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funeral.”
    Harry walked slowly but directly toward the telephone booth and in spite of Turee’s restraining hand he forced open the door. “Let me talk to her.”
    Turee said, “Thelma, here’s Harry. He wants to talk to you.”
    â€œI don’t want to talk to him. I have nothing to say.”
    â€œBut . . .”
    â€œTell him the truth or give him a story, I don’t care. I’m going to hang up now, Ralph. And if you call back I won’t answer.”
    â€œThelma, wait.”
    The click of the receiver was unmistakably final. “She hung up,” Turee said.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œDidn’t feel like conversation, I guess. Don’t let it worry you, old boy. Women can get pretty flighty at . . .”
    â€œI want to call her back.”
    â€œShe said if you did, she wouldn’t answer.”
    â€œI know Thelma,” Harry said with a wan smile. “She can’t resist the ringing of a telephone.”
    Once again the two men exchanged places and Harry put in a collect call to Mrs. Harry Bream in Weston.
    The operator let the telephone ring a dozen times before she cut back to Harry. “I’m sorry, sir, there’s no answer at that number. Shall I try again in twenty minutes?”
    â€œNo. No, thanks.” Harry came out of the booth wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his fishing jacket. “Sonuvabitch, I don’t get it. What’s the matter? What did I do?”
    â€œNothing. Let’s go back to the lodge and have a drink.”
    â€œWhat were you and Thelma talking about all that time?”
    â€œLife,” Turee said. Which was true enough.
    â€œLife, at three o’clock in the morning, long distance?”
    â€œThelma wanted to talk. You know women, sometimes they have to get things off their chest by talking to somebody objective, not a member of their family. Thelma was in an emotional state.”
    â€œShe can always count on me to understand.”
    â€œI hope so,” Turee said softly. “I hope to God so.”
    â€œIt’s this uncertainty that gets me down. Why won’t she talk to me? Why did she keep saying Ron’s name over and over again?”
    â€œShe’s—fond of Ron and worried about him. We all are, aren’t we?”
    â€œMy God, yes. He’s my best friend. I saved him from drowning once when we were in school together, did I ever tell you that?”
    â€œYes,” Turee said, not because it was true but because he’d had enough irony for one day, he couldn’t swallow any more; his throat felt tight and raw and scraped. “Come on, Harry, you look as if you need a drink.”
    â€œMaybe I should stay in town for the night, take a room here and get a couple of hours’ sleep and then try to reach Thelma again.”
    â€œLeave the woman alone for a while. Give her a chance to collect herself.”
    â€œYou may be right. I hope she remembers to take the orange pills I left for her. They’re very good for relieving tension. I’m told they’re the ones that cured the Pope of hiccoughs when he had that bad spell.”
    Turee felt, simultaneously, a certain sympathy for Thelma and a twinge of impatience with Harry. He would have liked to point out that Thelma’s ailment was quite remote from hiccoughs and that it would require more than orange pills, or blue, or pink, to cure her. “There’s nothing more we can do here,” he said, “unless we inform the police that Ron is missing.”
    â€œHe may not be missing anymore. By the time we drive back to the lodge, he’ll very likely be there. Don’t you agree?”
    â€œIt’s possible.” But not, Turee added to himself, very probable. If I were in Ron’s shoes, the last thing in the world I’d want to do would be to come up here and face Harry. Ron may have taken a room at a hotel for the night. Or gone down to his cottage near