Lydia did not nurse a real grudge, but the fact remained that the kitchen was the room for which she had least preference in any house. In the apartment they had shared at college, she and Bobby lived on big bags of apples and takeout from the nearest restaurant, which happened to be Korean.
This house might be amusing when one was indoors, but circumnavigating it in the darkness did not bring affection for the architect. How she longed to be back with the good old banal rectilinear, unnatural though it might be amongst foliage and granite outcroppings. More than once she had to leave a cul-de-sac or backtrack from an impasse, but eventually she blundered upon the rank of lighted casement windows that distinguished the kitchen.
An empty kitchen—which could have been expected if Lyman was truly stalking Chuck through the labyrinthine house. But the deserted table, with its horizontaled, dead-soldier gin bottle, would also make sense if Chuck was playing his possum game in that back hallway long after the police chief had driven off into the night, a much more likely state of affairs given the absence of Lyman’s jeep from the parking area, where she next took her investigation.
The two vehicles belonging to the Graveses stood alone once again. Her now established night vision could see that and in fact more: the tires of both station wagon and compact sedan were flat and, as she confirmed by touch, permanently ruined. All eight had been slashed.
Now that was definitely Lyman’s work, but was it mere impulsive spite or rather part of Chuck’s master plan? For that matter, had the chief made his appearance for the reason he had named or had his arrival too been according to the grand design?
She returned to the house and entered the kitchen via the screen door, to the upper panel of which numerous insects adhered, seeing which she was retroactively aware that she had been bitten by multitudinous mosquitoes while traveling around the outer wall of the house; and with a significant fall of temperature at sunset, characteristic of the shore, the night was cool for her thin shirt. But some natural economy of being had kept these uncomfortable facts from her attention while she was outdoors and admitted them only now when she was safe inside.
She had expected the situation to be much worse: namely, that Lyman would still be on the premises, pistol in hand. If Chuck was once again on his own, what could be done to deal with him that had not already been tested and failed? In a sense the coming of Lyman had opened up new possibilities, which were now nullified by his departure.
While Lydia was dealing with such reflections, Chuck himself sidled furtively into the kitchen. Each was startled by the other.
“Lyman’s gone?”
“You’re asking me?” she said with disdain. “He’s your partner.”
The houseguest showed her an uneasy smile. “I won’t question how you happen to be at large while the rest of them are barricaded in their cowardly fashion back there, but I congratulate you on finally coming to your senses. Now let’s get going before he comes back with the whole carload.” He was moving towards the screen door.
“What do you mean?”
“He went to fetch the others. Sunday nights, they all drink in the back room of the grocery store. … . Do I have to get more explicit?”
“I don’t care what you get,” said Lydia, “except lost. Unfortunately, however, now that you’ve finally decided to leave, you can’t—unless this is another trick.”
Chuck winced as though genuinely hurt. “Look, I just risked my life again for your sake. Lyman wanted to go for you. When I stopped him, he pulled his gun on me!”
Lydia stared at him for a moment, then used, uncharacteristically, a scatological term.
“All right,” Chuck cried, “call it bullshit, but let’s just get out of here before he comes back with that bunch. I’m related to them, but I tell you frankly they’re animals when they’re full of beer. And they’ve got nothing to fear: Lyman’s the law on this island.”
Lydia felt a chill, but she was nevertheless pleased to frustrate Chuck even though she herself would share in his disadvantage. “Didn’t you hear me? Nobody can leave now. All the tires have been slashed.”
Chuck pursed his lips. “I wouldn’t smile if I were you. You’re facing a gang-bang, unless I can stop them somehow.”
She resisted fright with anger. “It’s because of you we’re in this mess. And they’re your people!”
“Maybe I’m being contrite,” he said sadly. “Maybe it’s no longer just a matter of pulling a malicious joke on those to whom it would be of no permanent consequence.”
“Oh, really? I want you to know that I think you’re garbage.”
