The Goodbye Look Read Free Page B

saw it was only me. She had clean straight yellow hair that brushed the shoulders of her dark slacks suit. She looked about twenty.
    “No Nick?” I said.
    “I’m afraid not. You’re Mr. Archer?”
    “Yes.”
    She gave me a quick probing look, and I realized she was older than I’d thought. “Are you really a counselor, Mr. Archer?”
    “I said roughly speaking. I’ve done a lot of counseling in an amateur sort of way.”
    “What do you do in a professional sort of way?”
    Her voice wasn’t unfriendly. But her eyes were honest and sensitive, ready to be affronted. I didn’t want that to happen. She was the nicest thing I’d come across in some time.
    “I’m afraid if I tell you, Miss Truttwell, you won’t talk to me.”
    “You’re a policeman, aren’t you?”
    “I used to be. I’m a private investigator.”
    “Then you’re perfectly right. I don’t want to talk to you.”
    She was showing signs of alarm. Her eyes and nostrils were dilated. Her face had a kind of sheen or glare on it. She said:
    “Did Nick’s parents send you here to talk to me?”
    “How could they have? You’re not supposed to be here. Since we are talking, by the way, we might as well do it inside.”
    After some hesitation, she stepped back and let me in. The living room was furnished in expensive but dull good taste. It looked like the kind of furniture the Chalmerses might have bought for their son without consulting him.
    The whole room gave the impression that Nick had kept himself hidden from it. There were no pictures on the walls. The only personal things of any kind were the books in the modular bookcase, and most of these were textbooks, in politics, law, psychology, and psychiatry.
    I turned to the girl. “Nick doesn’t leave much evidence of himself lying around.”
    “No. He’s a very secret boy—man.”
    “Boy or man?”
    “He may be trying to make up his mind about that.”
    “Just how old is he, Miss Truttwell?”
    “He just turned twenty-three last month—December 14. He’s graduating half a year late because he missed a semester a few years ago. That is, he’ll graduate if they let him make up his exams. He’s missed three out of four now.”
    “Why?”
    “It’s not a school problem. Nick’s quite brilliant,” she said as though I’d denied it. “He’s a whizz in poli sci, which is his major, and he’s planning to study law next year.” Her voice was a little unreal, like that of a girl reciting a dream or trying to recall a hope.
    “What kind of a problem is it, Miss Truttwell?”
    “A life problem, as they call it.” She took a step toward me and stood with her hands hanging loose, palms facing me. “All of a sudden he quit caring.”
    “About you?”
    “If that was all, I could stand it. But he cut loose from everything. His whole life has changed in the last few days.”
    “Drugs?”
    “No. I don’t think so. Nick knows how dangerous they are.”
    “Sometimes that’s an attraction.”
    “I know, I know what you mean.”
    “Has he discussed it with you?”
    She seemed confused for a second. “Discussed what?”
    “The change in his life in the last few days.”
    “Not really. You see, there’s another woman involved. An older woman.” The girl was wan with jealousy.
    “He must be out of his mind,” I said by way of complimenting her.
    She took it literally. “I know. He’s been doing things he couldn’t do if he were completely sane.”
    “Tell me about the things he’s been doing.”
    She gave me a look, the longest one so far. “I
can’t
tell you. I don’t even know you.”
    “Your father does.”
    “Really?”
    “Call him up if you don’t believe me.”
    Her gaze wandered to the telephone, which stood on an end table by the chesterfield, then came back to my face. “That means you are working for the Chalmerses. They’re Dad’s clients.”
    I didn’t answer her.
    “What did Nick’s parents hire you to do?”
    “No comment. We’re wasting time.