The Woman Who Fell From Grace

by David Handler

  “And what way was that, Hoagy?”

  “You didn’t kill them. You had nothing to do with either murder.”

  Edward spread his feet slightly, took careful, steady aim at the center of my chest. “You’re a gifted man, Hoagy. You should have stayed at what you know, writing. You’re not as good at this sort of thing. Just good enough to die.”

  “Killing me won’t solve anything, Edward. Polk Four knows too much. He’ll follow the same trail right to you.”

  “And when he does, he’ll do what he’s told, just like Polks One, Two, and Three before him. The Glazes are the power in this valley. We are this valley. Young Polk, he has his sights set on the governor’s mansion. He’ll never make it there without our backing, and he knows it. I’m not worried about him. It’s you I worry about. But my worries end here.”

  So here it was. The end. Staring at me from six feet away. I stared back at it. I wasn’t afraid. There was no fear. Only regret. Because I was going to the here and now with nothing to show for my life, nothing except for two novels, a weird dog, and my independence. I was sorry I’d never see Merilee’s green eyes again. Sorry we hadn’t built a life together, only a truce. Sorry I hadn’t said hello to my father in more than five years. He’d never hear me say it now. If only I lived I’d do something about that. But of course, I wasn’t going to live.

  Edward pulled the trigger. The gun made an odd sound when he did. As if it had fired twice at once. But I barely had time to register that thought. Almost instantly I felt a searing pain in my head, and the rough wooden floor of the gazebo was rushing up at me and I was hurtling down toward it, and then there was only blackness.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  IT WAS PAM’S FACE I saw first. She was standing over me looking very pale and grim. I was lying in a bed, the one in my slaves’ quarters. I was dizzy. My head felt heavy and thick. I reached a hand up to it, fingered it. Something cottony was wrapped around it.

  Pam wasn’t alone. A crowd of people stood circled around me. Most of them wore costumes. Polk Two, Frederick — at least I hoped it was Frederick — Richard, Charlotte, Mercy. Charlotte and Mercy wore elaborate silk gowns over hooped petticoats, and wigs piled high under peacock-feathered hats. More damned peacock feathers. Polk Four stood there in his uniform. The weary old doctor who had signed Fern’s death certificate was there, too. They were all staring at me, looking very serious. Everyone was there. Everyone except —

  Two shots. Not one. Two.

  I tried to speak, but my throat was too dry. Pam held out a glass of water with a straw in it. I drank some. “Lulu … ,” I got out hoarsely. “Luluuuu … ”

  “Here she is, dear boy.” Pam bent down to the floor next to my bed and hoisted her up onto the covers, where Lulu began to wriggle and whoop and lick my fingers. “Safe and sound,” Pam assured me. “As are you.”

  Polk Four leaned forward. “You have Pam here to thank for that, Hoagy,” he explained. “She tailed you out to the gazebo. Overheard the whole thing. She shot him just as he was about to fire at you. His shot went wild. Your wig took most of it.”

  “My wig?” I swallowed. “I admire your definition of a wild shot, Sheriff.”

  “Just got a shallow little groove over your left ear, son, the doctor informed me. “It bled quite a lot, but it’s nothing serious.”

  “You wouldn’t be saying that if it was your ear.” I turned to Pam. “I thought I heard someone behind me on the path. That was you?”

  She nodded. “When you left the kitchen, I took Fern’s gun from my nightstand and followed you out there.”

  “But why?”

  She reddened slightly. “You do have a tendency to get in over your head sometimes, dear boy.”

  “I sure do wish you’d filled me in, Hoagy,” Polk Four said crossly. “Instead of making the hot-dog play.”

  “I honestly didn’t know that’s what I was making. You saved my life, Pam.”

  “Why, yes. I suppose I did.”

  “I owe you one.

  “You could take me home with you when this is over.”

  “Please, Pam. Not in front of all of those people.”

  She smiled. No one else did. They didn’t have much to smile about.

  “Edward is … ?”

  “Edward is dead,” Frederick said quietly. He looked drawn and grief stricken. His eyes moistened. “We came into this world together. We’ve never been apart.” He choked back a sob. “Not ever.”

