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, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18

The Evil Men Do 

Chapter Nineteen

The parking garages in the center of the city bore vacancy signs that sizzled red and green in the eerie pre-storm light. The parking garage which serviced Prudhomme's office building was empty now except for a few stragglers. Stu pulled in, recognized Suzanne's car in one of the slots. She must have been in the city already to arrive so soon. He parked next to it. The car, a blue Seville, surprised him. He  would have put her into a sports car, something flashy and low. The more substantial vehicle said something about her. He didn't ask what. He felt glad she'd disregarded is request for her to stay home.  It was evidence that she was worried about George, whose green olds he didn't see, but Stu figured George had arrived while the garage was still full and had parked elsewhere. Or Stu was wrong about everything, and George wasn't there, in which case both he and Suzanne had made the trip for nothing, and George was somewhere else. But where else would he go? Stu pulled into a space, ran into the building and took the elevator up to the twenty-third floor.

Reed's office looked deserted, but the door was open so Stu knew he was there. Reed was careful, never would have left the office without locking up. He worked late every night. The joke was, he never went home. Rose was gone as well. How was she getting paid? She couldn't afford to work for nothing. Stu thought that his father must have provided for her other than in his will. He remembered hearing her complain of not having enough to do and wondered if Reed had fired her. Had dared to fire her. Rose knew everyone's secrets. 

Rose was another person whose importance Stu had failed to realize. He had thought of her as just another piece of furniture, vowed to make it up to her, find a way to compensate her for her years of loyalty. 

The door to Reed's inner office was closed. Stu knocked. "Come in," Reed shouted.

Stu opened the door. "Oh, it's you," Reed said. "I thought it was the cleaning people."

"We need to talk."

Reed lay down his pen. "What do we need to talk about?"

Stu said, "why you suddenly agree with Jenkins about developing the marsh for one thing. You used to be against it." Stu waited for him to answer, but Reed didn't say anything. "People used to say bodies were buried there."  He noticed that Reed's body tensed. "What do you think?"

"I wouldn't know."

Stu hazarded a question. "What really happened to your wife?"

Reed looked down as if the answer lay on his desk. "Is this a fishing expedition, Stu?"

"You could call it that," Stu said, "but I think I know most of it. You killed your wife, didn't you, the way you killed that guy in the bar."

"You have proof?"

"It's not my concern," Stu said. "I think you killed my father too."

"No." Reed shook his head and said no again. "He killed himself."

"You know as well as I do he'd never do that. If you didn't kill him, Reed, then who did?  Jenkins? After you put him up to it?"

"Why would I do that after all these years, Stu, why?"

"Then who did?"

"I don't know. Believe me, I'd tell you if I did if only to get myself off the hook."

"And Sharon?" Stu asked. "What about her?"

"Sharon," Reed said.

"My grandfather's housekeeper says she hasn't been paid," Stu said, hoping to surprise him by changing the subject. "Is that your responsibility?"

"My responsibility? Of course not." Reed gestured toward a chair.  "You better sit down." He waited for Stu to comply. "The money's gone," he said.

"My grandfather didn't get involved with the firm."

"Not at first."

Stu understood then. "You cleaned him out. How'd you do it? What did you tell him? Did he think he was bailing you out?"

"He's an old man."

"Not senile, though."

"As good as. Delusions of grandeur. Liked the idea of more and more building. Worthless now. Too many developments, too many empty malls, empty office buildings."

Stu thought of the proud old man alone in the forbidding pile of bricks he called a mansion. Stu tried to pity him but couldn't. He had been the source of the envy and hostility that characterized Stu's family.   

"You're affected too," Reed said. "You still have your beach house, but that's all. What do you intend to do?"

"I don't know yet," Stu said. "I'm not worried.You didn't answer my question. What about Sharon?"

Reed sighed. A voice came from the outer office. "He killed her." Jenkins entered the room.

