The Twenty-Year Death

by Ariel S. Winter

  Her suitcase was still open, and she hit it, and said, “I hate this thing.”

  I knew I needed to say something, but my mind couldn’t catch on what it was I was supposed to say. “I guess I’ll stay with Great Aunt Alice,” I said.

  Vee stamped her foot, and then clopped around the bed, heading past me to the bathroom.

  “Vee, I’m sorry,” I said, panicked all of a sudden that she wasn’t just leaving me until we could get out of this situation, but that she was leaving me for good, and I couldn’t live with that. I grabbed at her shoulder, and she shook off my grip, but didn’t go into the bathroom. “Please,” I said.

  She turned, and said, “No, you comfort me this time,” and she fell into my arms.

  “Shhh,” I said, and patted the back of her head. It was the second time that day that I’d found myself in that position, a girl in my arms, but I still didn’t know what to say, so I said, “It’ll be okay.”

  “No it won’t. Carlton’s going to kill me,” Vee said.

  “He’s not going to kill you.”

  “He’s not, huh?” She pulled back so I could see her bruised face. “This was just a love tap?” And then she put her head back on my chest. “You better be getting a good share of that money now, with your son out of the way.”

  I stiffened.

  “You talk to the lawyer yet?” she said.

  I pushed her away from me, and turned to get my clothes out of the closet in the living room.

  She followed me. “Oh, I repulse you now? I’m a gold digger?”

  I didn’t say anything, but walked around her and stuffed my clothes into my duffel. I don’t know why I was angry at her for asking about the money. I certainly had no right to be.

  “Well, did you go to the lawyer?” she said, putting her hands on her hips.

  “No.”

  “You better.”

  “I will.”

  “You better, that’s all.”

  “Didn’t I just say I will?” I said, spreading my arms in defiance. “How long are you going to be staying with Carlton anyway?”

  “I don’t have much choice in the matter.”

  “Damn it, how long are we going to be stuck here?”

  “Do you get the money?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then I don’t know how long we’re going to be here. Until Carlton gets bored with me, I guess. That’s usually four or five days. Don’t you have to go to the funeral anyway?”

  The funeral? What funeral? Oh, right, Joe’s funeral. “I guess I do,” I said, and dropped my duffel on the floor.

  “I guess I do,” she mimicked. She went back to her suitcase and started to struggle with the zipper again. I came around to help her, and she stepped back, and let me take over. I put my weight into it, and the zipper started to move. I had to switch hands to get it to go all the way around, repositioning the pressure from my other hand as I went. It closed and I straightened up, a fine sheen of sweat on my forehead.

  I turned to go back around the bed, but Vee stopped me. “I’m just scared,” she said.

  “Of what?”

  “Of Carlton and of getting caught.”

  “I’ll go see the lawyer,” I said. “Then we’ll get out of here.”

  “We better get that money.”

  “I’ll call the lawyer,” I said again.

  She picked up her suitcase, staggered under the weight for a moment, and started across the room. Without looking back, she said, “The room’s already checked out. You just have to vacate.”

  She went out the door. My neck and back muscles were all tensed, and I tried to relax them. I’d fought with a lot of women, but none who could hang a murder on me, only that part I didn’t figure out until later. For now, I was thrown out without any money, and nowhere else to crawl but Great Aunt Alice’s, and that wasn’t the best position to be in, believe you me. There are always ways in which things can get worse.

  13.

  Great Aunt Alice’s house was one of the old mansions in Washington Hill facing north on the eastern square. There was still a marble stone at the curb from the time when such a step was necessary to descend from a horse-drawn carriage, as there was a wrought-iron boot scraper at the foot of the stone-carved stairs that led to the front door. The house was a three-story townhouse built of Cockeysville marble, the first floor one and a half times as high as the second and third floors, which allowed for large wooden pillars and a small portico above the door. Narrow black shutters framed each of the four windows across the second and third floors, held in place by hammered iron S’s.

