"He's rambling like an idiot," I whispered. "I feel horribly for Julie stuck out there with him on her hands. See if you can calm him down."

Betsy reluctantly took the phone. "Howie?" After that introduction, my wife listened; for more than five minutes, while Howie apparently continued to ramble. Finally, she was able to inject a few words. "I'll talk to Ben and call you back," she said.

"He's a mess," she said to me after hanging up the phone. "I think he's had a breakdown." She twilled a lock of her hair, a sure sign of nervousness. "I may have gotten you into something."

"You didn't say half dozen words."

"I know. Howie did all the talking, but Julie finished up. He wants me to get you to talk to that sex offender who's free; the one they thought killed Annie." Then she added, "Julie practically begged me to bring Molly out there and help the both of them to get back home, whatever it takes to do so."

"Can't you just wire Julie a ticket and make arrangements for her to get to the airport?"

"She won't leave Howie alone. She feels responsible for him."

"Did you agree?"

"I don't want to, but I feel badly, for both Julie and especially Molly. The poor kid is feeling deserted. I don't know what I think about Howie. I just want to ring his damn neck."

I felt a need to respond but wasn't sure what to say. "I'd talk to the guy if I thought it would accomplish something but he'll just say he didn't do it and it would be a waste of a phone call. That is, if he'd even speak with me. There isn't any reason he should, is there? The idea of any of us going out to California is another matter. Frankly, that doesn't thrill me."

"You said the rapist character was all contrite and God loving."

"Okay; telephoning him it can't do any harm. All he can do is hang up. Any chance then Howie will come home?"

"Not unless someone goes out and gets him. He's practically immobile and Julie is far out of her element, especially with a roommate who is unable to function."

"Can we?" a voice said from the top of the stairs. We both looked up to see Molly standing there. Betsy rose and met her half way.

"We'll talk about it, honey," she said giving the girl a hug. Still holding her hand, she walked Molly the rest of the way down the stairs.

"May I sit with you?" she asked shyly.

"Of course," Betsy answered as she smoothed the cushions in invitation. I'm sure both of us would have rather had our discussion in Molly's absence. Betsy turned to me, hesitancy in her voice. "Howie doesn't want you to simply telephone Willard Humphries; he wants you to go down there and look him in the eye when you ask him."




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