15.
At first, he could not understand her hurry.
She was wearing his pants again but had managed to find herself a smaller shirt, the top half of a set of silk pyjamas he’d once received as a gift and never worn. (She made some internal decisions about the giver, but did not go looking for confirmation.) Having administered a few knots in the right places, Heike now looked almost as though she were a woman wearing women’s clothes: Dolan’s words. She went about the house gathering up her things, the torn dress, her stockings, the bit of newspaper she’d wrapped around her Dresden doll.
The china figurine itself had gone missing. They’d left it on the table at dinner and gone on to other distractions, the little charge down to the water’s edge. He told her not to worry. Mrs. Hammond had almost certainly tidied it away with the rest of the dishes. The figurine was probably washed and polished and set safely in storage in the kitchen, Dolan said.
— Then where is it? Heike made an exaggerated motion of gently closing a cupboard door. He’d asked her not to slam.
— Ask her yourself.
Mrs. Hammond, also, could not be found.
They’d been through every cupboard. Heike began a search of the back pantry. When he asked her what the rush was about, she told him to go find his car keys. She wanted to find Rita, the maid. She wanted to have a talk with her, she said, at her own house. Someplace the girl might feel safer, more honest.
— Don’t get your hopes up, Dolan said. Most maids are little fools. Are you sure she was even aware she was babysitting?
Heike said the servants always know everything about a house.
— Secrets are all they have, she said. It’s what gives them their power.
Dolan half-turned to the doorway to find the keys, then turned back again.
— If you want me to be nice and drive you places, you’re going to have to stop smashing things.
She clinked her way through the jam jars. On waking, her long night had seemed only part of a strange dream, but the discovery of the figurine’s absence left her uneasy. What she wanted was to find it someplace banal, set aside as you might any dusty trinket, in a way that would somehow prove that her feeling of dread the night before had been only that. Jitters.
There was nothing hidden away in the pantry; the shelves were open and stacked with canned peaches, tomatoes, pickled beans. Even the stamped glass jars were clear and plain, incapable of deception.
— Maybe she put it upstairs, Heike said. Do you have a display cabinet, anything, someplace you keep such things?
— I have a liquor cabinet. I don’t buy “such things.”
He followed her at a safe distance, watching as she made a quick inventory of his dresser drawers, the baskets of towels and bedding in the linen closets that lined the upper hall. When they came to the office door, she paused.
He’d been up and out of the house before she’d woken the second time, late in the morning. There had been a tray with a thermal carafe of coffee waiting for her in the bedroom, but no note or indication that he planned to return. It had taken her the better part of an hour to get up the courage to go looking for him. No way of knowing if he’d seen Mrs. Hammond down in the kitchen, or what they might have talked about.
She found him standing in the middle of the lawn, reading Variety. He wanted a bit of sun, he told her. He didn’t seem any different; that is, he seemed, if anything, warmer to her, letting his arm with the magazine drop to his side and watching her approach with a golden affection. The possibility that Mrs. Hammond was a liar danced at the fringe of Heike’s mind, and for a moment she allowed it in. Her bare feet in the grass, and she shifted her weight back and forth nervously until he kissed her.
Now he went into the office ahead of her and leaned up against the high stool at the drawing table, his legs long enough that the seat did not offer him a boost. There were no drawers or hiding places in the room; just the bookshelves, easily searched, and of course the desk. She stood in the hallway, the heat rising in her body. Anxious, or embarrassed, or ashamed. She hated him for it.
No. This was not quite true. It was more removed than that. She understood in the moment that she was supposed to hate him for it. In fact, she hated Mrs. Hammond. She hated the desk itself; she hated the dark-haired woman. She hated her sunglasses. She hated the girl she’d been the night before—herself, Heike. The foolishness of that girl, spooking so easily, accidentally putting a finger on answers to questions she had not meant to ask.
She went over to the storyboard wall and pulled her sketch off the line.
— This isn’t yours, she said.
Dolan’s brow lifted. He glanced around the room, as though hoping to find some other person who might commiserate with him. But there was only Heike.
— There wasn’t a question of it being mine. It’s your story.
— I won’t leave it.
— Are you leaving, then?
She didn’t answer but stood there.
— Because I thought you wanted me to drive you places.
There was a beat as Dolan waited for her to speak, but Heike said nothing.
— Wherever it ends up, he said, for what it’s worth, I’d rather you stayed.
She stood there with the storyboard in both hands, holding it in front of her body like a shield. He pushed off the stool and went over to the desk and rattled at the lid, surprised to find it locked.
— Listen. Let me just find my notebook here.
He was going through his pockets now, looking for something. The key to the secretary. As he pulled out the little key on its ring, Heike remembered her water glass. She’d put the glass down inside the desk, and Mrs. Hammond had sealed it in there.
— Wait, she said.
But he’d already turned the key in the lock. Dolan flipped the lid down with one hand; with the other, he took hold of the drawer underneath, pulling it out as a support for the desktop.
— Well, hey. Here you go!
Inside the desk, the water glass was gone. Heike’s Dresden figurine stood in its place.