  I had stopped on the way there to get one drink, which had turned into two, and I wondered how long this bender would last. I mean, I was still on the wagon and this was a temporary setback due to circumstances. But the alcohol had bestowed on me a general lightness that allowed me to think it wouldn’t be so bad to see Great Aunt Alice, it might even be nice to see a familiar face, and one who called you family even when you weren’t. She had always remained a friend to me, remembering me at Christmas and my birthday, and unashamed at chiding me for what my life had become. She was sure to take me in, and could be just what I needed to pull myself together. I pressed the button for the bell, and deep chimes played an eight-note melody somewhere inside, real classy.

  Connie answered the door in a frilled apron tied over a black ankle-length skirt and a deep blue blouse. She didn’t seem surprised to see me standing there with my duffel bag in hand, some shirts hanging on hangers over my shoulder, she just took it in stride. “Mr. Rosenkrantz. You come in now, come right in.”

  “Connie, you see,” I said, stepping inside, “I was wondering if...”

  She closed the door behind me and took my things. “Miss Hadley in the conservatory,” she said. “Tea’s as soon as I get it heated up. I’m a have to make up a second plate.”

  “Great, Connie, great, thank you,” I said, and smiled my charming smile. “I know my way.”

  But she’d already turned to take my things up to one of the guestrooms.

  The house had the sweet smell of lemon-scented dust cleaner. There were fresh flowers in a brass vase on the marble side table, and the exposed hardwood floor in the hall to the kitchen reflected white patches of light streaming from the back of the house.

  I went through the front sitting room, the small dining room, and the sewing room to the open glass door to the conservatory, which ran along the back of the house. Great Aunt Alice sat in a white oversized wicker chair that faced the window to the garden. She had a large open book propped on her lap and reading glasses that she wasn’t using hanging from a chain around her neck. At the sound of my entrance, she laid her book flat on her legs, and looked up. “Ah, Shem, Shem. You come to see an old lady, what a life saver.”

  “Great Aunt Alice,” I said and bent down to kiss her on the cheek.

  She frowned. “Not sober, I see.”

  “Not drunk either,” I said.

  She shrugged, and pointed with an arthritis-bent finger at a round glass-topped table in the corner. “Bring that here, will you, Shem? Connie would do it, but you’re here, you can at least make yourself useful.”

  I went over and lifted the table in both hands and set it down beside her. She worked the book in her lap onto the table, leaving it open at her place. “Sit down, sit down,” she said pointing again at another wicker chair. I pulled it a little closer and sat down. “I hope you’re prepared to talk about books. I could use a little conversation. Connie and I don’t have too much to say to each other. And I absolutely can’t get her to read. I try and try, but she just won’t touch a thing.”

  I nodded, Mr. Debonair Literary Lion, the charming smile creaking on my face.

  “But first, this horrible business about Joseph. Quinn was enough, but we were expecting Quinn. But Joseph, I’m trying to recover.”

  I tried to produce the appropriate expression, but I didn’t know what that was, and just hoped I looked like a fathe
r in mourning.

  “I understand you were the last person to see him alive.”

  I shifted in my chair. “I don’t know—”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, nodding. “Mary told me. What a good girl that Mary is. It’s a shame, oh, it’s a tragedy, that poor little thing. She comes and visits me once a week you know.”

  “I didn’t,” I said.

  “You know her?”

  “We just met.”

  “Oh, a wonderful girl. She’ll be by this afternoon, I’m sure. So unfortunate. But you were the last to see Joseph.”

  “I guess I was.” Why was she harping on that? It made me nervous, like maybe she suspected something.

  She gave me a contemplative look. “You’re not fooling me. You’re tight. I thought you were supposed to be a teetotaler now.”

  “I am. I am. This thing with Quinn and Joe...”

  “Nonsense. That’s no excuse. You look terrible,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Well, you do.” She gave a single satisfied nod. “So what did he say? Last night?”