Chapter 20

"I saw you from the street when I came down to grab supper," Jenkins told him.

"He's lying," Reed protested. 

"About Sharon? Are you lying?" Stu asked.

"I'm not lying," Jenkins said.

"I know you're a liar. You lied on your employment application," Stu said. "You never went to college, or anyway you didn't graduate." He glanced at Reed, saw confirmation. "Reed knew, but he went ahead and hired you." Not just Reed. Prudhomme had sanctioned it too.

"Tell him," Jenkins said, pointing his chin at Reed.

"You know such a lot already," Reed said. "Maybe you know everything."

"I know you went to jail," Stu said. "For murder. Manslaughter," he amended.

"Who told you, your grandfather?"

"He said it was self defense." Stu didn't like the way Reed was looking at him, steeled himself for his next words.

"I took the blame," Reed said. "I had more to lose."

Jenkins looked more surprised, more taken aback, than Stu. Why?

Reed said, "Your father killed his father." Meaning Jenkins.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Jenkins asked.

"How did it happen?" asked Stu.

"We were in a bar," Reed said. "Your father and I. We were both drinking. We drank too much.  We were talking, and suddenly this guy Jenkins attacked your father. He had a knife, but your father disarmed him before he could use it and used it on him instead. I grabbed the knife."

"Witnesses," Stu said.

"Only the bartender, and he said he wasn't looking, didn't want to get involved."

"Why didn't you tell the truth?" Stu asked.

"Your grandfather persuaded me not to, said he'd get me a good lawyer, and he'd make it worth my while." Just like he intended to do for George after George got rid of Reed, Stu thought, only how could he make it up to George, who would be shattered if he killed someone. "Later," Reed went on, "I found out your father seduced my wife while I was serving time in my minimum security installation. Eventually I got out, sooner than either of them expected. I threatened to divorce her, take Joyce away and make sure she never saw her again. She blamed me for taking the blame for your father—he must have told her; I didn't. She came at me, and I pushed her. She fell and hit her head. Do I have to say any more?" Stu said nothing. "No--of course not. She's buried in the marsh, Stu, and somehow Jenkins found out."

"Kept my eye on you," Jenkins said. "I knew sooner or later you'd do something would let me get my revenge."

"Revenge?" Reed laughed. "Didn't you hear me? You took your revenge on the wrong man.  Didn't account for the fact I might be innocent, whatever the verdict, did you?"

Jenkins, looking sullen, asked, "whyn't you tell me?"

"Would it have made a difference?" Reed asked.

"Maybe," Jenkins said.

There was still one question. "What about Sharon?" Stu asked. "She wasn't mugged in the park.  She was killed elsewhere. By one of you." He waited. "Which one? You, Jenkins? You were seeing her. She told me."

Jenkins shook his head. "Not me."

Stu noticed the painting. His father's painting, which had hung in Jenkins' office was now hanging in this one.

"Your father hid something in the back of it," Jenkins said. "A confession."

"Confession!"

"I suppose you read it," Reed said.

"What do you think? He didn't know what Reed had done till the plan to develop the marsh, and then Reed had to tell him, but he had to keep his mouth shut, didn't he, because hadn't Reed done as much for him. But he wrote it all down, a confession, what he did and what Reed did, and he asked Sharon to pass it on to Reed after he made up his mind to leave. To protect Reed in case somebody else found and read it. Unfortunately—for her—she did read it."

"You," Stu said, facing Reed.

"She wanted money," Reed explained, "and I didn't have any money to give her."

At that moment George burst into the office, Suzanne on his heels.

Chapter 21

George's hand shook.  He was holding a gun. "No, George,"  Suzanne shouted. She came up behind him and knocked his hand as he fired. The bullet hit the wall as Reed ducked.

"Wait!" Stu's voice rang out. "He didn't kill my father. Listen to me. He didn't do it."