— Why do you suppose she hid it away in here? Dolan said. He handed the figurine back to Heike, and she stepped forward to take it. He didn’t turn toward her. He had the notebook open already, a pencil moving in his hand.
THE GIRL, RITA, sat sullenly on a kitchen chair while Heike drew closer and closer, pulling her own chair along with her as she went. With every question she inched forward, as though she could eventually eliminate the gap between them and dive down the girl’s throat and into her heart. The chair’s wooden feet rasping against the linoleum floor each time. Dolan winced at the noise and also at Heike’s naked, earnest look. Scraping along with her chair.
She kept her eyes on Rita. Dolan was there in her periphery, a shine to his black shoes, his back leaned up against the kitchen counter. When he’d had enough, he came around behind her and sat down in his own chair and pulled it close with one long scuffing sound. He took out his cigarettes and tossed them onto the table and spun the pack first toward Heike and then toward the girl. It was an offer.
Rita said she did not remember when Eric had come home that night, or if he’d gone out again. She did not remember any visitors coming to the house. She had not thought to go upstairs: why should she? Heike had said she’d put the little boy to bed before they left. With every one of Heike’s questions, Rita shot Dolan a pained look that he did not fully understand.
— I need your help, Heike said. Tell me everything. Tell me what you do remember.
IT HAD NOT BEEN Rita who’d opened the door when they arrived. The drive had taken longer than necessary, since Heike knew the route only vaguely, and only from her own place, with Eric, on Cayuga. In the car, she’d crouched on the floor of the front seat as soon as they were close to Union Springs. Dolan looked down at her instead of at the road.
— Don’t get too close, she told him. What if he sees me?
Dolan told her she looked like a two-bit ga
ngster groping for her lost shotgun, hiding like that.
— Not a moll? I’m coming up in the world.
He said the molls were taking over the asylum. Heike brought her eyes up to the level of the window and tapped on the glass with a knuckle.
— Here, here! You make a right, see?
Rita had almost always walked to and from the house alone; Heike hadn’t had much opportunity to see where and how she lived. Once, or maybe twice, she’d been in the car when Eric dropped her home. Only if they were headed out someplace together as a family, and even then, it wasn’t the sort of thing Heike was likely to take note of. It’s easy enough to find a girl to do the dishes, especially in summer, when the schools are out for vacation.
She told Dolan to slow down in front of a long, low house, a new construction in a town of old properties. He stopped the car and tugged on the brake.
— This one, she said. I’m almost sure of it.
— Why do I have to come?
— They might not let me in without you. Look at me! You make me seem more respectable.
She climbed out of the car. He watched her brush off her pants and the knotted silk pyjama shirt.
— That’s a fact.
But it had been the wide-lipped waitress from Dolan’s party who answered when Heike knocked at the door. There was a moment of silence as all three stumbled through recognition and worked to place each other in time. It was Heike who made the connection first, but for a moment she was too confused by it to speak. The girl beat her to it.
— If you’re looking for Mickey, he don’t live here.
This was aimed at Dolan. His brow lifted slightly, and he turned to Heike. Mickey? He mouthed the name without actually speaking. The girl kept going:
— What, does he owe you money or something?
Heike said:
— She’s the girl from the greenhouse. You remember? Your cocktail waitress.
There was a silence.
— You took his keys, Dolan said finally. You made a big brouhaha.
— I always take his keys when he’s been drinking. My old man used to get blitzed and that’s how he died, driving himself home from the tavern. She hadn’t stepped back to let them in, and kept one hand firm on the doorknob. But like I said: Mickey ain’t here.
— We’re not looking for Mickey, Heike said. I was looking for a girl, a little maid who used to come and do a bit of kitchen work at my house. Just down that way. She jogged her elbow back in the direction they’d come from. Rita, she said. But we must have the wrong place.
The girl’s mouth came together like she’d tasted something sour and didn’t know how to get rid of it.
— What do you want Rita for?
— Do you know where she lives?
— Sure. What do you want her for?
Heike told her she’d lost something precious, and the girl assumed Rita had stolen it.
— She’s my sister. The girl took a wide step backwards, as though it was herself and not the door that operated on hinges. I’ll get her down here for you. She took a breath and bellowed up the stairs.
Dolan and Heike followed her to the kitchen. She pointed at a couple of wooden chairs: first one, then the other, then back again. It was her way of inviting them to sit. Dolan leaned back and pulled out his cigarettes. Heike remained standing behind her chair, one hand resting on its back.
— Your face is looking much better, you know.
The girl didn’t respond, but they stared at each other. Heike came around to the front of the chair but still did not sit down.
— You never told me your name, she said.
There was a dishtowel lying on the kitchen counter, and the girl leaned sideways to grab it. She moved over to the stove and fussed with the towel, hanging it over the oven door handle and smoothing it out. She was no taller than Heike.
— It’s Miriam.
— I’m pleased to meet you, Miriam. You must forgive the way I’m dressed.
Heike stepped toward her again, hoping to relate in her expression a gentle reminder of their first meeting, that night in the greenhouse, Miriam hiding out with her swollen eye.
— I need Rita’s help, she said, reaching out to touch the girl’s arm.
