“Thank you for wanting to stay, darling. It will be good to … have you here.”
“When I leave, I’ll take George with me. It’s a warm season. I’ll drop him off, dressed like a bum, without a dime on him, in the wildest country I can find. That will give me all the time I need.”
“And I know where to write you and where to find you, and I’ll be very very careful, darling.” She looked at her watch. “Tom’s had a good nap. You can go in when I come out.”
When Sid went into the study it was a little after five o’clock. As he sat on the window seat he could see Paula heading next door to give the message to Mrs. Pettingill and Mr. Hefton.
“Paula says you approve of the pictures, sir.”
Tom Brower smiled faintly. “It pleases me to think of pictures being taken for their historical importance, with a historic monument like me still in residence. Maybe there will be a footnote to that effect. It never hurts to let the little people pursue their narrow enthusiasms, Sidney, as long as they don’t get underfoot. But in deference to your problem brother, I stipulated that all photography of the interior would be limited to the ground floor.”
“Tomorrow night I’m taking him away.”
“So Paula told me. A reasonable temporary solution.”
“That’s my specialty. Temporary solutions.”
“Do you have to leave so soon?”
“What can I prove by staying? All I can do is increase the risk. Maybe somebody is on his way, to find out if he forgot to follow orders. But there’s one strange thing, sir. I don’t understand it myself. But I think if it weren’t for Paula, I would stay. They have a word for it when a bull picks one place in the ring and decides to do all his fighting right there.”
“Querencia.”
“That’s the word. This is the nearest thing to a home place, I guess. It’s a place where I could fight and lose—if it came to that. But … for Paula’s sake, I can’t risk losing. Do I make any sense?”
“Quite a lot, Sidney. But I don’t see much of you, do I? Four or five talks.”
“I’ll say goodby tomorrow, sir.”
“And go somewhere and wait with a vulgar impatience for me to die so your woman can join you there, in hiding.”
“It won’t be quite like that.”
“Why not? Perhaps that’s the way I’d prefer to think of it. She’s one of the rare ones, Sidney. You two are not children, though you seem that to me. Cherish her. I always seemed to love the sick ones. Paula is quick, suicidally honest, forlornly loyal, fastidious and lusty as a brood mare. Use her well, grandson, and she’ll reward you.”
“On the run?”
“Stay hidden for two years, then buy safety somewhere. It’s far better than nothing. I’ve had years of nothing. I’m an expert in the art of living with nothing.”
“After she’s seen Heiler and settled that, I’ll say goodby to you. I’ll leave after dark tomorrow.”
“I can last through tomorrow,” the old man said. He held out a frail hand. Sid took it, like holding twigs. On a child’s impulse he bent and kissed the dry cheek.
“Forgiven?” the old man said with a sour irony.
“Of course.”
“You might do at that. You just might. But I was the man for her, really. I was just born sixty years early—a half hiccup in geological time. If she’s back now, tell her I dreamed of steak and will settle for chicken broth.”
Sid started out, paused in the doorway and turned. “Just for the hell of it, sir, why does George get half?”
“You want it all?”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“He absorbed half the rejection and half the neglect. And it damaged him more than you.”
“Conscience money?”
“All money is conscience money, my boy.”
“Especially what you’ve given Paula.”
The old man gave a cackle of pleasure. “Especially that.”
eleven
By noon on Thursday Mr. Hefton and Mrs. Pettingill arrived at the Brower house, having finished the Ormand house, impressing everyone with his dedication and meticulous care. At Tom Brower’s request, Paula brought them to the bedside.
“Just wanted a look at you,” Tom said. “Not you, Deborah. The good Lord knows I’ve seen enough of you in an excessive lifetime.”
“Tom Brower!”
“Fifty years ago we ran each other’s gamut from A to B, as the critic said, and haven’t had a new word or new idea for each other since, and on my deathbed I’m unlikely to give you another chance to bore me. Let me look at this wizard of yours, who, through the magic of a silver nitrate emulsion, optical glass, and some little springs and latches will turn what was a living, breathing house into a set of sterile symbols in a dull book.”
“It is our duty,” Hefton said, “to record the past for the sake of future generations.”
“I suppose,” Tom Brower said wearily. “You are talking to the past, you know. And I am told that Mrs. Pettingill here will contribute the text. God knows what she will find to say about this house, but she has always had a febrile imagination.”
“Tom!”
“Plus the blessed and mystic ability to take herself seriously, even as you, Mr. Hefton. And me. And Miss Lettinger. All of us made endurable to ourselves by that philosophical myopia which blinds us to our meager worth. I regret I won’t be here to examine your book, Mr. Hefton. There are so few amusing things left in the world.”