  “I’m sorry it had to happen, Frederick,” I said. “Only how could you do it? How could you cover for him all these years? He killed two people, one of them your own mother.”

  “He was my twin,” Frederick replied simply. “Right or wrong, he was part of me.”

  “That works for you. Maybe.” I turned to Polk Two. “But not for you, sir.”

  The big old man shifted slowly in his costume, hands gripping his canes tightly. His blue eyes were bright and clear and unapologetic. “I was an employee,” he declared. “I was paid to do a job, and I did it. Nothing I was particularly proud to do, but I did it. People always make the mistake of thinking a politician leads. He doesn’t lead. He follows.”

  “You agree with that?” I asked Polk Four.

  “Not entirely,” the young sheriff replied stiffly.

  Polk Two let out a deep, hacking cough. “Now that Edward is gone, I believe it’s best we put this whole sorry business behind us. Not make a big public spectacle out of it. Be bad for the valley. Bad for everyone. It’s from long ago, and it’s over now.”

  “Not entirely,” I said.

  “That’s right,” Polk Four agreed. “Pam swears she heard you say that Edward didn’t kill Mavis or Fern.”

  “He didn’t,” I acknowledged. “Wasn’t involved in their deaths at all. Merely an unfortunate chain of circumstances for him. Not to mention the two ladies.”

  Mercy frowned and shook her head, baffled. “But if Uncle Edward didn’t kill them, who did?” she wondered.

  They all seemed to stop breathing as they stood there staring at me, waiting for my reply.

  “Steve McQueen,” I said.

  Polk Four frowned and glanced at the doctor, who leaned over me and stuck a light in my eyes. “I did sedate him,” he murmured. “I’m afraid we may be losing him.”

  “You are not,” I insisted, waving him away. “Remember The Great Escape, the McQueen movie?”

  “I’ve seen it on television,” replied Polk Four, baffled.

  “What of it, lad?” inquired Richard, equally baffled.

  “Remember how he got away?” I asked.

  Polk Four scratched his chin. “He didn’t get away. They caught him at the end. Brought him back, and his friend tossed him his baseball mitt as he was being led to the cooler.”

  “Right, right. But when he was on the run, before they caught him. Coburn took a bicycle, Bronson a rowboat, Garner a plane. And McQueen … ”

  “Wasn’t there a car chase or something?” asked Mercy.

  “No, that was Bullitt. He stole a motorcycle off a German — by stretching a wire across the road. The guy ran into it and went flying.”

  “A wire.” Polk Four swallowed. “Okay … ”

  “McQueen happens to be Gordie’s hero,” I said. “And The Great Escape is his favorite movie. He told me he’s seen it a hundred times.”

  “Wait one minute,” declared Richard, incredulous. “Are you actually suggesting it was that little orphan boy who murdered Mavis and Fern?”

  “Ever since Fern fell down those stairs,” I said, “I’ve been wondering what the hell she was doing upstairs in the old house when she was supposed to be serving up our lunch in the kitchen. She was chasing after Gordie. He was playing games with her, getting her mad at him. He got her to chase him into the old house, then up the stairs, and then he hid. When she went in one of the bedrooms to look for him, he tied a wire across the top of the stairs and ran down them, making sure she heard him. She chased after him and being
blind as a bat, tripped over the wire and fell headfirst down the stairs to her death. Then he quickly gathered up the wire and hightailed it out to his room before I found her. Got to hand it to him — he’s a clever little guy.”

  Polk Four gaped at me, aghast. “B-But why did he do it?”

  “He hated her. He thought she was going to take Sadie away from him.”

  “Who is Sadie?” asked Pam.

  “His cat.”

  “I didn’t know he had a cat,” said Richard.

