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Not his sister or her husband, not until after the wedding. After the wedding, if there were need, Edward would be the one. He was a respected doctor in town. Enough so to engender respect for his young brother-in-law? Hugh could hope. Perhaps enough so that Hugh’s story would be understood and its truth accepted.
    Nothing must happen until after the wedding. He would accept whatever ordeal there might be if only nothing were permitted to destroy the pride of the family, gathered together for this joyful moment of its continuance.
    The sun was lowering in the sky. He looked at his watch. Six-thirty already, and he started the car. He turned up the radio; there was news coming in. He drove slowly, listening.
    There was no new material. Results of the autopsy were not mentioned. Again there was a plea for identification of the girl. He had that much reprieve. His link with her had not been discovered. But fear leaped again. Undiscovered, or suppressed by the police for their own purposes? The police did not give out all their information to the press.
    He had to return to the motel; he could postpone it no longer. As it was, he’d be late arriving for his first date with Ellen. He did not know how he could endure the long evening ahead. If only the bridal dinner were being held any place but in The Palms, somewhere private which the police could not know about. If only the police would not arrive until after the last toast had been lifted. If only they would not learn of him until after the benediction tomorrow. If only . . . If only he had never stopped to pick up Iris Croom.
    No one was waiting for him at the motel. No one stopped him at the door of his unit; he inserted his key and entered, locking the door behind him. For several seconds he stood there waiting, but no sharp knock sounded. And then he slapped some sense into his head. He was acting like an ass, acting as if he had some guilt in Iris’ death. He stripped, started the shower. He had to snap out of it, not become the specter at the wedding feast.
    He felt better after showering. He shaved and dressed, for Ellen Hamilton he didn’t mind shaving twice in a day. It was seven-thirty when he surveyed himself in the mirror. He didn’t look like a man wanted by the police.
    What if the police did come to him? His story was straight and true, why should he think it wouldn’t come across that way? He transferred wallet and keys, cigarettes and lighter to his pockets, remembered to fold a clean linen handkerchief for his white dinner jacket. He was ready to take off for Stacy’s. But just before he opened the door he stopped and bent his head. He prayed silently, prayed as he often had when he was a little boy. Please, God, don’t let anything bad happen to me .
    No one approached him as he got in his car. No one stopped him from driving out of the grounds. His tension diminished and he drove with easy speed to his sister’s home. There was no new radio news.
    The afternoon heat had softened into balmy evening. The house was lively with light and the sounds of young laughter. He loped up to the door and walked in without knocking. Dr. Edward was adjusting Hale’s tie. The youngest cousin was fifteen, this was his first dinner jacket. Ned Jr. at eighteen was an old hand.
    Ned asked, “Shall I tell Ellen you’re here? She’s not half ready.”
    â€œI’m glad of that.” Hugh sank into a cushioned chair. “I thought I’d be late.”
    His father emerged from the kitchen with a tray of martinis. “One round only. We don’t want any accidents.”
    â€œOne for me?” Hale quipped.
    â€œWhen you’re twenty-one,” Edward said. He gave Hale a push. “Don’t touch that tie again.”
    â€œBut I get champagne at dinner, don’t I? You have to let me have champagne,” Hale insisted.
    The argument must have been going for weeks. Hugh remembered himself at that age,