“That’s too bad,” said Chuck. “Because maybe I care for you. Can’t you ever put your self-righteousness aside and consider that possibility?” For an instant he had succeeded in getting her attention, but then squandered his chance by adding, “Can’t you ever be more than the little smart-ass opportunist?”
“You scum,” she said. “What are you? A Finch?”
She had found the effective term. His face colored. “Just wait till that carload of drunks gets here, kiddo: you’ll be begging your Uncle Chuck to save your skin. Some of my country cousins never get a woman year in, year out: they just bugger one another. Imagine what they will do to a little girl like you.”
“Stop calling me little!” she cried. “I’m as big as you.”
He started towards her. “I’ll show you who’s big.”
The large chef’s knife was on the counter: the kitchen police had not got around to it before being interrupted by Lyman’s arrival. Lydia now snatched up this formidable blade and pointed it at her enemy.
“Just a minute,” said Chuck. “You’re no knife-fighter.” But he halted his advance.
“Now, just give me that gun you carry.” She gestured towards his lower leg.
“Gun?”
“The pistol you carry in the ankle holster.”
He jerked his chin in what would seem a silent laugh. He simultaneously pulled up both legs of the trousers: above his low socks only pale skin could be seen on either limb.
This single fact could be devastating. Was the gun altogether a fantasy of Doug’s? If so, then Chuck was not dangerous, and indeed not guilty of anything but entering her bed under false pretenses—if even that charge could be sustained. After all, he had not worn a disguise.
Lydia waved the knife at him. “Sit down.” He took the chair that had been occupied by Doug at that wretched dinner. “I want to ask you something.” But it was not as easy as that. “Look … earlier, in the bedroom, uh, did you think I knew who you were?”
Chuck frowned. For the first time she noticed that his mouth looked not quite fully formed: no doubt that accounted for the boyishness of his appearance, but so did the flat hair with its neat parting.
At last he said, “I wish I knew what you were talking about.”
“I’m trying to find out some information which might have an effect on this whole business.”
He produced a cynical smile. “Yes, it might be nice to know just how it happened that I was transformed from an honored guest into the whipping boy of this household, and why I have been the target of several attacks, mostly by you, on whom I’ve never laid a hand except in love.”
She was angry again. “Oh, is that what you call it?”
He shrugged. “Now I suppose you’re going to knife me for saying that? What the hell is wrong with you, woman?”
She would never discover the truth if she continued to be deflected by emotion. “All I want to know,” she told him now, “is just what you thought you were doing when you simply opened the door and came in and got in bed with me?”
He smiled as if at an imaginary personage at her side. “God Almighty. I’ve never been asked a question like that before.” He sighed. “What do you think I thought?” He sighed again. “Bobby told me to go back and see you, said you wanted to thank me for saving your life. So when I knocked at the door and you invited me in, and there you were, naked and in bed
…”
“I never invited you to come in,” said Lydia, with quiet vehemence. “And I’m even giving you the benefit of the doubt about your so-called knocking: if you did, I didn’t hear it. I was asleep.”
He extended his forefinger. “Wait a minute.” He was grinning in disbelief. “You’re not saying you were sleeping? That stuff you were saying was mere sleep-talk!”
“What stuff?”
“The dirty stuff.” He looked from side to side in apparent exasperation.
She shouted, waving the knife, “I’ve never talked dirty in my life, in or out of bed.”
He sneered. “All right, so while I’ve got it in you, some other girl is bending over with her mouth in my ear, yelling, ‘Oh, give it to me, baby!’”
And she had actually been wondering whether he might have had some small argument, however flawed, to justify his actions! He was a hyena, and she might well have attacked him with the big knife, even though he was unarmed, had not Doug, followed by Bobby, rushed in from the butler’s pantry. The father seized Chuck and held him to the chair while the son tied him snugly at wrists and ankles with what looked like venetian-blind cord.
“There we are!” said Doug with great satisfaction, as he stood back and inspected the houseguest-in-bondage.