“The New York State Historical Commission believes that …”
“Excuse me, Mr. Hefton, but you may now go putter and click at will. I am a rude old man, and it has been many years since I gave a damn what any commission, committee, association or foundation believes in. One man is a significant entity. A partnership halves that value. Three or more men, working together, diminish themselves to zero. Team effort is the stagnation of the race. Thank you for giving me a look at you.”
“I must say …”
“Run along with the nice man, Deborah. We can all guess what you must say, so there is no need to say it.”
When they were alone Tom Brower gave Paula a rather shamefaced smile.
“You were rude, you know,” she said.
“It sluices out the glands, my dear, relieves tensions. And one cannot leave any lasting mark on such dim little people. Did I hear him bringing equipment in?”
“Quite a lot of lights and things. Mrs. Pettingill helped him.”
“Speaking of tensions, you have more than your share today.”
“How not?”
“When do you expect him?”
“I think about two o’clock would be right.”
“Where are you going to talk to him?”
“On the porch, I think.”
“What are you going to say?”
“I’m going to tell him I’m sorry. I’m going to wish him luck.”
“What if that isn’t enough? What if he gets difficult?”
“Sid will be behind the door to the back hallway. He can hear everything from there.”
“How is George today?”
“Surly but docile. He plays solitaire, one hand right after the other. He has a little radio, and he plays it all the time.”
“Locked in?”
“Sid thinks it’s better that way.”
“Sidney is a cautious man.”
“George was … willing to betray his own brother, Tom.”
“Why the troubled expression? Do you want me to say something significant about all men being brothers? Or condemn George? Or sympathize with Sidney, or with you? I betrayed my daughter.”
“But that was …”
“Less honest than what George was willing to do. For God’s sake, stop fumbling with that needle and give me the shot and get out of here. Your sad, anguished face is giving me the pip.”
“Don’t you have any damned heart left?”
He smiled at her. “Excuse me, my dear. Some days the mere act of dy
ing seems to depress me. It takes too long.”
“I’m sorry, Tom.”
“You are quick with the needle when you keep your mind on it. If I should forget to tell you, keep absolutely nothing in reserve with that young man. Love him totally, Paula. Totally, obviously, plausibly—and eventually he may come to believe it.”
Bertold-Jones-Hefton had given the old house careful study while taking the exterior shots. Yet he faked no part of his procedure. He used slow, fine-grained film, tripod, wide angle lens, a light red filter, and composed each shot carefully. Now that he was inside the house he realized the front windows of the dining room afforded his best opportunity. One, in particular, had maximum screening by the outside shrubbery. After a full hour of work on the living room and the staircase, he carried his floods into the dining room and set them up, telling Mrs. Pettingill that the detail of the paneling was worth recording. She was in complete agreement. After he had a chance to examine the window and plan his moves, he sent her out to his car to search for a non-existent photo-flood bulb and bring it to him.
The moment she left the room he opened the case and took out the little plastic squirt-bottle of graphite, the small screwdriver and the small pair of nippers. Moving with a practiced economy of motion, he slid the window up, squirted graphite in both sides of the frame, then slid it down and up and down again, satisfied with the new silence of it. He nipped the hook of the outside screen until but a tiny thread of metal held it in place. With the window closed, he unscrewed the two wood screws which held the old-fashioned window latch in place. He nipped the heads off the screws and saw Mrs. Pettingill walking toward the front door. He put the latch and screw heads back in place and dropped the severed threaded portions into his pocket, put the tools and graphite back into his case and was studying his ground glass screen as she walked in to tell him she couldn’t find it anywhere in the car.
The window satisfied him. It looked locked and secure. But the smallest tug on the screen would snap the remaining thread of metal. And when the lower sash was raised it would go up silently, lifting both portions of the brass latch with it. He was satisfied that the rest of the job would go just as well, that death would look natural enough, and the doctored window would be discovered long after any routine investigation had been completed.
As he was taking his sixth careful photograph of the carved paneling, he heard Mrs. Pettingill say, “Why you must be the young one! Sidney, isn’t it? I saw you once in this very house when you were a little boy! I’m Deborah Pettingill. I guess you’ve heard your grandfather mention me.”
The man murmured something. Bertold-Jones-Hefton turned casually and looked toward the man. But he was beyond the floodlight, in the doorway, a vague figure. He turned and left.
As Hefton changed his setup to get the final wall, he said casually, “Does that man live here too?”
“Oh, no. Don’t you remember? I told you about the two of them, Sidney and George. The grandsons. It took Tom a long time to have them found. It’s wonderful they could get here before he passed on. Tom disowned his own daughter, his only child. Those are her two children. They say Tom is leaving everything to them.”
