Chapter 3

Lynn found where Mr. McNally lived without any trouble. His apartment turned out to be the second floor of a big old house in a neighborhood of tall old elm trees and spacious lawns, and what looked like at least four generations of absolute respectability. From the street, anyway, that's how it looked to Lynn.

There were lights on all over the top floor, but the ground floor of the house was dark. She rang the up-per doorbell, and saw Mr. McNally coming down some stairs into the hallway to let her in.

"You're right on time," he said. The last of the poker players arrived just a minute ago. There are only five of us tonight, and the thirstiest poker player isn't here, so you won't be very busy. I'll find you something to read."

"I'll just watch the game, if you don't mind," she said, following him up the stairs. "That's the main reason I'm here, you know. I like to watch men's faces when they gamble."

"Wait'll you see this set of faces,' he said, ushering her into a large dining room. "You'd be better off watching television. The stakes aren't much and the faces are even less."

He introduced the men around the table, one at a time.

"And this is Lynn Lautrec," he said, putting a paternal hand on her shoulder. "Nicest thing to hap-pen to any public library since they invented the printing press."

She tensed a little when his hand settled on her shoulder, but decided he didn't mean anything by it. She was just too sensitive on the subject, being so new in the town. Anyway, she had her glasses to scare men off.

"Please call me Jeff," the host said, leading her into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. "I like to leave that 'Mr.' business behind, in the classroom."

The bottom two shelves of the refrigerator were crammed with canned beer, and another shelf held what looked like wrapped cold cuts and assorted spreads.

"There doesn't seem any likelihood of you and your friends starving to death this evening,' she said. Then she noticed the full whiskey bottles and two ice buckets standing on the sideboard next to the sink. "Or dying of thirst, either," she added.

"Do you drink?" McNally asked.

"Sure."

"Beer?"

"Sometimes. When I was still in school, it usually depended on my date's finances. I like Scotch better than beer."

"There's plenty of Scotch, so help yourself. Don Winthrop is the only one here, besides yourself, who drinks Scotch. He takes soda with it. I drink bourbon and water." He made himself a drink while he talked.

"Seems easy enough to remember," Lynn said. "Even without a card file." She knew who Don Winthrop was, even before they'd been introduced. He'd been in the library a couple of times. He was an art instructor at the high school, and was the youngest looking of the poker players. He was a tall, lean, intense-looking man of twenty-seven or eight, and she'd never seen him smile.

"You're on your own," Jeff McNally said, and left the kitchen, carrying his drink.

Lynn built herself a Scotch and soda, pouring the whisky with a free and expensive hand. Beer for three of them, the host had told her. She opened three cans, found three tall glasses and a tray, and carried the whole works, including a Scotch and soda for Winthrop, in to the men.

The game was under way. A big man named Bellows was dealing. "Big queen," he was saying, dealing cards face up, in what she recognized as five-card stud. "Big nine. Tray. Four." She put the Scotch and soda in front of Don Winthrop and the tall glasses on the table beside each of the others, with an opened can of beer beside each glass. The men nodded their thanks. Tough job those girls had, she thought, and pulled up a chair to sit down near one corner of the table, watching the cards as they turned up.

"You like poker?" Don Winthrop asked.

"I like to watch. Is it all right?"

"Our pleasure," he said, and the other men looked at her and smiled.

She realized all at once that she'd taken off her glasses while making the drinks, and had left them in the kitchen.