Murder Runs in the Family

by Anne George

  I suddenly felt dizzy. I put my head down against my knees. "You mean," my voice was muffled against my pants legs, "that all that's happened has been about getting even with a man who looked like a weasel?"

  "Of course not," Meg said, "but it sure made it easier. You see, Bobby was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. He'd figured out who was tampering the records. And we made quite a bit of money while we were setting Georgiana up, didn't we, Cassie? Quite a bit. Heidi Williams is going to be able to live very comfortably somewhere. Maybe Key

  West. Or Toronto? They say the theater there is spectacular."

  "What about Cassie?" I asked.

  "Oh, she'll stay here if she likes. Georgiana's responsible for everything, the murders and all the changes that have been made in the lineage charts. And for stealing and destroying records. That's what Cassie's making sure of now. Yesterday when we thought Georgiana was going to die, we didn't think We would have to be so careful." Meg grinned. "She's had that ulcer for forty years. My 'help me' message did a number on it, didn't it?"

  "You just walked in and shot him?" I mumbled against my legs.

  The dreamy voice again. "I almost didn't. He thought I was a woman named, I understand, Jenny Louise. He came into the living room wearing a robe, and he smiled when he saw me. I said, 'Where have you been, Bobby?' and he said, 'A long way, Meg.' And I asked him to take off his robe."

  "Why?" Cassie asked. "There couldn't have been any surprises."

  "But there were. Bobby wasn't a big man, but he had a strong body, a barrel chest, and short legs. Good Irish stock. And the man standing before me looked as if his bones were trying to break through his skin."

  "A Rose for Emily," Cassie said.

  "Shut up," I told Cassie.

  Meg smiled at me. "He was beautiful," she said. "Old and beautiful. I could see the veins crisscrossing on his chest." She paused as if remembering details of his body, and then in a moment, continued. "He said, 'Meg, you're going to kill me, aren't you?' and I said, 'I think so, Bobby.' So he said, 'Okay,' and I

  shot him in the head." Another pause. "I thought I would feel better."

  "I'm sorry," I said. I really was. I was sorry for this woman, for the many threads of her life that had brought her to this violence.

  "Thank-you." Meg drank the last of her coffee and put the cup down.

  And ndw the big question. What were they going to do about me? I might be sorry for Meg, but she certainly wasn't rational. Throw Castine Murphy in for good measure and the answer was clear.

  Meg stood up. "Cassie, you through? Why don't you put those boxes in the car and be thinking about what we can do with Patricia Anne. I swear I hate this."

  "So do I," I said into my knees. I tried to think. Trinity knew I was here at the office, but she would be at the hospital all day. No one else knew I was here. Yes, they did. I had left word on Sister's phone. But she wouldn't be looking for me. If anyone called, they would just assume I was out for a while and leave a message. Even Sister. Even Fred. Fred. A few tears slid down onto my pants legs. At my funeral, he would tell the kids, "I told her to stay out of that mess." He might even have those words put on my tombstone. He would certainly marry one of the girls from Atlanta within six months. "Oh, Fred," I whispered, sniffling.

  "Here. Use a Kleenex." Meg pressed one into my hand. I heard the front door open and close.

  "Bobby did look a little like a weasel, didn't he?" Meg said. I watched her shoes as she went around the coffee table and sat down again. "Amazing how the women adored him."

  I rose up and wiped my face with the Kleenex. "There's no accounting."

  "True." Meg leaned forward. "You know, Patricia Anne, I really hate to shoot you. It makes an awful mess. I was startled when I shot Bobby."

  I thought of Sister's story of the blood blooming like anemones on the white canvas Keds. "I hate the idea, too."

  "We'll see if Cassie can come up with something. She said something about giving Georgiana snake venom when she found out she had an ulcer. I thought that was a clever idea. It'll get into your blood stream that way. But I decided I'd rather have Georgiana found guilty. Get what she deserves."

  "That Cassie is a clever girl," I said.

  "Oh, good. Sarcasm. You're feeling better, aren't you?"

  / wouldn 't say that, I thought.

  Cassie took the last box out. When she came back in, Meg said she had to go to the "little girls' room," and then we would talk.

  "She's crazy, you know," I whispered to Cassie as soon as the door closed.

  "Aren't we all."

  "Possibly. But are you so crazy you think she's going to let you stay here while she takes off as Heidi Williams?"

  "Shut up, Mrs. Hollowell."