George's hand wavered. "He didn't?" he asked, turning slowly and facing Stu, who couldn't help noticing that he was now pointing the gun at him. "Then who?"

"Put down the gun, George."

"Oh." George looked at the gun as if surprised to see he still had it. "Are you sure, Stu? Are you sure?"

Stu didn't want to feel sure, but he was. Sharon dead as a result of his ill conceived investigation, and he was no closer to knowing the truth.

"Then who," George asked again, more to himself than the others this time. For the first time he noticed Jenkins, standing beside Reed. "You?" He raised the gun again, but Suzanne took it away from him, and he let her.

"Not him either," Stu said. "His quarrel was with Reed." His turn to question Reed.  "Do you know why my father died?"

Reed shook his head. "All I know is it wasn't me. Though I came to hate him for not owning up to what he did."

"No one twisted your arm," Stu said.

"Sure, they did. They both did, your father and your grandfather. They said they'd make me rich, and, like a fool, I listened to them." A pained expression crossed Reed's face. "My reward was he made love to my wife."

"You didn't have to kill her," Stu said.

"Yes, I did. And ever since, all these years I had to explain, make up stories, why I was against digging up the marsh. Until he came along," he added, gesturing at Jenkins.

"How did you find out?"

Jenkins only smirked, but Reed answered Stu's question. "He was watching me. He saw me do it. I didn't know who he was, I didn't know he'd apply for a job with us, force me to hire him." Reed looked up. "And after all that, now he wants everybody to know. He thinks he'll wind up owning the firm. That's why he wanted to be made partner. Who's left. Your father's dead, I'd be in jail."

George made a grab for the gun, but Suzanne moved away quickly. She stood next to the window. Streetlights had just gone on, and the light shone on her dark red hair. "You believe him?" George asked of no one in particular.

Stu said yes. Reed regarded him blankly. Suzanne moved away from the window. She walked over to Stu. "Here, you take this." Next she moved to George's side and from there looked at Reed. "Why did you have to murder Sharon?" Her voice shook. 

"I told you, she wanted money. I didn't have it. She was blackmailing me."

"I'll call the police," Jenkins said. Reed looked at him, looked away, blinked slowly, as if slow motion were all he could muster.

"Are the notes still there?" Stu asked.

"I destroyed them," Reed said.

"Are you going to tell them about my father? Are you going to tell it like he killed Jenkins' father, not you?"

Reed shrugged. "What's the point?"

"Besides, there's no proof." Stu wondered if proof existed that he murdered Sharon, but he guessed he didn't have to wonder as Reed wasn't denying it.

"I watched her apartment, saw her run, and I drove after her. I followed her into the park and persuaded her to get in the car."

Remembering Sharon's intelligence, Stu asked, "how did you manage that?"

"She knew me," he said. "We'd met before, when she told me her demands. She thought I was going to give her what she asked." His voice turned beseeching. "You have the gun, Stu. You know what I want you to do. You can say I was running away, or you can say I attacked you if you prefer."

"Don't, Stu." It was George. "Let the police handle it."

"Don't worry, George," Stu said mildly. To Jenkins he said, "you saw what Reed did all those years ago. That makes you an accessory." Jenkins paled. Stu didn't know if what he said was true, but he hoped so.

Ignoring him, George spoke to Suzanne. "Stu's right. Let the police can handle it." Suzanne, looking exhausted, nodded. "I thought killed your father," he added, looking at Stu. "If it wasn't the guys in Las Vegas, it had to be him. We'll probably never find out who did it, will we?" 

"I don't know."

They were all very quiet. Outside, the only light came from the street.  Since only businesses shared space on the block, the windows opposite were black.

When Rose came in the next morning, she wouldn't be able to tell what had happened here. If she came in. Stu looked around. The office would be dismantled, the furniture sold. Nothing would remain of the former empire.

