It was Harry Truman who started the story she was a commie. And Harry Truman who came up with that remark about being pink down to her panties. Dick Nixon merely picked it up.”
I would’ve argued with her but the tale was just unlikely enough to be true. Ever since Ike got in, Democrats have tended to canonize Truman. But you don’t want to look too closely or too long at him. Most of us, me certainly included, don’t hold up under that kind of scrutiny.
Judge Esme Anne Whitney was
fashion-model elegant as ever,
poised, prim, and regal against the long windows on the east wall. White summer suit, white pumps, Gauloise cigarette, glass of brandy. We were in her chambers—s much mahogany it was like living in the heart of a tree—and yes it was but eleven A.M. and yes, you did read correctly, a glass of brandy in her slender hand. She claims it helps her concentrate. The amazing thing is that she never shows the merest effect.
I laughed. “Haven’t we had this argument before?”
Judge Esme Anne Whitney didn’t
laugh. Just took another dramatic drag on her Gauloise. “Don’t worry, McCain.
I won’t make you meet him when he comes out here.” She shook her head. “You and Ike.”
“Me and Ike?”
“The General can’t stand him. And poor Dick has always done everything he can to please the man.
I like Ike very much, as you know—he and my father used to down shots together in New York after the first war —but I don’t think he’s ever been very fair about Dick.” She turned on me. “And that’s why I want you to get this ridiculous snake mess cleared up. My Lord, we’ll look like hillbillies. Snakes and Ozark faith healers. Good grief. The man is an intellectual, for God’s sake.” She
frowned. “For once I don’t even care about humiliating Cliffie for the sake of my family honor. I just want the culprit caught and put away.” She set herself on the edge of her desk.
The smoke from her Gauloise was diamond blue in the sunlight.
I lit a Lucky Strike.
“You know how the cops always look around to see who’s at a crime scene?”
“Rudimentary police science, McCain.”
“Well, I happened to notice two people at the crime scene last night. And you know them both.”
“Oh?”
And then she fired the first volley of the morn.
She launched a rubber band slung on her thumb and forefinger. She’s good at it. Nine times out of ten she hits me. But she was a little slow this morning. I just angled my head a bit to the left and the rubber band went right on by.
“Who are we talking about here, McCain?”
“We are talking about here, Judge, the good Reverend Thomas C. Courtney and
Sara Hall.”
“You just don’t like Protestants.”
“Well, aside from the fact that most of my good friends are Protestants, and that I sometimes go to hear Reverend Cosgrove’s sermons because he’s the most Christ-like man in the whole town, I’d say I do pretty well by you folks. And he’s a very conservative Methodist.”
“You’ve never liked Tom. I think you’re jealous of him, in fact.”
I smiled. “And I probably should be. He seems to have more lady friends than I do.” There had been whispers about Courtney and some of his flock.
As in fleeced.
“You just couldn’t resist saying that, could you?”
I kept on beaming. “No, I couldn’t. And I still find it damned strange he’d be out there at the time Muldaur died.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning nothing other than I find it damned strange. I find Sara Hall being out there even stranger.”
“Maybe she went for a ride. She says she does that sometimes when she feels the urge to take a drink. That was something she learned at her Mayo program. You know, to keep yourself occupied in some way.”
“So she goes for rides with Courtney?”
“What’s wrong with that? He’s her minister. And it’s better than taking a drink, she says.”
She got me with her rubber band this time. Pearl Harbor sneak attack, as
I would’ve argued with her but the tale was just unlikely enough to be true. Ever since Ike got in, Democrats have tended to canonize Truman. But you don’t want to look too closely or too long at him. Most of us, me certainly included, don’t hold up under that kind of scrutiny.
Judge Esme Anne Whitney was
fashion-model elegant as ever,
poised, prim, and regal against the long windows on the east wall. White summer suit, white pumps, Gauloise cigarette, glass of brandy. We were in her chambers—s much mahogany it was like living in the heart of a tree—and yes it was but eleven A.M. and yes, you did read correctly, a glass of brandy in her slender hand. She claims it helps her concentrate. The amazing thing is that she never shows the merest effect.
I laughed. “Haven’t we had this argument before?”
Judge Esme Anne Whitney didn’t
laugh. Just took another dramatic drag on her Gauloise. “Don’t worry, McCain.
I won’t make you meet him when he comes out here.” She shook her head. “You and Ike.”
“Me and Ike?”
“The General can’t stand him. And poor Dick has always done everything he can to please the man.
I like Ike very much, as you know—he and my father used to down shots together in New York after the first war —but I don’t think he’s ever been very fair about Dick.” She turned on me. “And that’s why I want you to get this ridiculous snake mess cleared up. My Lord, we’ll look like hillbillies. Snakes and Ozark faith healers. Good grief. The man is an intellectual, for God’s sake.” She
frowned. “For once I don’t even care about humiliating Cliffie for the sake of my family honor. I just want the culprit caught and put away.” She set herself on the edge of her desk.
The smoke from her Gauloise was diamond blue in the sunlight.
I lit a Lucky Strike.
“You know how the cops always look around to see who’s at a crime scene?”
“Rudimentary police science, McCain.”
“Well, I happened to notice two people at the crime scene last night. And you know them both.”
“Oh?”
And then she fired the first volley of the morn.
She launched a rubber band slung on her thumb and forefinger. She’s good at it. Nine times out of ten she hits me. But she was a little slow this morning. I just angled my head a bit to the left and the rubber band went right on by.
“Who are we talking about here, McCain?”
“We are talking about here, Judge, the good Reverend Thomas C. Courtney and
Sara Hall.”
“You just don’t like Protestants.”
“Well, aside from the fact that most of my good friends are Protestants, and that I sometimes go to hear Reverend Cosgrove’s sermons because he’s the most Christ-like man in the whole town, I’d say I do pretty well by you folks. And he’s a very conservative Methodist.”
“You’ve never liked Tom. I think you’re jealous of him, in fact.”
I smiled. “And I probably should be. He seems to have more lady friends than I do.” There had been whispers about Courtney and some of his flock.
As in fleeced.
“You just couldn’t resist saying that, could you?”
I kept on beaming. “No, I couldn’t. And I still find it damned strange he’d be out there at the time Muldaur died.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning nothing other than I find it damned strange. I find Sara Hall being out there even stranger.”
“Maybe she went for a ride. She says she does that sometimes when she feels the urge to take a drink. That was something she learned at her Mayo program. You know, to keep yourself occupied in some way.”
“So she goes for rides with Courtney?”
“What’s wrong with that? He’s her minister. And it’s better than taking a drink, she says.”
She got me with her rubber band this time. Pearl Harbor sneak attack, as
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