“There’s been only one other man in my life who mattered,” Molly had said last night. “Before you. Only one other.”

  He said nothing. They were lying naked on the bed in his room, and he felt spent and exhausted and content, listening to the February wind howling outside, wind always sounded more fierce in the dead of night, especially in a strange city.

  “I met him when I was twenty, just a year after my mother passed away, do you mind my talking about this?”

  “No,” he said, because he really didn’t mind yet, he wasn’t angry with her yet, he liked her very much. He kept thinking about how his mother would make fun of him for bringing home another ugly duckling and of how he would say, “Why, Mom, she’s beautiful, what’s the matter with you?”

  “It was the first job after secretarial school, I really didn’t know how to handle either the job or him. I never went out much with boys, boys hardly ever asked me out. I think I’d been kissed maybe half a dozen times in my life, and once a boy touched my breast when we were decorating the high school gym for a senior dance. I didn’t even go to the dance because no one asked me.” She paused. “His name was Theodore Michelsen, he had a brother who was a priest in San Diego. He was married and had two children, a little boy and a little girl, their pictures were on his desk. His wife’s picture was on his desk, too, in the same frame, one of those frames that open like a book. His wife was on the left-hand side and his two children on the right. Do you mind my talking about this?”

  “No,” he said. He didn’t mind. He was lying with his arm around her, and her lips close to his ear, staring up at the ceiling and thinking how soft her voice was and how warm and smooth she felt in his arms.

  “I don’t know how it started,” Molly said. “I guess one day he just kissed me, and I guess it was the first time I’d ever really been kissed by anyone, I mean really kissed by a man. And then, I don’t know, we just began, not that same day, but a few days later, I guess it was a Friday, I guess it was after everyone had gone home. We made love in his office, look, I know you don’t want to hear this.”

  “No, that’s all right,” he said.

  “We did it every day,” she said. “I loved it,” she said.

  That was when he got angry.

  He could hear the snow squeaking under his shoes. Amelia held his arm tightly and said, “We’re heading for the river, did you know that?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “Thinking?” He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “Oh, yes you were. Just a few minutes ago. You were a million miles away.”

  “I was thinking I ought to be getting home.”

  “I must be a real fascinating girl. You’re walking with me, and all you can think about is getting home.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just my mother’s all alone up there. Not really alone, I have a younger brother, but you know.”

  “Yes,” Amelia said.

  “It’s just I’m the man in the family.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s all.” He shrugged.

  “Still, you are here,” she said. “You are with me.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “I mean, I am a fairly good-looking girl, you know, what with my rat-fitch collar and my sexy black sweater.” She grinned. “I mean well, you know, a girl doesn’t get all dressed up so some guy can think of running back home to Gulchwater Flats.”

  “Carey,” he said, and smiled.

  “Right?”

  “Right.”

  “So what do you intend to do about it, look, there’s ice in the river, you could probably walk clear across to the other shore.”

  “There wasn’t any ice last night,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Were you here last night?”

  “Well, I meant early this morning. About three o’clock.”

  “What were you doing here at three in the morning?”

  “I wasn’t here.”

  “But you said—”

  “I had to make a delivery.”

  “A delivery?”

  “Yes. Vegetables.”

  “Oh.”

  “So I had a chance to see the river, that’s all I meant.”

  “And there was no ice.”

  “No. I guess it must have been a little above freezing.”

  “It felt a lot colder than that yesterday,” she said.

  “Yes, it did. But the river wasn’t frozen.”

  “Okay,” she said. “You want to walk across to the other side?”

  “No.”

  “Vegetables, did you say?”

  “Yes, I got the job from a man, to pick up these vegetables and deliver them. With my truck.”

  “Oh.” She nodded, and then said, “How cold do you think it is now?”

  “I don’t know. In the twenties, I’d guess.”

  “Are you cold?”

  “A little.”

  “My feet are cold,” she said.

  “You want to go someplace? For coffee or something?”

  “I thought you had a room,” she said.

  “I do.”

  “Let’s go there.”

  They walked in silence for several moments. The river was frozen from shore to shore. The bridge uptown spanned the ice, rose from the ice as if it were a silvery spidery extension of it.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

  “Hurt me? How can you hurt me?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, and shrugged.

  “Honey,” she said, “I’ve been had by experts.”

  “Amelia, there are…” He shook his head.

  “Yes? What?”

  “There are a lot of things…” He shook his head again.

  “What is it, Roger?”

  “I should do.”

  “What?”

  “Things I should do.”

  “Yes, like what?”

  “Well…I want to be with you.”

  “Yes, I want to be with you, too.”

  “I want to kiss you again, I’ve been wanting to ever since—”

  “Yes, yes—”

  “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “But, baby, how can you possibly—”

  “I just want you to know that.”

  She stared at him silently. At last she said, “You’re a funny person.” She reached up and kissed him swiftly and then moved back from him and looked into his face and said, “Come,” and took his hand.

