Read Online Death of a Political Plant by Ann Ripley - Free Book Online
Authors: Ann Ripley
Ads: Link
you know I talked to Janie today, Mrs. Eldridge? She’s doing better, with her, uh, condition.” Chris Radebaugh, an able student who tossed math and science terms around with abandon,found the word “diarrhea” simply too mortifying to say out loud.
Chris, eighteen, had dropped over tonight, obviously with nothing better to do on Saturday night than visit Janie’s parents. He was their younger daughter’s bosom buddy, or more, perhaps: Louise could no longer tell. He’d been acting like a lost puppy since Janie left for Mexico City, shooting desultory baskets by himself at the neighborhood backboard when he came home from his summer job, dropping in frequently to compare notes on news of the girl. The rangy youth had stayed for dinner, eagerly eating up the portion that she had prepared for her absent houseguest. Now, having helped with the dishes, he was staying to watch a political program coming up on Channel Five. As Louise saw his hair slide into his eyes again, she wondered if he would get it cut before leaving for Princeton in a few weeks to begin his freshman year. She knew his poet mother, Nora, would leave the issue to Chris. The kid is a math whiz, she reflected, and look at Einstein’s hair.
“I’m glad to hear Janie’s improving. All in all, I think she’s having a great time, don’t you, Chris?”
“Yeah,” he said, lazily waving a hand in the air, “but I sure miss her, though I don’t know if she misses me. She has a bunch of new friends. Maybe we’ll even get to meet them.”
“That sounds ominous,” said Bill, raising his eyebrows in mock concern. “Does that mean they’re coming here!”
Chris laughed. “I don’t know, Mr. Eldridge. Maybe, knowing Janie.”
Her husband was crouched on the sofa, spending the few minutes before the program started by busily flipping through the TV channels, the remote cocked at the TV set as if he were holding it at gunpoint. Bill had flashed a game on thesports channel and then rapidly moved to another channel. Chris sat forward with a jolt, barely controlling his torment, wanting to rip the wielder from his host’s hand and go back to sports. Louise concealed a smile. This desire for control of the remote must be a gender thing.
Bill’s nonchalance tonight must be a cover-up, she thought. Tomorrow he would leave for Vienna. He had made her jittery when he informed her about the trip: it required secrecy on both his part and hers. He was dealing with the theft of nuclear materials by eastern European Mafia types organized in a worldwide ring. Apparently he had some crucial information to communicate to the International Atomic Energy Association. That was all she was permitted to know: She was to avoid telling anyone where he had gone or when he would return, and to be suspicious of strangers. Living on the edge again, she reflected, wasn’t much fun.
They heard the front door open and soon were joined by their elusive houseguest.
Louise was perplexed by Jay. He had made himself into a virtual hermit since he arrived on Tuesday, sticking to his room after breakfast, sometimes slipping out in the afternoon and not returning until late: behavior that bordered on the rude. He didn’t even join them for a minute or two in the evening to talk; it made her wonder if he wasn’t in worse trouble than he was telling her.
She sometimes caught snatches of his conversations with Charlie Hurd, the mannerless research assistant. In these overheard snippets, the strain in her friend’s voice betrayed the high level of tension under which he was operating. Although she was only hearing one side of the conversation, it was clear that Jay was pleased with the information he got from theyoung reporter, but was having demands put on him by Charlie to reveal the full extent of the story. But what story?
And Jay was about to commit the mortal sin of house-guests: overstaying his welcome. Her next guests, the perennial plant people, were due Tuesday, and
Chris, eighteen, had dropped over tonight, obviously with nothing better to do on Saturday night than visit Janie’s parents. He was their younger daughter’s bosom buddy, or more, perhaps: Louise could no longer tell. He’d been acting like a lost puppy since Janie left for Mexico City, shooting desultory baskets by himself at the neighborhood backboard when he came home from his summer job, dropping in frequently to compare notes on news of the girl. The rangy youth had stayed for dinner, eagerly eating up the portion that she had prepared for her absent houseguest. Now, having helped with the dishes, he was staying to watch a political program coming up on Channel Five. As Louise saw his hair slide into his eyes again, she wondered if he would get it cut before leaving for Princeton in a few weeks to begin his freshman year. She knew his poet mother, Nora, would leave the issue to Chris. The kid is a math whiz, she reflected, and look at Einstein’s hair.
“I’m glad to hear Janie’s improving. All in all, I think she’s having a great time, don’t you, Chris?”
“Yeah,” he said, lazily waving a hand in the air, “but I sure miss her, though I don’t know if she misses me. She has a bunch of new friends. Maybe we’ll even get to meet them.”
“That sounds ominous,” said Bill, raising his eyebrows in mock concern. “Does that mean they’re coming here!”
Chris laughed. “I don’t know, Mr. Eldridge. Maybe, knowing Janie.”
Her husband was crouched on the sofa, spending the few minutes before the program started by busily flipping through the TV channels, the remote cocked at the TV set as if he were holding it at gunpoint. Bill had flashed a game on thesports channel and then rapidly moved to another channel. Chris sat forward with a jolt, barely controlling his torment, wanting to rip the wielder from his host’s hand and go back to sports. Louise concealed a smile. This desire for control of the remote must be a gender thing.
Bill’s nonchalance tonight must be a cover-up, she thought. Tomorrow he would leave for Vienna. He had made her jittery when he informed her about the trip: it required secrecy on both his part and hers. He was dealing with the theft of nuclear materials by eastern European Mafia types organized in a worldwide ring. Apparently he had some crucial information to communicate to the International Atomic Energy Association. That was all she was permitted to know: She was to avoid telling anyone where he had gone or when he would return, and to be suspicious of strangers. Living on the edge again, she reflected, wasn’t much fun.
They heard the front door open and soon were joined by their elusive houseguest.
Louise was perplexed by Jay. He had made himself into a virtual hermit since he arrived on Tuesday, sticking to his room after breakfast, sometimes slipping out in the afternoon and not returning until late: behavior that bordered on the rude. He didn’t even join them for a minute or two in the evening to talk; it made her wonder if he wasn’t in worse trouble than he was telling her.
She sometimes caught snatches of his conversations with Charlie Hurd, the mannerless research assistant. In these overheard snippets, the strain in her friend’s voice betrayed the high level of tension under which he was operating. Although she was only hearing one side of the conversation, it was clear that Jay was pleased with the information he got from theyoung reporter, but was having demands put on him by Charlie to reveal the full extent of the story. But what story?
And Jay was about to commit the mortal sin of house-guests: overstaying his welcome. Her next guests, the perennial plant people, were due Tuesday, and
Similar Books
