Anything Goes

and two for Robert.
    “I don’t know how you do it,“ Robert said. “You must be cheating.”
    Lily grinned. “You just don’t bother to count ahead and plan. You’re a grasshopper.”
    Mrs. Prinney had sat with them companionably, listening to the radio and darning socks. Mimi said she was tired and excused herself early. The dog had been sleeping through the games across Lily’s feet, which soon became uncomfortable for Lily, but she couldn’t bear to break the bond of affection.
    Finally Lily put the board and markers away and yawned. “I’m going to bed, too. It’s been a very long day. Robert, walk me upstairs. I have something to show you.”
    The dog stretched massively and raced them up the stairs, meeting them at the top landing with a wagging tail. “What have you got to show me?“ Robert asked at the door to Lily’s room.
    She got the envelope with Uncle Horatio’ s letter and handed it to him.
    “What is this?“
    “A letter to us from Uncle Horatio.“
    “You’ve been communing with the dead? Lily, I didn’t think you liked séances and such.”
    She smiled, but wearily. “Just read the letter. Tell me what you think tomorrow.”
    She took a quick, cool bath while the dog, big as she was yet barely tall enough to reach over the top of the high tub, drank bathwater. She put on one of her old-life nightgowns with the fancy tucks and lace insets. She gave the dog a last pet. “You must have a name by this time tomorrow,“ she told the dog, who licked her hand.
    Turning off the light, Lily crawled into bed, folded the heavy bedspread at the bottom and pulled up only the light cotton sheet. Would it ever stop being so hot? It was almost September. Surely the heat. would break soon.
    She fell deeply asleep almost instantly, and woke with horror an hour later when something landed heavily on the bed. She sat up, stifling a scream, and got licked in the face. She cuddled the dog. “I shouldn’t let you on the bed, but since you’re so nice and clean... just for this one night.”
    When she woke again in the morning, her left arm was sound asleep and she was clinging, pillowless, to the edge of the bed. The dog had her arm pinned down, was taking up most of the bed and had her head on Lily’s pillow, snoring peacefully.
     
    Jack was livid.
    He’d come into the newspaper office early Sunday morning to reread his article. He found it on his desk in the front room. Mr. Kessler had taken his legendary blue pencil to the piece and massacred it. He’d crossed out all the names in the article except Billy’s. Jack stomped around, muttering, then picked up his chair and banged it on the floor in a fit of outrage.
    “Who’s there?“ Kessler demanded from his own office.
    “I didn’t know you were here,“ Jack said. Kessler’s desk was littered with little shavings of wood. “Why did you do this to my work?“ Jack demanded.
    “This is a family newspaper, not a scandal sheet. It’s enough for people to know Billy Smith’s dead and he died in one of the big houses up on the hill. No point in hinting at people’s guilt or innocence. And all this stuff about people’s alibis is hearsay, not facts. And this paragraph about speculations .. . well!”
    Jack ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up like a lion’s mane with a very bad permanent wave. “But people want to know what’s going on and who it involves.“
    “People don’t have to know everyone else’s personal business.“
    “Dear God! I never thought I’d hear a reputable newspaperman say a thing like that.”
    Kessler scowled and his face got ugly and pink. “You’ve heard it now. We deal in facts, not gossip. That’s reputable journalism. The Brewster brother and sister have a right to their privacy, even if the crime took place in their home. Unless and until the police determine someone’s guilt.“
    “It isn’t gossip to say where a crime took place.”
    “Nor is it necessary.“
    “It could be.“ Jack heard his voice getting shrill and couldn’t help it. “What if somebody passing on the road, or walking those paths saw something relevant? If we don’t report where the crime took place, a valuable piece of evidence might be lost.“
    “Our job is to report. Not solve crimes,“ Kessler said, getting even redder in the face.
    “I guess we have different ideas about that!“
    “ And my ideas prevail, boy. Don’t you forget it. I’m the big bear and you’re just the cub. Keep that in