A few minutes later, they heard the sirens, and two policemen arrived who looked far too young to be out at night. One of them cleared his throat and said, "we got a call," and Suzanne smoothed her shining auburn head, automatically responding to their appraising looks.

Stu explained what happened. He had to repeat it more than once, Jenkins chiming in in a way to absolve himself of any of the guilt, before they understood what was being said. When they did, they put handcuffs on Reed and led him out. Then Stu took down the painting and carried it out with him, Suzanne and George following him to the elevator.

Chapter 22

            As Jenkins had left before him, Stu didn't expect to see him again and was surprised to find him waiting downstairs. "Time for a drink?" he asked.

            What was Jenkins thinking? Stu felt suspicious, opened his mouth to refuse, and Jenkins, anticipating his refusal, said, "something you need to know."

            "What's that?" Stu asked.

            "Not in the street. I'll tell you over a drink."  

            The bar around the corner the street was the obvious place. Stu had driven past it after leaving his father's office but had never been inside. "Okay," he said. George and Suzanne left the building behind them. "You want them to come along?"

"Doesn't concern them," Jenkins said.

Stu's reflection in the building's polished bronze plague didn't reassure him. He looked bewildered, hoped Jenkins could tell him something about his father's death. But what could Jenkins know?

            A few pedestrians passed them by, hurrying home, hurrying somewhere. Since this was the City, no one so much as glanced at them. Stu wondered how many of them, how many deadpan faces concealed dramas like his own. Not many, he'd wager. 

            The bar, busy during the after work hours, was nearly empty at close to eleven and so dark Stu had to blink a few times before he could see anything. Murder must be bad for business. Except no one  knew, not yet. They'd know tomorrow when the newspapers got hold of the story. The murder would no doubt eclipse the firm's bankruptcy. The only other patrons were two men sitting at opposite corners of the bar. Stu felt a chill: Was this the bar in which Jenkins' father had made his attack and been knifed instead?

            "Let's get a table," Jenkins said, leading the way to a table at the back. "What are you drinking?" Stu told him, and he went off. Returning with the drinks, he set them on the table and sat down.

            "Well?" Stu prompted.

           Caressing his glass, Jenkins said, "it's about Joyce."

            Stu hadn't expected that. Suddenly he didn't want to know. He forced himself to ask, "what about her?"

            Jenkins drank, raised his eyes from the glass, half empty now. "I waited for him to tell you, but he didn't. Reed. Joyce is your sister."

            Stu stared at him.

            "My sister—my mother," he stammered.

            "Not your mother. Reed's wife."      

            "Then how can she be my sister?" The answer was obvious, but Stu refused to acknowledge it.  He waited for Jenkins' denial.

            "Your father," Jenkins said, "was her father." He drank, rattled the ice cubes in the empty glass. 

            Stu sensed it was the truth. He remembered Reed's anger—and fear—when Joyce lied to him and said that she and Stu were lovers. 

            "You believe me?" Jenkins asked. "I'm telling you for your own good. In case you and Joyce—" he didn't finish the sentence.

            Stu walked out of the bar leaving Jenkins staring at the empty glass. Jenkins' disclosure made it likely that Reed, despite his denial, had murdered Prudhomme. Stu made up his mind to question Reed some more and drove to the police station, intending to see him. To his surprise, Suzanne and George were sitting on one of the benches in the waiting room. "What are you two doing here?" Stu asked. 

            "It was the gun," Suzanne said. "It's not registered. They took it away.  I think they'll let us go as soon as they finish the paperwork. But why are you here, Stu?"

            He told them what Jenkins had said. "I have to talk to Reed."

            "Don't tell me you believe it. How do you know he wasn't lying?"

            Unfortunately, Stu did believe him. The story rang true, describing both his father and Reed.  One bent on conquest, the other on riches.

            "They covered up for each other," he said, choosing not to disclose his belief in what Reed had told them. "But I'm not here for that reason." Why shouldn't he tell them his real reason for being here? "You heard Jenkins. Reed isn't Joyce's father. She's my half sister."  He noticed that George wore a guilty look. "You knew, didn't you?"