  The party in Roger’s room started at about 5:30 when Fook Shanahan came in with a man who lived on the second floor and whom Roger didn’t know at all. He and Amelia had just come into the room, had in fact barely taken off their coats when Fook knocked on the door and—without waiting for anyone to answer—opened the door and came in, followed by a very tall thin man with thick-rimmed eyeglasses and a thatch of brown hair turning white. His eyebrows were already completely white, thick and shaggy; they looked fake to Roger, as if they had been pasted on as a disguise. Fook had a bottle of bourbon in one hand, and two glasses in the other. He went immediately to the dresser where he put down the bottle and the glasses and then he turned to Roger and said, “Aren’t you going to introduce us to the young lady?”

  “Oh, sure, Roger said. “This is Amelia Perez. Amelia, I’d like you to meet Fook Shanahan, and I’m afraid I don’t know the other gentleman’s name.”

  “The other gentleman’s name is Dominick Tartaglia,” Fook said, “and he’s no gentleman, believe me.” Tartaglia laughed. Fook laughed with him and then said, “I gather you two have just come in from the frozen tundra out there, and would appreciate a drink.”

  “Well…” Roger said hesitantly, and then glanced at Amelia.

  “Sure,” Amelia said. “I’d love a drink.”

  “The problem is one of numerical disproportion,” Fook said. “We seem to have four people and only three glasses.”

  “Roger and I can share a glass,” Amelia said, and smiled gently at him.

  “Then there’s no problem,” Fook said. He went to the dresser and opened the bottle. Amelia sat on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs and leaning forward, resting her elbow on her knee, one hand toying with the pearls at her throat. Tartaglia stood alongside the dresser, smiling as Fook poured the drinks. Roger glanced at Amelia to see if she minded them being here, but she seemed to be pretty happy. We’ll make love as soon as they leave, he thought.

  And suddenly he was frightened.

  “We were waiting for you to come home, Roger,” Fook said, “because we wanted to know how you made out with the bulls.”

  “Oh, we had a nice talk,” Roger said.

  “Were the police here?” Amelia asked, and she suddenly sat up straight and looked at Roger.

  “Yeah,” Tartaglia said. “Our landlady had a refrigerator stolen from her.”

  “A refrigerator?” Amelia said. “Thank you,” she said to Fook as he handed her the drink.

  “I apologize for the lack of ice,” Fook said. “Would you like a little water in that?”

  “Spoils the taste,” Amelia said, and grinned.

  “Ah, an Irish colored girl,” Shanahan said. “The best kind.” He lifted his glass. “Cheers, Miss.”

  Amelia sipped at her drink and then raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes. “Whoosh!” she said, and handed the glass to Roger. Roger sniffed it, and then took a short swallow.

  “So what happened?” Fook asked.

  “Nothing,” Roger said. “They came in and they were very polite, and they asked me where I’d been last night, and I told them. Then, let me see, I guess we talked about how much I thought the refrigerator was worth, and then they said I could go home or stay here, whichever I wanted, they had no more questions for me.”

  “That means they think he’s clean,” Tartaglia said to Fook.

  “Of course,” Fook said. “We’re all clean. Who the hell would want to steal that old bitch’s box, excuse me, Miss.”

  “That’s all right,” Amelia said, and she took another sip of the drink.

  “Did you tell him about the shelves?” Tartaglia said.

  “No,” Fook said.

  “What about the shelves?”

  “They found them.”

  “What shelves?” Amelia asked.

  “From the refrigerator. They found them near the furnace downstairs,” Tartaglia said.

  “Which means,” Fook said, “that whoever went to the trouble of stealing that broken-down piece of machinery also went to the trouble of removing the shelves from it first. Now does that make any sense to you?”

  “None at all,” Amelia said, and finished her drink.

  “Are you ready for another one, young lady?” Tartaglia asked.

  “Just to take off the chill,” Amelia said, and she winked.

  “She’s Irish, I tell you,” Fook said.

  Tartaglia took her glass and poured it half full. He poured more bourbon into his own glass, and then handed Amelia hers and walked to Fook with the bottle, filling his glass as Fook talked.

  “What good is a refrigerator without shelves?” Fook asked. “You’re not drinking, Roger. You’re supposed to be sharing the young lady’s drink.”

  “Amelia,” she said.

  “Yes, Amelia, of course. You’re a beautiful girl, Amelia,” Fook said. “May I congratulate you upon your taste, Roger?”

  “Yes, you may,” Roger said, and smiled.

  “Congratulations,” Fook said. “Isn’t there another glass in this place?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “I insist that you share the lady’s—”

  “Amelia,” she said.

  “Yes, I insist that you share Amelia’s drink. Amelia, let the man have a sip.”

  “Well, I don’t want to drink too much,” Roger said.

  “He gets violent when he’s drunk,” Fook said, and winked at Amelia.

  “No, I don’t think so,” she said. “I don’t think he’s that kind.”

  “No, he’s a very sweet man,” Fook said, taking the glass from her gently, and handing it to Roger. “Drink,” he said. “And tell me what you think about those shelves.”

  Roger sipped at the bourbon and then handed the glass back to Amelia. “Gee, I don’t know what to make of it,” he said.