  "This whole thing is so Gothic. Imagine spending a lifetime waiting to get even with some man who hurt you."

  "At least she's not sleeping with his dead body."

  "What?"

  ' 'Like in that Faulkner story you had us read where there was long gray hair on the pillow by the skeleton.

  I hated that story. This whole thing keeps reminding me of it somehow."

  " 'A Rose for Emily'? That's why you said it awhile ago?"

  "Yuck."

  "Cassie?" I was going to try to reason with her, but just then we heard the toilet flush, and in a moment, Meg bounced out of the bathroom. "Well, girls," she said, looking bright and cheerful. "What are we going to do about our little problem?"

  Eighteen

  My suggestion was that they let me go, that they had my scout's honor, so help me God, that I would not tell anyone what they had done or were about to do in the future, that it was none of my business who they wanted to throw out of windows or shoot in the head or blackmail or which family records they wanted to change or steal and, as far as I was concerned, they could just take off for wherever they wanted to go or even stay in Birmingham, I would stay out of their way, cross my heart and hope to die.

  Meg smiled benignly at me. "You do tend to babble, don't you?"

  "She always did, even in class," Cassie said, a remark that hurt.

  "Which isn't solving our problem," Meg turned to me. "You know, Patricia Anne, I hate to kill you. I've got nothing against you. In fact, I like you."

  "Thanks," I said. God! Nutty as a fruitcake. I looked at Cassie, but she was busy studying her nails. Just as crazy, I decided. There wouldn't be any help there.

  "Take her with you," Cassie said. "Company on your trip."

  "No, I couldn't tolerate that babbling as far as the Mississippi state line. I'd lose my mind."

  "Then, what's your choice?" Cassie asked.

  Meg Bryan shook her head pityingly. "Patricia Anne, I'm real sorry about this." She reached into the pocket of her skirt, and I was looking at the tiny pistol. I wasn't sure, but I figured tiny pistols were as deadly as big ones. The hole through Judge Haskins's head was proof of that.

  "Let's go," she said. "Cassie, you ready?"

  "Where are you going to take her?"

  "Doesn't your house have a basement?"

  "Oh, no you don't. I'm not getting stuck with a body."

  The word "body" galvanized me. I grabbed the lamp from the table by the love seat and swung it at Meg's hand, knocking the pistol loose. It skidded across the floor and Cassie and I both lunged for it. She won, hopping up with the pistol in her hand while I lay there wondering if I had broken my hip. My arm. My leg.

  "Get up," she commanded.

  "In a minute," I said. Tears of frustration, pain, and fear burned my eyes.

  "Give me the gun, Cassie," Meg said. "Patricia Anne, I can't believe you did that."

  "No," Cassie's voice was firm. "I think I'd better keep it. Mrs. Hollowell's right. There's no way you're going to let me out of this alive."

  "Don't be stupid, Cassie." Meg started toward her and I moved my leg, tripping her. For some reason, it had occurred to me that I had a better chance with

  Cassie than with Meg. After all,
she had been naive enough to be duped by Meg.

  Meg's head hit the counter with a crack that didn't sound good. I sat up and looked at her prone figure. "Is she dead?"

  A moan answered me.

  "Oh, God," Cassie said. The hand holding the pistol was shaking. "Oh, God, what am I going to do with the two of you?"

  Meg's moan was the only answer.

  "I can't leave you here. Somebody will be here in a little while."

  "Meg killed the judge all by herself, didn't she?" I asked.

  "Of course."

  "And she pushed Heidi Williams out of the window by herself?"

  A slight pause. "Yes."

  "Then why don't you call the police and turn her in?"

  Cassie wheeled on me. "You bitch. You think I'm that stupid? They might not get me for murder, but they sure as hell would get me for blackmail and record-tampering. Get up!" I struggled to my feet. Pain shot up my right arm in such an intense arc, I thought I would faint. "Now get her up."

  "I think my arm's broken."

  "Get her up anyway."

  I struggled to get the half-conscious Meg propped into a sitting position against the counter. "She can't walk," I said, "She could have a fractured skull."

  "Then you and I'll drag her out. People will just think she's had one-day surgery since we're so close to the medical center. If they pay any attention."

  "Where are you taking us?"

  "I don't know. I've got to have time to think."

  It was at that point that I got the Brer Rabbit idea. The caves under Vulcan. Bo Mitchell had said hiding someone there would be like putting them on Highway 280.