            "Suspected," George said, "that's all, because of the hair."

            "So you guessed that my father had an affair with Reed's wife, and Joyce was the result.  Suzanne, you know it too?" She shrugged. Stu turned back to George. "Is that why you think he killed my father?"

            George nodded. "I thought, with the business in trouble he had no reason not to. I mean, if my brother told him he was leaving, and Reed saw everything he'd worked for going down the tubes…" his voice trailed off.

            Stu said, "I think you're right."

            "What are you going to do?" asked Suzanne. "What can you do?"

            Stu saw her point. It was too late to bring up what happened over twenty years ago, and he'd never prove that Reed killed his father. Even if he could, did he want to, did he want the notoriety such a scandal would bring? 

            George said, "my brother kept quiet about Reed's wife because he knew he was partly—or mostly--to blame."

            "Reed's going to jail because of Sharon," Suzanne said. "Isn't that enough?"

            "What about the guy in the bar," Stu said. "Jenkins' father."

            "That was self-defense," George said. "The guy attacked him."

            They each had a different way to justify his father's actions, Stu thought. Jenkins father: A clear case of self defense; Reed's wife: An attempt to take care of her while Reed was serving time—for his crime—which turned into something neither of them could have envisioned. Just as Reed justified his Sharon's murder.

            "He admitted killing her, didn't he?"

            Suzanne was right.  "The scandal," George reflected, "if my brother owned up to what he'd done."

            "He never acknowledged her," Suzanne mused, "yet he must have known."

            "Another reason why he had to take care of Reed so Reed could take care of her."

            "To think I thought you and Joyce—" Suzanne stopped in mid-sentence.

            Stu nodded. "Reed thought so too. He phoned me, all upset, because Joyce lied, told him we were seeing each other."

            "Reed had to tell my brother where she was buried so he'd stop with the plans for developing the marsh," George said. "I always wondered about that. It was so unlike him, but when Reed confessed what was buried there he couldn't let it happen."

            "He didn't suddenly become an environmentalist," Stu observed.

            "Hardly," George said.

            "The evil men do, etc., etc.," Suzanne said.  "I wonder if Joyce knows."

            "She doesn't," Stu said.

            "Does she have to?"

            "She won't find out from me," George said. Poor George, unwilling to face even someone else's reality.

            Suzanne covered George's hand with hers. "Sometimes the truth is better than what a person imagines. She's never been happy and never known why. Why don't we play it by ear for now, see what happens." George kissed her hand. "You thought Reed and I had something going together," she said.

            People had spared her feelings all her life. "You acted like you were attracted to him. He was different from me, and I thought that's what you wanted."

            "Well, it wasn't.  It's not."

            Stu listened but chose not to contribute to the exchange. However, she wouldn't let him stay out of it.

            "Is that what you think too, Stu?" she asked. "You don't approve of me, do you? Oh, yes, I know."

            "I always liked you, Suzanne." He realized it was true.

            She blinked, changed the subject back to Joyce. "I'm not sure it wouldn't be better to tell Joyce the truth. We conceal too much because we're afraid hurting people, but most of the time what they imagine is worse. Much worse.  Who knows what the poor girl is going through? And it's going to get worse."

            "You may be right," Stu said, "but won't the truth create more problems? She doesn't have to know everything. I wouldn't let on what happened in the past, the present is bad enough."

            "Then let's let it go," she agreed, "play it by ear. They're all dead now anyway. Almost all."

            "Roy Jenkins," Stu said.

            "Where does he come in?" George asked.

            Stu shook his head. "You heard him, all he wanted was to make Reed pay for what he thought Reed did." Let Jenkins shoulder his own burden. If he hadn't been hounding Reed, Sharon might still be alive. Reed's temper had been worn thin by Jenkins' attempts at blackmail. It was a wonder Reed hadn't killed him. Stu wished he had, wondered if Jenkins would ever realize he'd had a narrow escape.  