  “Who?”

  “Joseph.”

  Connie came in then carrying a tray with tea, both hot and iced, and cucumber sandwiches, crackers, and pâté. I took the opportunity to collect myself. Of course Great Aunt Alice wasn’t suspicious. Why would she suspect something? It was that kind of paranoia that would get me caught. She was just being Great Aunt Alice.

  “Thank you, Connie,” she said. “You can just put that over there. Shem will take care of it.” She turned back to me. “Well?”

  “He was drunk. He...was upset still about Quinn, and angry at me, but I don’t know what about.”

  “You should never have split with Quinn in the first place.”

  That hadn’t taken long. “Are we going to go over this now?”

  “Joseph needed a father. A boy should have a man around.”

  “Thanks for the compliment, but I’m hardly a man.”

  She nodded. “You said that. I didn’t say that. I’m not letting you off any hook.” She pointed at the tray. “Hand me that, darling, won’t you.” I got up, and poured her some tea. “And a lemon slice. Yes, that one.” She took the cup and saucer from me, and I sat back down. After a sip, she said, “The whole thing’s so terrible. And with you right there.” She shook her head again, “No,” and took some more tea. “What’s happening with that wife of yours, that movie star? She still locked up in the loony bin?”

  I gave up pretending and let my face fall. “She is.”

  “Why is that again?”

  “She has psychotic episodes and she’s suicidal.”

  She shook her head again. “You should never have split up with Quinn. And you need money, I can tell that.”

  I had forgotten just how acerbic Great Aunt Alice could be. But I couldn’t help but feel as though I deserved to be put on the spot. “It’ll work out.”

  “If you mean it won’t kill you, you’re absolutely right. These things happen. There are good times and there are bad times, and when you have a bad time, you just hold your head up and remember that tomorrow’s another day, it can always be better tomorrow. Now what do you want? Go on and ask it, if it isn’t money.”

  I ran my hand over the stubble on my face, and crossed my legs. “How do you know...”

  “You aren’t taking any tea. I’m not going to eat all of those sandwiches.”

  I leaned forward and made myself a plate.

  “Well?”

  “I need to stay here for a few days.” I looked up to see how she was taking it. “Until the funeral at least,” I added. “Then I’ll be going back to S.A.”

  “But you’ll need me to pay your airfare for that.”

  I bit into a sandwich. It was cool and refreshing.

  “Of course you can stay. Stay as long as you like. We’ll have Connie make you up a room. Maybe if I can watch over you, you won’t get into any trouble, and I can browbeat a novel out of you.”

  My body deflated, I wasn’t able to stop it, I collapsed under the weight of it all.

  Great Aunt Alice shook her head. “Poor Joseph. Poor poor Joseph. And that girl of his. She won’t get anything, since they weren’t married.”

  I hadn’t even thought about that part of it, and I had a fresh pang of guilt, but I pushed it away. I needed the money more than Mary did. She would find a new beau in no time, but this was my last chance to settle my debts and start anew. And it had been an accident. I hadn’t killed Joe for the money. You could hardly say I killed Joe at all.

  “You didn’t know him well enough,” Great Aunt Alice said. “He was really a sweet sweet boy. You didn’t know him, and now it’s too late for that, no thanks to you. You’re a real bastard, Shem, don’t think I ever forget that, but a helluva writer, what a writer.”

  “I don’t know what to say to that.”

  “Don’t say anything. You’d only screw it up. Ask me what I’m reading.”

  And I did. And she talked nonstop for over an hour. She didn’t need my conversation at all. She just needed someone to talk at. Joseph dying didn’t change it one bit. I was as good as anyone else no matter what I might feel, and of course I couldn’t fool her about anything. She knew how much and what I felt. And this was my price to pay. For staying here, for not staying in touch, for not writing, for running around on my wife, for every wrong I’d ever done. Great Aunt Alice managed to remind me of all of it without ever saying a word. She was the mirror of truth. She was what laid bare my conscience and made it impossible to ignore, because I was always going to be inadequate as a man in her eyes even if I was ‘a helluva writer.’

