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“Hockey!” Distressed, he put the picture back in the suitcase and walked past Mrs. MacHenry into the hall. She look disdainfully at his back then started to follow him.
    As they walked to the top of the stairway he said, “I was under the impression that this was a religious college, and I didn’t send my daughter here to be drinking and picking up boys.”
    “Clare is a good girl, Mr. Harrison. You should have no doubt about that. She’s a good girl and wouldn’t do anything wrong. Uh, I’m sure you’ll find her. Probably she got to the fraternity party late. Why don’t you try back there?”
    When he nodded his head in assent she added quickly, “I have to go that way to the store, so if you wouldn’t mind giving me a lift, I could show you.”
    “I know the way, thank you.” Then perhaps realizing that he was being overly rude he added, “but I’d be happy to give you a ride.”
    “Wonderful. I’ll just get my bag. Won’t be a minute.”
    He started down the stairs and she went back down the hall to her room. She closed the door behind her and then deliberately slowed down, stopping at the mirror to fuss with her hair, muttering to herself sarcastically, imitating his flat, sing-song way of speaking: “I thought this was supposed to be a religious college.”
    From the drawer of her vanity she removed still another bottle of sherry and took a long, slow drink. After putting the bottle back she carefully pinned on her hat, although the effect was that of her simply having stuck it there. She continued to mutter to herself. “Am I supposed to be responsible for the morality of every girl in this goddamn house? Fat chance.” She shook her head and went back to the vanity. Spitefully she took another drink and said, “Those broads would hump the Leaning Tower of Pisa if they could get up there. I do my best,” she added, speaking to the door, “I don’t know what the bastards expect.”
    Looking around she found her purse, opened it and dug out her lipstick. She had applied it to half of her mouth when she heard a familiar sound. Moving out into the hallway she called, “Claude! Here kitty, kitty, kitty. Come say goodbye to mommykins.”
    Stopping, she looked around puzzled, trying to discover the source of the sound. Shaking her head she moved farther down the hall. “Here pretty Claude. Come to mommy. Here kitty, kitty, kitty.”
    She stopped and listened for the sound seemed to be coming from below. Bending over to listen she accidentally spilled the contents of her purse onto the floor. Awkwardly she leaned down to pick up the things and did not notice the form that came to the top of the stairs.
    “Dammit, Claude,” she mumbled. “Where are you? You’ve made me spill the whole damn thing over the floor. Kitty! Kitty! Kitty! Come on Claude. You little prick!”
    There was a slight cough and she looked up to see Clare’s father standing at the head of the stairs, looking at her. With her lipstick half on and her strange hat perched on top of her head she made a ridiculous picture, he thought.
    She stared at him blankly for a moment then broke into a toothy smile.
    “This is very kind of you, Mr. Harrison.”
    He stared back, slightly numbed by the sight of her. “Think nothing of it,” he said. “Let me help you.”
    “No, I’ve got it all. Thanks just the same.”
    “Very well. I’ll wait for you downstairs.” He turned and hurried away. She watched him go and when his back was out of sight she scrambled to her feet and made an obscene gesture with her free hand.
    Claude bounced from the old chest to the attic window and watched her and Mr. Harrison walking down the walk toward the car parked in front. He mewed several times, then turned his attention back to the room as Mrs. Mac was helped into the car and driven away.
    He leaped back down and began to paw at the piece of plastic that was covering a human face.

CHAPTER FIVE
    The Romantic, almost Wagnerian music penetrated the