Enchanted Isle by James M. Cain

down the street, next door to that restaurant we ate in last night, and all drugstores have a booth. Put in a station-to-station call, dial the area code, then your house number, and drop in the money, in coins, soon as the operator tells you. Then she won’t know.”
    “OK, I’ll do it now.”
    “But let’s pack and check out. I’ll wait in the lobby.”
    “Yes, that’s the best way. I’ll do it.”
    So I packed and went down, and he checked us out. Then he sat down to wait, and I said, “I’ll make it as quick as I can, and then we can have breakfast. In the bus terminal would be nice.”
    “OK, I’ll be right here.”
    I went out and walked down the street and, sure enough, there was the drugstore. I went in and changed five dollars into quarters, nickels, and dimes. Then I went in the booth and dialed. But I kept getting a busy. That was Mother, it turned out, calling the dispatcher downtown of Steve’s trucking company to say he couldn’t drive that day for reasons I’ll get to later. Then she had to call his replacement, guy name of Jim Dolan, to tell him he had to drive—take the Parcel Post up to New York, then pick up wine off the boats, off the French Line boats at their pier, and bring it back on the down trip next day. So it kept her on the phone, and that’s why I couldn’t get through. I guess it went on for twenty minutes, until the fourth or fifth time that I tried, and then at last Mother came on. I said, “Mother, this is Mandy.”
    “...Well! Where are you? And what have you been up to?”
    “Mother, is that how you talk to me? When I call with love in my heart? To explain to you what I did. I mean leaving home that way and leaving that note for you.”
    “I asked what you’ve been up to.”
    “Who says I’ve been up to anything?”
    “You must have been. What about that coat?”
    “...What coat?”
    Because I own up that caught me completely off guard, and I had to stall, to get my mind together. She said, “The one you showed Ed Vernick!”
    “How do you know about that?”
    “He called me, that’s how I know. To warn me that something went on—and put himself on notice. He did not mean to be dragged in. I ask you once more, where did you get it?”
    “...From a store is where, a Baltimore store.”
    “You mean you stole it?”
    “I mean I bought it.”
    “With what?”
    “Money, what do you think?”
    “Yes, but where did you get it?”
    “...I found it. On the floor of a car.”
    “What car?”
    “I don’t care to say what car!”
    “The whole thing sounds like what Ed Vernick said, a mess. And you’re not telling the truth about where you got that money! I don’t believe you found it, on the floor of a car or anywhere. Mandy, if some man gave it to you, you’re going to pay a price, you’re going to pay one awful price, I warn you. Mandy, while you can, I beg you come home. It’s only...”
    “Mother, I can’t, I won’t.”
    “Where are you?”
    “That I prefer not to say.”
    “Mandy, I have to know!”
    “Mother, I promised not to say.”
    “Promised whom?”
    “It’s none of your business whom.”
    She began hooking it up then, with loud, snuffly sobs, about all she’d done for me, giving me “money, clothes, everything,” and what a pest I’d been, “since the day you were born, bringing me nothing but grief.” And then, “taking off that way, and leaving me that note. I never read such a thing in my life. And on top of that, going to see Ed Vernick and flaunting a mink coat at him. What on earth possessed you?”
    “Mother, cool it.”
    “...You dare say such a thing to me?”
    “I do. Cool it. Knock it off!”
    For some moments she didn’t speak, and then in a different, more sensible tone she asked me, “Where are you?”
    “I said I prefer not to say.”
    “But I have to know, there’s a reason.”
    “What reason?”
    “One I may have, but don’t yet have.”
    “Where I am doesn’t matter, as I’m traveling and first