Remo hung up with a grunt.
When he had sent Bobbi home, Remo had told her to be careful. When he had sent Valerie home, he had told her to be quiet. He wondered now if she were being followed also.
"Hey, Chiun, you writing anything good about me?"
Chiun looked up. "I am writing only the truth."
Remo was not going to stand there and be insulted, so he called Valerie. He found her at the desk in the museum.
"It's about time you called, freak," she said. "When are you going to get rid of all that… all those… you know, in the special exhibit room? How long do you think this can go on? What do you think I am anyway?"
"That's nice. Have you had any problems? People looking for Willingham?"
"No. I put out a directive that he was going on vacation. But he can't stay on vacation forever. You've got to do something about it," she said.
"And I will. You have my absolute guarantee that I will," Remo said sincerely. "Have you seen anybody? Has anybody been following you?"
"Not that I know of."
"Have people been coming to see the exhibit?"
"No. Not since I've been back. I've kept the sign on the door that it's closed, but no one comes."
"And no one's been following you?"
"Are you trying to make me nervous? That's it, isn't it? You're trying to make me nervous. Probably to get me up to your room so you can have your way with me. That's it, right?"
"No, dear," Remo said. "That most certainly is not it."
"Well, don't think that some shabby trick is going to frighten me into going there. No way. Your silly maneuvers are transparent, do you hear me, transparent, and you can forget it, if, for a moment, you think you can frighten me and get me to-"
Remo hung up.
Valerie arrived before Bobbi, even before Remo was hanging up the phone from his conversation with Smith.
No, Smith had not heard anything about Joey 172. With the closing down of Folcroft, the flow of information to him had stopped, except for what he was able to glean from the newspapers. When he wasn't snowed in at his cabin.
No, he had not seen anyone around his cabin, and yes, the skiing was fine, and if he stayed on vacation another month, his instructor told him, he would be ready to leave the children's slope, and he would be happy to see Chiun and Remo if they came to Maine, but they could not expect to stay in his cabin because a) it was small and b) Mrs. Smith after all these years still had no idea of what her husband did for a living, and it would be too complicated for her to meet Remo and Chiun. And there was no shortage of motel rooms nearby, and what was that awful yawking in the room?
"That's Valerie," Remo said. '"She calls that speech. You be very careful."
He hung up, just in time to wave down Chiun, who was turning threateningly on the rug toward Valerie, who had interrupted his concentration. Even now he was holding the writing quill poised on the tips of his fingers. In another split second, Remo knew, Valerie was going to have another appendage, a quill through her skull and into her brain.
"No, Chiun. I'll shut her up."
"It would be well if both of you were to shut up," Chiun said. "This is complicated work I do."
"Valerie," Remo said, "come over here and sit down."
"I'm going to the press," she said. "I'm tired of this. The New York Times would like to hear my story. Yes. The New York Times. Wait until Wicker and Lewis get through with you. You'll think you were in a meat grinder. That's it. The Times."
"A very fine newspaper." Remo said.
"I got my job through The New York Times," Valerie said. "There were forty of us who answered the ad. But I had the highest qualifications. I knew it. I could tell when I first talked to Mr. Willingham." She paused. "Poor Mr. Willingham. Lying dead in that exhibit room and you, just leaving him there."
"Sweet old Mr. Willingham wanted to cut your heart out with a rock," Remo reminded her.
"Yes, but that wasn't the real Mr. Willingham. He was nice. Not like you."
"Swell," said Remo. "He tries to kill you and I save you and he's nice, not like me. Go to the Times. They'll understand you."
"Injustice," Chiun said. "You should understand it. You Americans invented it."
"Stick to your fairytales," Remo said. "This doesn't concern you."
The door to their suite pushed open and Bobbi came in. Her idea of cold weather garb was a full-length fur coat over a tennis costume.
"Hello, hello, hello, everybody, I'm here."
Chiun slammed a cork stopper into one of the bottles of ink.
"That's it," he said. "One cannot work in this environment."
"Were you followed?" Remo asked Bobbi.
She shook her head. "I watched carefully. Nobody."
She saw Valerie sitting on the chair in the corner and looked absolutely pleased to see her. "Hello, Valerie, how are you?"
"Happy to see you dressed," Valerie said glumly.
Chiun blew on the parchment, then rolled it up, and stashed it and the quills and the ink into the desk of the suite.
"Fine, Little Father, you can finish that later."
"Why?"
"We are going to Maine."
"Blaaah," said Chiun.
"Good," said Bobbi.
"I'm going to get fired," said Valerie.
"Why me, God?" said Remo.