  “He used the same technique to kill Mavis,” I went on. “He knew her patrol route. He tied a wire around two trees and hid. Then removed it after she’d gotten thrown. He killed her because she insisted he go to the VADD Ball. He didn’t want to. The kid lost his whole family. Suffered a major emotional trauma. He needed someone to care about him. He needed help. What he got was a billboard and a room outside next to the garage. So he’s withdrawn, drifted away. Drifted so far he sometimes can’t tell the difference between what he sees on TV and what’s real. He worships McQueen in The Great Escape. He dresses like McQueen does in the movie. He sits and tosses a ball against a wall like McQueen does. He’s even tunneling out in the middle of the night like him. And when Gordie gets real upset at someone, he solves the problem the way he thinks his hero would.”

  No one said anything.

  “I’ll be darned,” Polk Four finally said under his breath. “Guess I … I ought to take the poor little guy into custody.”

  “Don’t be too hard on him, Sheriff,” I said. “He honestly doesn’t know what he’s done. And if it hadn’t been for Gordie, we would never have found out who killed Sterling Sloan.” To Pam I said, “How’s the VADD Ball?”

  “In full swing,” she replied.

  “I want to go,” I declared.

  “You’re hardly up to it, dear boy.”

  “I have to go,” I insisted.

  Polk Four frowned. “And why is that, Hoagy? “What else is left?”

  “Kissinger. I have to see Kissinger.”

  The doctor leaned over me again. “I believe we are losing him.”

  And this time they were.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  EDWARD GLAZE’S DEATH MADE kind of a nice capper to the Oh, Shenandoah golden-anniversary festivities. At least all of the press who were around seemed to think so. They had loads of good, dirty fun with the story — the whole story. The deaths of Sterling Sloan and Alma Glaze fifty years ago. The deaths of the three women during the past few weeks. Polk Four insisted on a full and complete disclosure. Polk Two wasn’t happy about that. After all, it didn’t make him or the Glazes look too good. But Polk Four insisted on it. He showed me a lot of class by the way he handled the situation. He showed everybody a lot. Made quite a name for himself. Don’t be too surprised if he does turn up in the governor’s mansion one day soon.

  I asked him to do me one small favor. I wanted him to impress on the media just how crucial the courageous testimony of actor Rex Ransom had been. The sheriff complied. Rex got a lot of attention as a result. Appeared on Letterman. Landed a lucrative series of denture-cream commercials. Even got carte blanche from the studio to keep on appearing around the country as the Masked Avenger. I never heard from Rex again, but I still watch the Masked Avenger in reruns. And he’s still my hero.

  The Major League Editor started calling me again. Not just to breathe down my neck either, although Sweet Land and how it was coming along did come up. She wanted me to write a book about the scandal after I finished up. Major advance. Major upside. Major excitement from her end. “True-life crime has become the fiction of the nineties,” is how she put it, burbling. I turned her down. She immediately offered it to Frederick. He immediately accepted. He needs the money. He’s still looking for a ghost. If you’re interested, you can contact him care of Shenandoah, Staunton, Va. I forget the zip code. He’s also looking for a new lawyer.

  Gordie was, placed in the children’s ward of the state mental hospital in Charlottesville for observation. A team of child psychiatrists interviewed and tested him. It didn’t take them long to diagnose that he needed permanent care. At the insistence of Mercy Glaze he was transferred to a private children’s mental hospital nearby. The cost, seven hundred dollars a day, will be paid by the Glazes. His case will be reviewed every couple of years. He may get out someday. For now he has his own room and bath, and there’s a baseball team.

  Our last night at Shenandoah, Lulu woke me at the usual time for our usual date. She was particularly anxious. I’d been packing all evening — she knew we were leaving. I was anxious myself. I didn’t know what she was going to do. Would she choose Bowser over me? Would she stay behind? Would I let her? Did I have a right to interfere? I didn’t know.

  Roy was still pulling wall duty. And still asleep on the job. He didn’t hear us approach. Didn’t see Bowser burrow under the wall and start toward us. Didn’t see Bowser stop and turn and casually wait for his companion to burrow under it, too.

  She was a collie. A real fox, too.

  Lulu was so stunned she sounded as if she were going to choke.