— My sister’s not bad, Miriam said. She’s going through a rough patch since our old man died. You know what kids are like. Anyway, I don’t know what she stole from you, but it’s not because she’s a bad kid.
There was a thump, and Rita appeared at the bottom of the steps. When she saw Heike, she froze in the doorway. Miriam walked over and cuffed her in the side of the head.
— What’d you steal from this lady?
It took Heike half an hour of convincing to get her to answer any questions after that.
DOLAN STUBBED OUT HIS CIGARETTE, pushing aside the others he’d already left in the ashtray.
— Either she doesn’t know anything, he said. Or she won’t tell.
Rita had answered every query with a shrug. Heike narrowed her line of questioning further and further, hoping that even a simple yes or no response might push open some door, lead them off in a new direction: Did anyone come to the house while we were out? Did Mr. Lerner speak to you when he returned? Did Mr. Lerner go upstairs at all? What time did he get home? Did he stay at home after that, or did he go out again?
— Why don’t you just tell me everything you do remember about that night, Heike said. From the moment you arrived at my house. Okay, you came to the front door. You took off your coat. What happened next?
Rita slouched in her chair.
— It’s July, she said. What would I have a coat on for?
Heike brightened. She’d finally gotten through.
— Okay, no coat. Then what?
The girl stared at her as though Heike might be simple.
— I put on my apron.
— Wonderful. What did you do with your apron on?
— Mr. Lerner told me to stay the night, she said. So I went into the laundry room and put my bag in there with my nightgown. There was some ironing in the basket, and I did that, and I took the duster and went over all the books and things in the main room, like I always do. Then I watched the television for a while: it was Ozzie and Harriet and Our Miss Brooks. And I was gonna watch Schlitz Playhouse, but I fell asleep.
— But you were awake when I got home in the morning. And when Mr. Lerner got home?
— Sure, I got up early to get breakfast on. There was a load of dishes left over in the sink. There was a roasting pan from the day before, and nobody soaked it or nothing. I had to scrub it with the cloth, and old meat got under my fingernails.
— You didn’t like that.
— Would you?
Dolan drummed on the table with his matchbook. Heike leaned to one side and swiped it out of his hand.
— What did you do when the dishes were clean?
Rita stared at her.
— I put ’em away, she said. Her voice was flat and final.
Dolan leaned forward in his chair, knees wide and his elbows resting on them.
— Rita, do you like trinkets?
The girl turned to him, fish-eyed.
— If you can tell us anything about what happened to the little boy, the lady’s little boy, we’ll go straight to town and buy you the prettiest necklace in the costume jewellery display. The very prettiest, he said.
The girl looked first at her sister, then back to Dolan. She seemed suddenly nervous.
— Any one I want?
— You name it.
— Leo, Heike said. Don’t bribe the girl. I don’t want her making up lies.
— There’s a red necklace at Platt’s, Rita said. With a daisy pendant. It’s in the front case. Red glass beads and a daisy pendant.
— It’s not a bribe. It’s motivation. Isn’t it, Rita? Dolan got up from where he’d been sitting. Daisy pendant, he said. Got it. Now let’s cut to the quick here. Tell me what you saw. Did Mr. Lerner take the little boy so
meplace?
Dolan had his car keys out and they jangled about in his hand.
— I never seen him, Rita said.
Heike pushed back in her seat.
— Of course you did. He was there when I got home. You were in the kitchen. Mr. Lerner was right there.
Rita turned briefly to look at Heike, then back to Dolan.
— I mean I never seen him. Him. The little boy she wants.
Heike’s shoulders dropped.
— But surely you looked in on him? He was sleeping.
Rita didn’t respond; Heike’s interruptions seemed to irritate her. She twisted her body in the chair so that it was clear she was talking only to Dolan. Now that she had his attention and the promise of a present on the horizon, her story had become a detailed account.
— Like I said, I fell asleep watching the television. When I woke up, it was almost morning anyway, so I thought I might as well get up. First I scrubbed the dirty pots and put ’em away, and then I had to clean my hands. It was real early in the morning, and I wanted to have my cup of tea, so I did that. I made the tea and I drank it in the kitchen, and then I washed up my cup and I put that away, too. Then I went upstairs.
— What time was this? Dolan said.
— How should I know? I’m not a clock-watcher.
— Before Mr. Lerner came home.
— It was early, like I said. I don’t wash dishes too fast. And they were messy, and I didn’t like the dirt getting under my fingernails.
Heike stood up.
— You didn’t go upstairs at all before that? All night long, you just left him there?
Rita turned toward her now. She gave her a hard glare.
— Don’t think you can talk to me like that. I know about you. You’re just a patient, too.
Miriam stepped in and boxed her ear again.
— You be nice!
— It’s alright. Heike crouched down by Rita’s knee: That’s true. I was Dr. Lerner’s patient. It was a long time ago. Right now I’m trying to find my son.
Rita kept one hand on the side of her head and rubbed her ear. Her eyes stayed on her sister, but she was talking faster now.
— I didn’t see anything and I didn’t do anything, and he fired me anyway. He’s got a new maid now. Why don’t you ask her about it?
Hysteria Page 23
