From the Tales of Saint Anthony, the Johnny Holiday Mysteries
These short stories follow the lives of people who populate the fictional city of Saint Anthony (Minneapolis, Minnesota), and make their appearance in the first Johnny Holiday novel, The...
Nils stood at the window overlooking the thick carpet of grass in the front yard. From where he stood he had a long view of Mount Curve. He watched a Buick convertible approach the house, rolling up the hill known as the Devil's Spine; Nils spotted it just as soon as the car began its ascent of the ridge.
This would be Johnny Holiday, he said to himself; the first and only appointment for his employer, Colonel Forrester, that day.
Nils watched as the young man came to a stop along the street in front of the house, pulling up against the curb, his car sounding to Nils like the engine needed oil.
He is early, Nils noted to himself approvingly.
The young man put the car in neutral, allowing the engine to idle without getting out, as if he was not sure he would stay, or perhaps he was merely waiting to come to the door at the exact time of his appointment, Nils thought.
Nils watched him behind the wheel smoking a cigarette.
The Colonel had informed Nils that the young man was from the newspaper, and had given Nils instructions to prepare a room for the boy, along with several other things, which Nils took care of.
Nils had not been expecting a guest, and this bothered him. The Colonel normally kept him informed of his plans, and this was clearly something he had planned without his advice.
He instructed the staff regarding their guest, telling them to treat him in all ways as if he were a member of the family.
From the corner of his eye Nils observed the Colonel's dogs: massive huskies—wolflike; he watched them watch the car. They are good boys, silent and steady as Nils had trained them to be.
He watched as the young man finished his cigarette and got out of his car, he studied his manners as he straightened his belt and tie, smoothed the front of his shirt with his hands, brushing the stray ash away before adjusting the tilt of his hat.
His cloth was poor, but his manners told Nils that the boy cared about his appearance and had been brought up in a disciplined home. That also speaks well of him, Nils thought.
He walked with a steady gait as he came to the door, passing beyond Nils' line of sight.
Nils listened while he knocked, three short taps, forceful enough so as to be heard, but not demanding, and he was polite with the maid who came to the door.
Nils listened while he waited in the hall, going to a vestibule where he could observe him further.
He watched as the young man examined the furnishings; he was self-composed even when he was alone. Placid and observant, Nils thought, considering for a moment if these were or were not the proper attributes for a journalist...concluding that they were.
Nils was about to enter the hallway and greet the young man, when Celene, the Colonels younger daughter, entered from another doorway.
It was unexpected, and Celene was not herself; she had not been of sound mind for some months, staying out late, dancing and drinking with irreputable people, a trend of behavior which disturbed Nils, but there was little he could do about it.
The Colonel's daughters were not his responsibility.
Nils patiently observed their encounter.
Once again, the young man was polite, while Celene was playful, intrusive and silly, in her spoiled-childish way. The young man played along with her games, seeming to enjoy himself, while at the same time attempting to keep his composure, and remain in control.
This speaks well of him too, Nils thought.
Just as Celene was taking her games a little farther than Nils liked, pretending to faint and fall into the young man's arms, he entered the room and broke up the scene.
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