“I didn’t say anything of the sort!” Lydia protested, fearing her husband and father-in-law had heard Chuck’s most recent and most outlandish lies.
Neither acknowledged the plea. Doug looked at her and said, “Well, that’s done.”
“Go ahead, Lyd,” Bobby urged, ebulliently. “Take your revenge. He can’t do anything. Carve your initials in his forehead if you want.”
Chuck was expressionless. He certainly showed no fear.
Lydia returned the knife to the counter. “I don’t want that kind of revenge.”
“He did it to you when you were helpless!” Bobby cried.
Doug spoke soberly. “I assure you, Lydia, this is no place for civilized scruples, We’ve been invaded by the barbarians. They don’t understand decency, and they take mercy for weakness. Unless we act decisively now that we have the chance, this menace will get worse and worse.” Without warning, he turned and violently swatted Chuck across the side of the head. “This little turd, if you’ll pardon my language, must be terminated.”
Lydia winced. “Oh, please! Is that necessary? By the way, he isn’t armed.”
Doug knelt and in turn roughly raised each of Chuck’s trouser cuffs. He rose and slapped the houseguest again, this time across the left cheek. “Where is it, you little shit?”
“Stop that!” Lydia said. “We don’t need that.”
“But it’s so satisfying,” Doug said, with a grim smile. “Where’s the pistol?” Chuck shrugged within his bonds. Doug struck him again.
“Dammit!” Lydia said. “I don’t like this.”
Doug sneered at her. “Just don’t say it brings us down to his level.”
“Well, doesn’t it?”
“Of course it does,” said Bobby. “But that’s where we should be. Why expect us to be saints? We’re only human.” He too slapped the helpless Chuck.
Lydia was nauseated by this behavior. “I don’t want you to strike this man again!”
“All right, then,” said Doug. “Let’s try him, find him guilty, and carry out the death sentence.”
“Don’t joke like that.”
“If you think I’m joking, Lydia, then just watch.” Doug sat down and, taking up the empty gin bottle, banged its bottom against the surface of the table. “The jury will here and now assemble.” Bobby took a chair across from his father. Chuck was between them. Doug pointed at Lydia. “Take your place.”
At that moment Audrey came into the kitchen. “You’ll be happy to know I haven’t been able to find any breakage anywhere. I don’t know what those shots were fired at, but they didn’t seem to hit anything of ours.” She avoided looking at Chuck. “Where is that horrible police chief?”
“He left when the bottle was empty,” said Doug. “That’s obvious. He can be disregarded: he’s just a hick cop. We’ve got no reason to fear him or anybody else from these trash. Remove this thorn from our side, and our troubles will be over. And we must do it in a way that will cow all the other Finches once and for good.”
Lydia was trying to fight off a moral dizziness. For that reason alone she sat down in the chair indicated by her father-in-law.
“You, too,” he said to Audrey, “and be quick about it. This thing has gone on too long as it is.” He addressed Chuck. “All right, there you have it, a jury of your peers. You’re getting a lot more justice than you would give to anyone in your power.” He banged the table again with the gin bottle. “The court will come to order. The defendant is charged with criminal trespass, carrying a concealed firearm, grand theft, assault and battery, and rape. I’m entering a plea of nolo contendere in your behalf, so you can’t say you’ve been railroaded.”
“No!” Lydia said, rising though her head was by no means clear. “He has counsel to represent him. … . We plead not guilty on all counts.”
“Are you demented?” Doug asked. “You’re a witness for the prosecution!”
“I won’t be a party to a burlesque of justice.”
Bobby spoke to his father. “She’s showing the strain of her ordeal.” To his wife he said, “Calm yourself, Lyd. Take your time, and you will come to understand that there’s no other way to deal with this matter. It isn’t as if anyone likes the job. It simply has to be done.”
“I don’t agree,” she said. “I’ll never agree.”
“You tell ’em, kid,” Chuck said, grinning.
“I wouldn’t joke about this if I were you,” she told him. “Can’t you see they mean it?”