  "Just don't put us in the caves under Vulcan," I pleaded. "Please, for God's sake, I don't think I could take it. The snakes, the dark."

  "I think my basement will do for the time being," Cassie said. "Now, get on Meg's right side and help me pull her up. Don't think this gun isn't still on you, though."

  Meg was a dead weight, and, frail as she might appear, that dead weight was a considerable amount.

  "I can't do it," I said.

  Cassie aimed the gun at my head. "Put your shoulder under her arm." It worked. I pulled Meg's right arm around my shoulder and held on with my left. My own right arm felt paralyzed.

  "Now, walk."

  We started toward the door, dragging Meg between us. If anyone coming down the street thought this woman had just had one-day surgery, it would scare them away from the procedure for life.

  The trip across the room seemed to take an hour, an hour of agonizing pain, nausea, and the fear that I was going to faint before we could get to the door. I had no doubt that my keeling over and dropping Meg would make up Cassie's mind and she would kill us both. So I concentrated on the brass doorknob, willing each step toward it.

  And then we were there. Cassie reached over and opened the door and there stood Sister, holding a pot of pink gloxinias.

  "Hi!" she said cheerfully. "I got these for Geor-

  giana, but—" I saw the expression change on her face. "What's going on?"

  I'm not exactly sure what happened in the next few minutes, but this is the way Sister related the series of events. I fainted and fell to the left, and Meg fell on me. Cassie, caught off balance, tried to jump over both of us and get by Sister, who was filling the doorway. Sister reached out and tripped her and Cassie sailed over the two steps to the sidewalk, where she landed on her hands and knees. The gun went sailing through the air, and Sister had the presence of mind to jump down the steps and sit on Cassie, thumping her soundly on the head with the pot of gloxinias. There was no way anybody would think this strange sight was one-day surgery, so the 911 switchboard was lit up by passing motorists reporting women fighting or up to some kind of no good.

  By the time the police arrived, I had regained consciousness but still had Meg on top of me. Cassie still had Sister on top of her, a position Sister refused to abdicate until two policemen were holding Cassie. This took some doing, since the reason for the altercation wasn't clear, and the policemen had to remove Meg from me so I could explain.

  "It was so exciting," Sister explained that night at Henry and Debbie's. "There were ambulances and police cars and traffic stopped like you wouldn't believe."

  I was full of pain pills with my arm in a cast. I looked lovingly at everyone and smiled. Philip and Haley. How sweet. I forgive you, Philip, for being twenty years too old. Sister, Henry, Debbie, Fred. My beloved Fred.

  "Your eyes are crossed, honey," he said.

  "What do you think they'll do to Cassie?" Philip asked Debbie.

  "Throw the book at her. Blackmail, changing and stealing federal records, accessory to murder, if not murder. I don't think we'll be seeing much of Miss Murphy for a while."

  "How about Meg?" Sister asked.

  "They'll plead insanity. Rightfully so." Debbie reached over and took Henry's hand. "I don't think they can make it stand, though. I think she'll be found competent to stand trial."

  Haley spoke up, "They'll have to monitor her for a few days in the hospital. Apparently, she took quite a blow to her head. She's got a hairline fracture, but the main thing is the brain swelling." She smiled at her Aunt Sister. "Cassie's head must be harder."

  Henry turned to Debbie. "Can you believe that? You've been married to me for less than a week, and a homicidal maniac has already fallen out of my family tree."

  Debbie leaned over and kissed him. "Wait until you see what shows up on mine."

  "We're all nice people," I said. "There's nobody in our family who's not nice. Fred's nice, Haley's nice, Sister's nice, Woofer—"

  Fred patted my cast. "We're all very nice, honey."

  "You know, I love Trinity," Haley said. "She wasn't involved, was she?"

  "Not at all. Nor Georgiana Peach, either," Mary Alice explained.

  I wanted to tell the whole story, but my tongue wasn't working quite right. "Meg," I said carefully, "was sitting on Georgiana because of Burt Lancaster."

  Everyone smiled, so I knew I had gotten my point

  across. "Was that why she called with the 'help me' message?" Haley asked.

  "Scare her ulcer," I said thickly.

  "Incidentally," Sister turned to me, "Georgiana's out of intensive care. Trinity called."

  I giggled. "How many Moon Pies did George Peach eat if George Peach did eat pie?" That, they tell me, was the last thing I said before I put my head on Fred's lap and went to sleep.