  After about two hours of that, it was getting up near dinner time, and Great Aunt Alice said I’d have to excuse her, she needed some time to get ready for dinner, and I should go up to my room too. The alcohol had long worn off, and I felt groggy, wiped out, a diffuse headache sitting on the top of my head like a newsboy’s cap.

  I went up to my room. It was on the second floor in the rear of the house, canary yellow wallpaper with a pinstripe pattern, a bed with a white duvet and yellow accent pillows, a night-stand, and a bureau. Connie had hung my shirts and pants in the closet, and emptied my duffel bag into the bureau. The sight of the bed hammered me with exhaustion. I was still working off of a sleep deficit, even with the nap earlier, and suddenly the idea of dinner with Great Aunt Alice, of the hours ahead of me, made it hard to even stand.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed. There was a telephone extension on the nightstand. I remembered telling Vee that I would call Palmer to see about the will, but I knew that calling Palmer was exactly the last thing I should do, since it would make it look like I was so anxious to get the money I didn’t even care that Joe had died. That was the kind of misstep that someone like Vee would make after they killed somebody. I was proud of myself for thinking of it, and refraining from making the call. Instead I picked up the phone and dialed the long-distance number to the Enoch White Clinic. My heart rate went up, and I started to sweat. I thought, as I did every day, if I could just hear Clotilde’s voice...

  It was Nurse Dunn who answered. I called often enough that I knew all of the nurses’ voices. “Enoch White.”

  “Yes. This is Mr. Rosenkrantz. I was hoping to speak to my wife, please.”

  “It’s lunchtime. The patients cannot take phone calls. Phone calls can only be received between two and four in the afternoon.”

  I looked at my watch. About four-thirty, which made it one-thirty in California. But I needed to talk to Clotilde. I couldn’t tell her anything, but it would help me just to hear her. “It’s only a half hour,” I said.

  “Mr. Rosenkrantz, I’m sorry.”

  “Well, can I talk to Director Philips?”

  “He’s at lunch too. I can take a message.”

  I sighed. “Yes, I just wanted to let him know that the legalities are being worked out here, but I will have the money. He shouldn’t do anything until I get b
ack to California.”

  She intoned, “Right. I’ll pass it on.” She’d taken the same message from me countless times. They all had.

  “Goodbye,” I said, not wanting to get off, not knowing what I’d say.

  “Goodbye,” Nurse Dunn said, and rang off.

  I replaced the receiver in its cradle, and sat with my head bowed and my hands between my legs. I tried to elicit some emotion by forcing myself to think of Joe’s head—clunk—hitting the counter, but I was already too beaten to feel anything about that. Great Aunt Alice had taken it all out of me. Instead I fell back on the bed, and slept through dinner, through the night, and well into the next morning, and even then I was exhausted and didn’t want to get out of bed. But Connie knocked at the door to tell me that the police were here.

  14.

  It was Detective Healey and Detective Dobrygowski, and I don’t have to tell you I wasn’t happy to see them. Connie was hovering nearby as though she expected the cops to steal something if left unguarded. They were smiling and making an attempt at small talk. I stood for a second on the top step and swallowed. If they were coming to arrest me, they wouldn’t be trading pleasantries with the maid. They’d told me yesterday it was an accident, and for all they knew it was an accident. They didn’t suspect me of anything. I forced a smile, and started down the steps.

  “Mr. Rosenkrantz,” Detective Healey said. And with concern, “Are you all right?”

  So much for my smile. “I just need something to eat.”

  “Don’t let us stop you.” But they didn’t move any, and neither did I.

  I looked at Connie, and they did too, and she got flustered and turned back towards the kitchen.

  Healey craned his neck to peer over my shoulder. “Should we follow?”

  “Is this going to take long?”

  “No, not long, not long,” Healey said.