  Bowser wasn’t particularly happy to see her. He sniffed at her coolly, as if she were a bad memory. The collie showed Lulu her teeth, the bitch. Then the two of them kept on going across the pasture. I guess they were just crossing Shenandoah on their way home. Or maybe he’d purposely gone out of his way — just to rub Lulu’s nose in it. That’s the sort of guy he was. Lulu sat there at my feet and watched them go, whimpering. Then she began to shake and tried to climb up my leg. I picked her up and carried her back to our quarters and gave her a bowl of milk with a slug of Macallan in it. She lapped it all up and fell instantly to sleep.

  I didn’t say it. I didn’t say I told you so. It wouldn’t have done any good, and she’d have bit me.

  Polk Four stopped by in the morning to see us off. I was loading up the Jag when he pulled up in his cruiser, clean shaven and crisply pressed as ever. Still, he looked different to me. Not so certain of himself and his mission in life. That’ll happen when the earth moves under your feet for the first time.

  “Want to hear something funny, Hoagy?” he said, striding over to me.

  “Desperately.”

  “I thought this whole business would drive Mercy and me apart. Send each of us running for cover. It hasn’t. If anything, it’s brought the two of us closer, in a way we never were before. It’s as if we share something.”

  “You do. You’ve both joined the so-called real world. Welcome to it.”

  “Thanks.” He stuck out his hand and smiled. “Thanks, pardner.”

  I shook it. “So long, pardner,” I said, smiling back at him, liking him.

  Pam came outside then with Mercy and Frederick. Richard and Charlotte followed. Those two seemed quite shy around each other now. She also seemed a little less drab to me now. There was a hint of color to her cheeks, a liveliness to her step. Maybe it was just my imagination. But I do know Richard’s nervous tic had vanished. He was at ease. He was also sober. He carried Pam’s suitcases. There was only room for one of them in the trunk. The other we’d have to ship north with the rest of my stuff.

  “I’ll be sending you more pages as soon as I have them,” I informed Mercy. “Partly for your research assistance. Mostly for your approval. You’re the boss now. The book won’t get into print unless you like it.”

  “I know I’ll love it,” she assured me.

  “Don’t say that. I’m a writer like any other — I need someone to put their foot on my neck and keep it there.” Polk Four frowned at this. “Figure of speech, Sheriff,” I explained.

  Mercy drew herself up. “Very well,” she said sternly. “I’ll expect several chapters by the end of the month, and they’d just better be up to Grandmother’s standards.”

  “That’s more like it, boss.”

  “Thank you.” She giggled, made a quick, awkward step toward me, and kissed my cheek, blushing furiously. Then she lunged for the security
of Polk, who put his arm around her, proud as can be. God, they were sturdy.

  I shook hands with Richard and Charlotte and wished the two of them luck. Frederick as well.

  “Absolutely sure I can’t talk you into taking on this book of mine next?” Frederick asked me.

  “Positive.”

  “That’s too bad. Think they’d let me have a woman writer?” he wondered.

  “I don’t see why not,” I replied.

  “Yes, I think a woman’s sensitivity would be a genuine asset,” he mused aloud, nodding. “Any suggestions?”

  “One. Keep your hands to yourself.”

  He turned to Pam, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Sure you have to leave, dear? Seems like we’re just getting to know each other.”

  “Quite sure,” Pam replied curtly.

  We got into the Jag. Lulu and Sadie curled up on the floor together at Pam’s feet, Sadie using Lulu as a pillow, and Lulu letting her. She was so depressed nothing bothered her. Actually, the two of them seemed to be growing on each other. Because of their shared diet, Sadie thought Lulu was a cat and Lulu thought Sadie was a dog. I wasn’t about to break the truth to either of them.

  Frederick’s eyes hadn’t left Pam. He waved good-bye somewhat wistfully.

  “The man’s an absolute beast,” she murmured to me.

  “We all are, Pam,” I said, starting up the engine. “It’s just that some of us are better at hiding it. I’d have thought you’d have no problem handling him.”

  “As would I,” she admitted, sighing. “Except that when they’re as terribly handsome as he is, I have a frightful time saying no. In fact, I can’t.”

  “Why, Pam,” I gasped, shocked. “You slut.”

  “It’s high time you found out,” she said. “After all, we are going to be living together.”