Read Online A Wild and Lonely Place by Marcia Muller - Free Book Online

cards,
     and a game of solitaire was spread out in front of her. I didn’t see a bottle or a glass, but as I got closer I could smell
     the alcohol; she wore its scent like perfume.
    “Mrs. Hamid?”
    “Call me Mavis. I don’t like that name; it’s my mother-in-law’s, not mine. Mr. Renshaw said you want to talk to me about something?”
    “Yes. We want to make sure you’re okay with the security arrangements. They’ve been tightened since the bombing attempt.”
    “Security’s fine,” she said vaguely and waved toward a love seat arranged at an angle to the fireplace. “Sit, please. Do you
     want a drink?”
    I didn’t, but she obviously did, so I said, “Yes, thanks.”
    She got up, stumbling slightly on the trailing hem of her robe, and hurried to a door that probably led to a bathroom. My
     eyes were accustomed to the gloom now, and I looked around. The room was large and overdecorated with gilt-framed wall mirrors
     and floral wallpaper that matched the valances over the dark blue draperies. The bed was buried in flounces and crowned by
     a canopy; a dressing table with a three-way mirror looked as if it were wearing a hoop skirt. The sitting area here by the
     hearth seemed crammed with furnishings: the love seat, a chaise longue, two recliner chairs. Yet Mavis Hamid preferred the
     floor.
    She returned holding two glasses full to the brim with clear liquid, no ice. I took the one she offered and smelled it. Vodka.
     Why do they always think it has no odor?
    Mavis said, “Cheers,” toasted with her glass, and took a drink. Then she sank to the floor, set the glass down, and picked
     up the deck of cards. “Solitaire. It relaxes me. A couple of years ago I got bored with the regular game, so I taught myself
     to play it backwards—kings up first, instead of aces—and made a lot of other new rules. My mother-in-law said I couldn’t do
     that. I told the bitch, ‘I can do any damn thing I please, it’s my system, it’s the one time
I
get to make the rules.’”
    I’d been noting her speech patterns: she slurred some words, but on the whole she sounded coherent and animated, if a little
     erratic. What interested me besides that was her apparent lack of emotional affect—she hadn’t reacted at all to my mention
     of the bombing attempt that had nearly taken her child’s life—as well as her undisguised hostility toward Malika Hamid. The
     latter could be exploited.
    I asked, “What was your mother-in-law’s reaction?”
    “She told me I was being childish. I don’t know why she couldn’t understand. I mean, she makes up all the rules around here.
     Malika’s got a rule for every occasion, and when they don’t suit her anymore, she just changes them. I told her she ought
     to have them printed up daily and posted like a menu so people would know which set we’re following. You can bet she didn’t
     like that.” She giggled, holding a card over her mouth—a naughty child.
    “Tell me about Malika’s rules.”
    Mavis looked pointedly at the glass in my hand. “You’re not drinking.”
    I took a small sip, nearly gagging on the warm undiluted liquor. “The rules?” I repeated.
    She tossed the cards on the floor, reached for her drink, and leaned back against the chaise longue. “There’s the rule that
     I can’t see Habiba—that’s my daughter, do you know her?”
    I nodded.
    “That I can’t see Habiba for more than an hour a day. Except when Habiba pitches a fit and cries for me, and then I can see
     her till she stops. There’s the rule that I can’t drive or go out for a walk, I can only go in the car with Karim—he’s the
     driver. Only I don’t have a car of my own, so I wouldn’t drive anyway and, besides, there’s no place I want to go. But that
     rule gets changed when I drink too much and take pills and they can’t get Dr. Lee over here to give me a shot.
Then
they make me go out and walk and walk, but always with Karim.” Her lips curled up—slowly, almost