“Sure look pretty tonight,” said the druggist. “You looked cool this noon, Miss Lavinia, when you was in here for chocolates. So cool and nice that someone asked after you.”
“Oh?”
“You’re getting popular. Man sitting at the counter—” he rustled a few more mints in the sack— “watched you walk out and he said to me, ‘Say, who’s that?’ Man in a dark suit, thin pale face. ‘Why, that’s Lavinia Nebbs, prettiest maiden lady in town,’ I said. ‘Beautiful,’ he said. ‘Where’s she live?’” Here the druggist paused and looked away.
“You didn’t?” wailed Francine. “You didn’t give him her address, I hope? You didn’t!”
“Sorry, guess I didn’t think. I said, ‘Oh, over on Park Street, you know, near the ravine.’ Casual remark. But now, tonight, them finding the body, I heard a minute ago, I suddenly thought, what’ve I done!” He handed over the package, much too full.
“You fool!” cried Francine, and tears were in her eyes.
“I’m sorry. ’Course, maybe it was nothing.”
“Nothing, nothing!” said Francine.
Lavinia stood with the three people looking at her, staring at her. She didn’t know what or how to feel. She felt nothing— except perhaps the slightest prickle of excitement in her throat. She held out her money automatically.
“No charge on those peppermints.” The druggist turned down his eyes and shuffled some papers.
“Well, I know what we’re going to do right now!” Helen stalked out of the drug shop. “We’re going right straight home. I’m not going to be part of any hunting party for you, Lavinia. That man was asking for you. You’re next! You want to be dead in that ravine?”
“It was just a man,” said Lavinia slowly, eyes on the streets.
“So’s Tom Dillon a man, but maybe he’s The Lonely One.”
“We’re all overwrought,” said Lavinia reasonably. “I won’t miss the movie now. If I’m the next victim, let me be the next victim. A lady has all too little excitement in her life, especially an old maid, a lady thirty-seven like me, so don’t you mind if I enjoy it. And I’m being sensible. Stands to reason he won’t be out tonight, so soon after a murder. A month from now, yes, when the police’ve relaxed and when he feels like another murder. You’ve got to feel like murdering people, you know. At least that kind of murderer does. And he’s just resting up now. And anyway I’m not going home to stew in my own juices.”
“But Eliza’s face, there in the ravine!”
“After the first look I never looked again. I didn’t drink it in, if that’s what you mean. I can see a thing and tell myself I never saw it, that’s how strong I am. And the whole argument’s silly anyhow, because I’m not beautiful.”
“Oh, but you are, Lavinia. You’re the loveliest maiden lady in town, now that Eliza’s—” Francine stopped. “If you’d only relaxed, you’d been married years ago—”
“Stop sniveling, Francine. Here’s the box office. You and Helen go on home. I’ll sit alone and go home alone.”
“Lavinia, you’re crazy. We can’t leave you here—”
They argued for five minutes. Helen started to walk away but came back when she saw Lavinia thump down her money for a solitary movie ticket. Helen and Francine foll
owed her silently into the theater.
The first show was over. In the dim auditorium, as they sat in the odor of ancient brass polish, the manager appeared before the worn red velvet curtains for an announcement:
“The police have asked for an early closing tonight. So everyone can be home at a decent hour. So we are cutting our short subjects and putting on our feature film again now. The show will be over at 11. Everyone’s advised to go straight home and not linger on the streets. Our police force is pretty small and will be spread around pretty thin.”
“That means us, Lavinia! Us!” Lavinia felt the hands tugging at her elbows on either side.
Harold Lloyd in Welcome, Danger! said the screen in the dark.
“Lavinia,” Helen whispered.
“What?”
“As we came in, a man in a dark suit, across the street, crossed over. He just came in. He just sat in the row behind us.”
“Oh, Helen.”
“He’s right behind us now.”