            Suzanne was still worrying about Joyce. "I could find a way to tell her that wouldn't be so hurtful. Reed was in trouble financially. He didn't know what he was doing. How about that?" The two men just looked at her. "Well, somebody has to say something."

            "I'm through giving advice," Stu said.

            She kissed him on the cheek, making him feel worse than he already did. For he knew he had failed. Failed to uncover proof of his father's murder, failed to reconcile with him father before his death.

            How could he forgive himself?

Chapter 23

            Stu made one last effort to get Reed to admit killing his father, but they kept telling him he had an alibi, which they'd checked into right after the death. At last, Stu gave it up and returned to his beach house. He threw himself into the controversy between the developers, still intent on putting up a mall. The developers were winning since no arrests had been made for the rapes, and locals had begun to think that the area's development would solve the problem.

            He hadn't been sleeping well so heard the first noises, a car door slamming, voices. At first he thought it was a dream, but the noises weres followed by the sound of scuffling and a woman's scream, carried across the watery green of the marsh in the still night. He fell out of bed, pulled on a pair of shorts and slid his feet into the sneakers by the door. Opening the door quietly, he peered outside, saw two figures struggling across the green expanse of the marsh. They looked familiar—Jenkins? What would he be doing here, now? Stu drew closer. Not Jenkins, shorter, heavier. The woman looked familiar too, but Stu was running by now, looking down, determined not to trip on the thick reeds and random pieces of wood strewn on the narrow beach long ago by ships broken up on the hidden sandbanks beyond the cove.

            Almost there, he looked up to gauge what was happening, how he might best prevent another crime.  And recognized Anthony. Recognized Janet.

            Anthony, seeing him, let her go, faced Stu, nodded slowly. "I figured it would come to this. If you want to know, I was even looking forward to it."

            They circled each other warily. Stu was aware that Anthony had studied martial arts. Stu had not.  "Get out of here," he yelled without turning his head.  "See if the keys are in the car, and if they are get away." 

             She ran to the car. "They're not there."

            "Run!" Stu shouted as Anthony lifted his leg, swung his foot at him. Stu managed to avoid it, danced aside, Anthony assuming the classical attack position and letting out the roar that was designed to instill fear in his opponent. Which it did. Stu hoped that Janet had run away but didn't dare look. If he was lucky, she'd run into a police car. He watched the leg, but peripheral vision revealed Anthony doing something with his arms, preparing a different strike. Stu almost avoided the flat edge of the hand but not quite yet managed to deflect it. How long could he keep avoiding him? Stu was winded already, but noticed that Anthony was too. "What's the matter?" he taunted, "too many beers, not enough exercise? 

            "Shut up!"

            "Shoulda kept up with the practice," Stu panted, but he wasn't quick enough to avoid Anthony's strike this time, fell to the ground. He was up in a minute, too late; Anthony was on him, his hands around Stu's neck, pressing out the life.

            Stu's eyes were closed so he didn't see the blow, only heard a thump. Anthony relaxed his grip.  Stu opened his eyes. Janet, standing above them, threw away the block of wood. "Oh, my God, I think I killed him."

            Scrambling to his feet, Stu put two fingers on Anthony's neck. "No, you didn't. He has a pulse."  He tried to embrace her, but she stepped away. "You didn't run."

            "Did you think I was going to let him kill you?  He hates you."

            "Hates me?" Stu didn't understand. "We've been friends so long."

            "He was never your friend," Janet said. "He went around with you because of your father, because of the freebies he was always handing out. He blames you for not being able to sell the restaurant just like he blamed your father. He said he went to see him, and your father laughed at him, told him he'd be better off staying where he was."

            Stu stared at her. "He told you that? When did he go to see him?"