“Sure we do!” Doug said. “We’re dead serious, and we’re all one in this. Am I right, Audrey?”
His wife performed a slow sad nod.
“Audrey!” Lydia asked. “Do you understand what they’re threatening to do?”
Her mother-in-law shrugged, but as if she were physically chilled rather than morally indifferent. “I’ve always made it my policy never to interfere with Doug when he’s convinced about something. There are times when you have to fall in line.”
“We’re talking about killing a helpless man!”
“Mind you, I don’t relish the thought,” said Audrey. “But still …”
“Lydia.” Bobby spoke sternly. “I don’t believe you understand that this is just as much my idea as Dad’s.”
“What’s that got to do with it?” Adrenaline was an effective force against vertigo. Lydia had regained her balance. She strode to a position near the refrigerator. “Look, I agree with you that Chuck has acted badly. Undoubtedly he should be made to leave, but—”
“He’ll just come back,” said Doug. “You know that.”
“He’s right!” Chuck cackled triumphantly. “That’s what I’ll do.”
Lydia shouted at him. “Will you shut up! Are you trying to put the noose around your neck?”
Chuck laughed. “I can’t see the purpose in dissembling at this point. I maintained my mask while it was useful, but whom could I fool now by pretending to be the kind of fellow who tries to do the right thing by the standards of these people?”
“This has nothing to do with standards!” Lydia said, but was immediately aware that she had not said precisely what she meant.
Doug snorted. “Well, I’ll give the devil his due on that score: if you can’t see a fundamental difference in principles here, then you’re really not qualified to render a judgment. Look, this man has abused our hospitality! Can there be a greater crime? Think of what that means to the whole matter of civilization.”
“On the other side you have my charge,” said Chuck. “That these people are worthless parasites. If I were as pompous as this useless human being, I might ask you to think of how that reflects on the culture. You’re going to have to make a choice sooner or later, Lydia.”
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br /> Instead she asked, “What’s your own use, Chuck? So far as I can see, you’re the most useless person here, and furthermore you’re a charlatan.”
He finally lost his good humor. “I wasn’t born to privilege,” he snarled. “Nor did I marry into it. I had to hack my own way up out of the swamp, with damn little help from anybody. I don’t mind saying I’m proud of what I made of myself. I could have been just another Lyman.”
“Do you really think you’re better off?” She found self-righteousness the most contemptible of his traits.
Doug pounded the table with the gin bottle. “I’ve heard quite enough. The defendant is found guilty on all counts. I therefore sentence him to be put to death by water.”
Lydia shrieked, “Stop this! Stop it right now!”
But Doug and Bobby each took one of Chuck’s arms and raised him from the chair.
“We’ll do it in the pool,” Doug said. “It’ll be neat and clean, and easily explained as a swimming accident, probably the result of falling in while drunk. The autopsy will support that: he’s got alcohol in his system.”
“They’ve worked it all out, Lydia,” Chuck said tauntingly. “Going to drown me like a kitten in a bag.”
“No,” said Bobby. “Like a rat!”
Lydia blocked their route to the screen door. “I warn you,” she said, “I’ll have to tell the authorities.”
“But there aren’t any,” said Doug. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
Sagging between his captors, Chuck jeered, “Maybe your own days are numbered, Lydia. You’ll be next.”
“Shut up, you rat!” ordered Bobby, jerking Chuck at the armpit. “You don’t know anything about the way decent people act!”
Despite Bobby’s bluster, he was not all that keen on drowning Chuck. Most of his enthusiasm for the project had been feigned, for the purpose of gaining his father’s approval. So far as he himself was concerned, while he was not quite ready to let bygones be, he had not been convinced that Chuck’s offenses called for a capital response. Then what would be left as punishment for those who committed hideous and irreversible crimes involving mutilation and murder? The concept of civilized behavior would seem to include at least a sense of balance, if not justice in the narrowest of legalistic senses. But he was only too aware of how his father would react if he were so foolish as to bring up such matters.
The Houseguest Page 17
