presented himself before Sylvie’s chair. He
removed his hat, took her hand, and pulled her up to walk with him
to the closed casket.
They gave no greetings to one another but
stood together in silence beside the easel displaying Harry’s
portrait. Sylvie unconsciously leaned against Walt. When she
sniffled, he folded her against him in a brotherly hug.
Gently, Walt told her, “Whatever’s in that
box, it ain’t Harry. Y’hear me? Harry ain’t here. You need to
remember that.”
“I know,” replied Sylvie between weepy
hiccups. “The preacher said the same thing. I guess Daddy’s with
Mama now. In heaven.”
Walt smiled to himself. “Well, I don’t know
if I’d give Harry quite that much credit.”
Across the room, Dan Stern joined Les
Larrimore in watching Walt comfort Sylvie over the casket. Leslye
whispered, “I thought you said she hated him.”
Dan shrugged. “That’s what she says. Avoids
him and his place like the plague.”
“Well, Danny boy, you better be sure she’s
had her shots. That plague looks contagious to me,” said
Leslye.
Dan’s expression turned anxious. He moved
toward Sylvie and Walt. Coming to Sylvie’s side a moment later, Dan
gently extricated her from Walt’s arms and tenderly ushered her
away. “Come sit down, sweetheart,” Dan told her. “You look a little
woozy.”
Dan lovingly helped Sylvie into her chair.
Leslye sat in the adjacent seat. Dan said to Sylvie, “Les will get
you something to drink.” He glanced at the lady lawyer
meaningfully. “Right, Les?”
Leslye stood and found herself staring into
the shirtfront of Walt McGurk, who had followed Sylvie and Dan.
“I’ll be right back; you just rest, dear,” Leslye told Sylvie.
Looking up at Walt towering over them, she said, “Good night,
Mister McGurk. Thank you for coming.” She stepped around him and
left in search of a beverage.
Walt scanned the room. Sylvie was surrounded
by elegant strangers and watchdogged by Dan Stern. Walt shoved his
Stetson onto his head and ambled toward the exit.
Halfway there he stopped, decided he was not
leaving, and marched briskly back to Sylvie’s chair. He elbowed his
way to her and, when Dan refused to yield a place to sit, Walt
squatted on the floor in front of her. This put Walt on Sylvie’s
eye level, and he pinned her with his gaze the way a lepidopterist
skewers a butterfly.
“Sylvie, you know half of my ranch is yours
now. Harry’s half,” Walt said.
“I guess so.”
“Well, if you’re in a bind, I’ll buy you out
fair and square. Cash on the barrelhead.”
Dan said, “Really, McGurk! I don’t think this
is the time—”
“I’m talkin’ to Sylvie,” Walt said, cutting
Dan short.
Sylvie didn’t feel like discussing business
at all, and certainly not while Walt and Dan were going at each
other in front of the jet set. “Can’t we discuss this later?”
Sylvie said to Walt. “I mean, it’s not like I need the money.”
Walt’s mouth moved as if he would argue with
her, but he realized the room had gone silent. The mourners all
seemed to be staring at him. He stood abruptly, withered the room
with a look, and strode for the door.
Leslye arrived with a cup of water for
Sylvie. Dan gave Les his chair, and he left to follow Walt, saying
to the ladies, “I’ll just make sure he finds his way out.”
Les urged Sylvie to drink, but Sylvie merely
held the cup and watched the door through which Walt and Dan had
gone. Leslye patted Sylvie’s shoulder and said, “It’s all right,
darling. Don’t let Harry’s pet jailbird upset you.”
“Harry’s what?”
“Jailbird,” said Les. “Everybody knows Harry
got him out of jail and set him up in that horse-breeding
business.” Bitterness tainted her voice as she continued, “One of
your mother’s charity cases, I expect. Harry never learned to tell
her no.”
Sylvie looked at Les in absolute
confusion.
“Honey, they say McGurk killed a man,” Les
told her. “After all these
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