            She nodded. "Just now. We should have guessed. We both know he has a temper. He admitted it."

            "Killing him," Stu said.

            "Yes."

            "So he's responsible for the rapes." Neither of them wanted to add, and the death. "How did he get you to go with him?"

            "Threw stones at the window," she said. "When I went down he said you sent him. I believed him because I thought you wanted to avoid the possibility of Per's seeing you." She shrugged. "It seemed possible."

            "But why you?" She just looked at him. "Because he knows I care for you," he said, answering his own question.

            On the road behind his cottage a police car stopped, and the officer, his hands on his belt, slowly approached. "Are you going to tell them about your father?"

            "I don't know," Stu said. "They'll get him for the other murder. That should be enough. If not, then, yes, I'll tell them, let them check his alibi. If he has one. Which he won't."

            She faced him, hands on her hips. "After all your, your, suspicions, after all the questions, you'd let it go?  Now that you know?"

            "I wish I'd left it alone," Stu said. "I got more than I bargained for." She didn't understand, and he wasn't about to tell her. Unspoken was his regret, his guilt about Sharon, whose death he surely had caused. "Let me take you home."

            But in a few minutes, the lone police car was joined by several others, lights flashing, turning the marsh into a lurid scene, and they had to stand around and wait. First they questioned Janet, then, while they questioned him, out of the corner of his eye, Stu saw her driving off in one of the police cars.

Chapter 24

                 Stu woke up with unfinished business to attend to. He drove straight to Janet's house, passing Anthony's along the way. The restaurant had been closed for a week and already looked abandoned. Stu could imagine Anthony leaning over the counter. Another business that could have ended differently had he listened to his one-time friend when he complained about being unable to sell. Surely he could have found a buyer for Anthony's so Anthony could leave, get on with his life. Instead, he had been blind to anyone's need other than his own. As his father had been. Anthony would sell it now, but the money wouldn't do him any good unless he used it to hire a lawyer. However, Stu had learned that Anthony had chosen to use a public defender.

            The lights were already on at the Mathiesen's, and Stu hoped they didn't have company. He hoped Carl wasn't there. When she opened the door, he heard the television blaring and knew they were alone. A square of embroidery fastened in a hoop dangled from her hand. A look of alarm entered her eyes, and she asked, "why are you here? I'll meet you somewhere—where?  Why didn't you phone?  Wait, I'll get a sweater."

            "I came to see your dad."

            "Dad! He hates you. The other night made no difference. You thought it would?"

            "I want to see him anyway."

            For a minute he thought she'd close the door on him. Instead she opened it further and stood aside to allow him to enter. He followed her into the small parlor where Per was watching masterpiece theater. Although he had not been inside the house in years, everything looked the same. Everything except the chair in which Per sat, legs up, a new-looking recliner. Janet turned off the television.  Mathiesen turned with difficulty and scowled.

            "Mr. Mathiesen, before you get mad, I want to tell you how sorry I am for--everything. I thought you'd want to know I'm fighting the development, and I want to rebuild the marina the way it was and give it back to you."   

            Per looked from one to the other of them in disgust. "I'm an old man.  What do I want with a marina?"

            "Let Janet run it."

            "My daughter is a willful girl. Who knows what she wants?"

            Well, what did he expect, tears and reconciliation?  "Let's go for a walk," he said.

            "Turn the TV back on," Mathiesen ordered.

            Stu and Janet walked outside, taking the path toward the beach. The air felt cool, but the water would still be warm. It took all summer for the water to warm up, and by the time it was warm the air was cold. If you went in for a swim you didn't want to come back out. 

            The beach looked the way it must have looked a hundred years earlier. No doubt lovers had found hope and solace by the turbulent waves, the desolate sand dunes then too. "I didn't say I'd do it either," she told him. "I'm not sure I want to. I have a job, you know."

            "Let's just keep walking."
    

The End