  “Why would anyone steal a refrigerator and leave the shelves behind?” Fook asked.

  “Maybe it was too heavy to carry with the shelves in it,” Tartaglia said, and burst out laughing.

  “Let me get this straight,” Amelia said, drinking. “A refrigerator was stolen from your landlady’s apartment last night, but the shelves—”

  “From the basement,” Tartaglia corrected. “It was stolen from the basement.”

  “Oh, I see. Oh. But in any case, whoever took it first removed the shelves from inside, is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Fingerprints,” Amelia said.

  “Of course!” Fook said.

  “They’ll find fingerprints on the shelves,” Tartaglia said. “That’s right. You’re right, miss, have another drink.”

  “I’ll get plotzed,” Amelia said. “You’ll get me plotzed here, I won’t know what the hell I’m doing.” She held out her glass.

  They won’t find fingerprints on the shelves, Roger thought. I was wearing gloves. They won’t find fingerprints anywhere in that basement.

  “But why did he take out the shelves?” Fook insisted. “That’s the problem. Fingerprints aside, why did he bother to remove the shelves?”

  They were all silent, thinking.

  “I don’t know,” Amelia said at last, and took another swallow of bourbon.

  “I don’t know, either,” Tartaglia said.

  “Nor I,” Fook said.

  “Roger?” Amelia said. She grinned somewhat foolishly, and cocked her head to one side, as though she were having trouble keeping him in focus. “You seem to have an idea.”

  “No,” he said.

  “You seemed very thoughtful there,” she said.

  “No.”

  “Didn’t he seem very thoughtful there?” she asked.

  “He certainly did,” Tartaglia said.

  “Well, I don’t have any ideas,” Roger said, and smiled.

  “I have the feeling he would like us to get out of here,” Fook said.

  “No, no…”

  “I have that feeling, too,” Tartaglia said.

  “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Fook said. “I’m sure Roger and Amelia have a great many things to talk about, and couldn’t care less about Mrs. Dougherty’s goddamn icebox.”

  “Refrigerator,” Tartaglia said.

  “Yes, pardon me,” Fook said, “and pardon me for saying goddamn, Miss.”

  “Amelia.”

  “Yes, Amelia.”

  “You don’t have to rush off,” Roger said. “Have another drink.”

  “No, no, we simply wanted to know how you’d made out with those two bulls they sent over from the station house. What were their names, Dominick? Do you remember their names?”

  “Mutt and Jeff,” Tartaglia said, and laughed. “You think they’re ever going to find that refrigerator?”

  “Never,” Fook said.

  “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “I’ll bet somebody’s got that refrigerator in his kitchen right this minute. I’ll bet it’s full of beer and eggs and milk and soda and cheese and apples and oranges and bananas and grapes and jelly and—”

  “Oh, you should never put ba-nan-nuhs,” Amelia sang, “In the re-fridge-a-ray-ter!”

  “Cha-cha-cha,” Fook said, and laughed.

  “And this guy probably lives right across the hall from a cop,” Tartaglia continued, “and tonight this cop’ll go in there for a glass of beer or something, and the guy’ll go to his refrigerator he swiped and the cop’ll sit there and not even know it’s a hot refrigerator,” he said, and burst out laughing.

  “How can a refrigerator be hot?” Amelia asked, and began laughing.

  “We’ve got to go,” Fook said. He went to the dresser and picked up his bottle. “We’re glad the police gave you a clean bill of health, Roger. The least you could do, however, is ask whether Dominick here and myself also passed muster.”

  “Oh, gee, I’m sorry,” Roger said. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “You will be delighted to learn that we are neither of us suspects. In the considered opinion of the police, this was an outside job. As a matter of fact, they think the basement door was jimmied. The short one said so.”

  “Good night, Amelia,” Tartaglia said from the door.

  “Good night,” she said.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you,” he said.

  “Thank you. You, too.”

  “It was a pleasure,” Tartaglia said again.

  “Miss,” Fook said, and he stopped in front of her and made a small bow. “You are with one of the sweetest people who ever walked the face of this earth, Roger Broome, a fine man even on short acquaintance.”

  “I know,” Amelia said.

  “Good. You are a fine woman.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Good,” he said. He went to the door. “Be sweet to each other,” he said. “You are very sweet people. Be sweet.”

  He made a short bow and then went out. Tartaglia went out behind him, closing the door.

  “I think you had better lock it,” Amelia said thickly.

  “Why?”

  “Mmm,” she said, and grinned wickedly. “We have things to do, Roger. We have nice things to do.” She rose unsteadily and walked to the closet door, opening it, and then pulling back in surprise and turning to him and covering her giggle with a cupped hand. “I thought it was the john,” she said. “Where’s the john?”

  “Down the hall.”

  “Would you mind if I went to wash my face?” she asked.

  “No, not at all,” he said.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said. She went to the door, opened it, turned, and then said—with great dignity—”I really have to pee,” and went out.

  Roger sat on the edge of the bed.

  His hands were sweating.