“It’s self-explanatory.”
Even as my fingers touched the edge of the photograph, I knew what it showed. Or at least I thought I did. I saw Linda Gail propped on top of her lover, her breasts bare, her face gone weak with orgasm. It was the same photo Harlan McFey had shown me, except the bottom half of his copy had been torn off. “This is a trick photograph,” I said.
“That’s not you putting the blocks to her? That’s the term for it, isn’t it?”
“That’s my face. I suspect someone photographed me at a distance and superimposed one negative on another.”
“I can see the scar on your chest. That’s the shrapnel wound you received at Saint-Lô.”
“Somebody photographed me at a beach or at a swimming pool. Don’t buy into this, Rosita.”
“I’ve been too kind,” she said.
“I don’t understand.”
“Linda Gail is not the eater of the apple. She’s the serpent in the Garden, but she’s too stupid to know it. Her selfishness and vanity and ambition are at the center of all this. She’s manipulative and treacherous. I hate her.”
“This isn’t like you, Rosita.”
“Stop it. If they sent this picture to me, who else do you think they’ve sent it to?”
I stared at her. In my mind’s eye, I saw Hershel opening a mailer similar to the one on the floor and pulling a ten-by-twelve glossy from it. I went downstairs and called our office in Baton Rouge. The phone rang a long time before the secretary picked up, out of breath. She was an elderly lady who had graduated from Millsaps College in Mississippi. “I’m sorry. I just went outside to get a delivery,” she said.
“Where’s Hershel?” I said.
“He left late yesterday for Houston. He was planning to go back today, but he said he had everything tied up here, so he was leaving a day early.”
“Was he all right, Miss LeBlanc?”
“He seemed quite happy. Is something wrong?”
“Not at all. You said you just had a delivery?”
“Yes, a beautiful bouquet of flowers. They’re from Mrs. Pine. The card is tied on the vase. I couldn’t quite help seeing what’s on it. I hope Mr. Pine won’t be mad at me.”
“What does it say?”
“You’re sure it will be all right for me to do that?
”
“Yes, it’s fine, Miss LeBlanc.”
“It says, ‘I just signed a contract made in heaven. Love, your Louisiana sweetheart.’ Isn’t that wonderful?”
“I’m sure it is,” I said. “Have there been any other deliveries or important mail I should know about?”
“None that I can think of.”
“I ordered a phonograph record from the Blue Bird Company. Did you receive a package that might have a record inside it?”
“No, nothing like that. I’m so happy for Mr. and Mrs. Pine. They’re such a fine young couple.”
I eased the receiver back into the cradle, hardly aware of what I was doing.
I dialed the office downtown. Hershel had not checked in. I asked the secretary about special deliveries we might have received, or packages that might contain a phonograph record. There had been none. I called Hershel’s house in River Oaks.
“Hello?” he said.