me. Let's get out of here. Will you come?"

Stu allowed himself to be dragged outside. "You really want to go to the beach now?" he asked, hoping it'd be enough if they sat in the car for a while.

"Come on, Stu. Start the car before he sees us." So he did. She told him where to turn, and they soon found themselves at one of the less stony beaches on Long Island Sound, where sand already had been trucked in from the south shore for the benefit of summer visitors.

"Park as close as you can."

"To the water? We'll get stuck in the sand." But he parked as close as he could. For a few minutes they sat in the car with the door open. 

"Let's get out," Joyce said, scrambling out of the car, an incongruous sight in her long dress, leaving her high heels on the seat. She walked down to the water, holding her dress up and letting the water splash over her feet. "Must be low tide. I love the smell."

"Spoken like a true native."

"You love it too, don't you?" Stu nodded. "If it weren't for Roy, I'd be glad to be back. I missed it."

"What are you going to do?"

She frowned. "What do you mean? Why do I have to do anything?"

"If you're going to live in Reed's house you'll probably have to abide by his rules, including having Roy Jenkins pushed down your throat systematically."

"I'm pretty stubborn," she said. Then, "you're right. Never mind, I'll come up with something.  I always do. What about you—do you live with anyone? I could move in with you."

He thought about Mrs. Boyd. What would she say? Plenty, no doubt. He explained that she would distract him too much, and he wouldn't get any work done.

"What do you do?"

"I'm an artist." He didn't know what else to say.

"Oh, an artist."  Obviously, she didn't think much of his choice of career. Stu realized he didn't think much of it either. "It's funny, you being an artist and everybody else in your family with their offices downtown. Except George. He doesn't go to the office either."

"Yes. Except George."

"He doesn't do much of anything, does he?"

Stu thought hard before coming up with an answer that would satisfy them both. "He tried to break into politics, but voters wanted some guy who had been poor, a self-made man, who would understand their problems. Then the tide changed. People wanted somebody rich because they figured he wouldn't steal anything. George's timing was off. He lost too many times, and I guess people considered him a loser. Since then, he doesn't do anything much." He didn't add that George's idleness was making him miserable.

"Let's go for a swim," Joyce said.

"We don't have bathing suits."

"That's okay." She unzipped her dress, stepped out of it and folded it neatly on the sand. She wore nothing beneath it. With her clothes on, she looked slender, but naked her body had all the ripeness the dress had suggested. Without shoes, she was small, barely over five feet, but without the short legs that usually accompanied small stature. She entered the water, and after a moment's hesitation he too undressed and followed her in, the sea and sky inky black except for white-crested waves breaking close to shore. He lost sight of her, then glimpsed her white body swimming parallel to the shore just beyond the breakers, moonlight phosphorescent on her shoulders. She turned around once to make sure he had followed her into the water. He deliberately trailed behind instead of catching up. After a while she turned back, and he treaded water until she swam past him, then followed her back. When they left the water, the air felt predictably cold, and they felt a breeze they hadn't noticed before. "I have a blanket in the car," he said. He gave her the blanket and dried himself off as best he could using his clothes.

"Why are you getting dressed?" With her wet hair and chattering teeth, she failed to project the sex kitten image she was striving for. A good thing, Stu thought. "Maybe swimming wasn't such a good idea after all," she persisted. "Come and sit here by me." She patted the sand.  "You don't have to worry. I'm not a baby."

She knew all the tricks, how to excite, how to stimulate, how to satisfy without penetration,  games she had learned outside of school. He didn't want to play games with her, but she made it damned hard for him to refuse. The wind blew strands of drying hair around her face, and she had relaxed her hold on the blanket.

"Come on," he remonstrated gently. "You told me there's a guy." She drew back, looked down, nodded. "So what are you doing with me?" She shrugged. "I'm not the one you want," he said.

"How do you know what I want? I can say you attacked me. My father doesn't approve of you. He'll believe me."

"Say anything you want, but be ready to take the consequences." She looked away, out the window where it was too dark to see anything. "Look," he said gently, "maybe I just have a thing about sleeping with Reed's daughter. Anyway, according to you, Jenkins and I are the same age which makes me too old for you too."

"But I like you, and I don't like him," she said.

"I'm flattered."

"I could get married." She looked away.

"To that boy you know. Is he your age? You're both a little young."

"They'd have to leave me alone," she said.

"It's a little drastic, though, isn't it?"

She sighed. "I'll get dressed." On the way home they hardly spoke at all. Joyce put her head back on the seat and fell asleep or pretended to. 

Thank God, nobody was outside to see them drive up. Judging by the few cars left in the driveway, many people had left although Stu could see a few party-goers moving around in the lighted rooms.

She went inside without saying a word, not even good night.  Her shoulders drooped, and Stu thought, she's too young to be alone in Reed's huge house.

Check Next Month's Issue for Chapter 7