“Very fortunate for them.”
“But Paula is getting a very nice trust fund. Very nice.”
“That’s the nurse?”
“Paula Lettinger. She comes from here, you know. Odd girl. Hard to understand. She made a very bad marriage, and it was annulled and her husband has been in prison for five years, and he’s coming here to see her today, I think. At least, that’s what they say.”
“I wish I could do some of the rooms upstairs.”
“So do I, but Tom said no.”
“I guess they’re all occupied.”
“Oh, no! This house is larger than it looks. Jane Weese is in the back and there’s two more empty servant’s rooms. And even with Paula and the two grandsons up there, there would still be three empty rooms at least. I know Paula has the front corner room on the west. And I don’t imagine Jane would put either grandson in the master bedroom. To her way of thinking it would still be Tom’s room, even though he’ll probably never see the inside of it again, poor soul. But they’d be toward the front of the house, handiest to the staircase. Jane likes to save steps, at her age.”
“The master bedroom is the front east corner?”
“Right above this room, yes.”
“I think we’re through here, Mrs. Pettingill.”
“It’s such a lovely old house.”
“Isn’t it.”
“What will we do next?”
“The exteriors of the Perndell house, if that’s agreeable to you.”
As they were driving away, Mrs. Pettingill said, “Slow down!”
“What is it?”
“That’s him, I bet!”
“Who?”
“The husband. Weiler or Heiler or something. She met him in New York. He must have come on the bus, because that’s Del Barney driving him out here, and Del does taxi work when he’s finished on the mail route.”
Hefton looked back and saw a tall man in a wrinkled grey suit walking from a green car toward the front door of the house.
Judson Heiler sat on the glassed porch with the woman he had been married to. He was nearly forty. He had a big unlined face, mild blue eyes. He shook his head slowly. “I can’t get over it, Paula sweetie. My God, you look lush.”
“What are you going to do?”
“That’s a good question. That’s a very good question. I gave them their five years.”
“Did it have to be five? Did it have to be the whole thing?”
“Honey, it’s dull in there. My God, it’s dull. So every once in a while you have to jack it up a little. They didn’t think it was very funny. And then I had a habit they didn’t like. When anybody shoved me, I shoved back. I don’t like to be touched. You know that. I get annoyed.”
“But what are you going to do?”
“You keep saying that, don’t you? I have fifty-five dollars and an unlimited future. What I do is up to you, I guess.”
“I don’t understand you, Jud.”
“Sweetie, what we got here is a case of moral obligation. I did a lot of thinking. You know what our trouble was? You were trying to make me into somebody else. And I dragged my feet. I talked to the psychologist up there. I fought you, baby. I fought you with bottles and broads. With a bottle I could turn myself into somebody else without any help from you. And become somebody else in the snow job I’d give a woman. I’d lay in their arms and talk about you. I’d talk about my big old wife, and I’d wait for you to punish me. But you’d just go around with your face all pinched up, looking noble and decent and full of suffering, and there I was with all that guilt, and no place to put it.”
“I’m glad you understand. It took me a long time to understand too, Jud.”
“So here I am at long last, baby, saying you win.”
“I don’t understand.”
He shook his head. “Sure you do. I give up. Here is the raw material, and I become just what you want me to be. No dragging the feet. No guilt. If there’s no guilt I won’t have to go looking for punishment by writing bad paper.”
“Jud, you have everything wrong! I wrote to you to come see me so I could tell you that … I wish you well. There’s no hard feelings. That’s all, Jud. I want you to have every happiness.”
He smiled and frowned simultaneously. “Sweetie, you are not tracking. You can’t pull a man down and win your battle and then not pick up the reward. I’m here, baby. I’m with you. You own me. You bought me the hard way. We go on from here.”
“No, Jud. No.”
He stood up, smiling. “You certainly look gorgeous. Honey, if you want to fight it a little, to save face, that’s okay too. I’ll be around. I’ll be around every day. And I’ll howl outside your window at night. I’ll sing our song. I’m loyal as a dog. I’m the sweet husband for you. And I know you, Paula. You always live up to your obligati
ons. And I’m it. Sweetie, you should have gotten married if you wanted to be out of the target area. See you around. I can find my way out.”
As soon as Heiler left, Sid came out onto the porch. Paula ran to him to be held. She was trying to laugh but she couldn’t. “Did you hear him? Did you hear that? Did you ever hear such a crazy thing in your life?”
“He means it.”
“But I don’t want him back! It’s insane.”
“What if I hadn’t come into your life?”
“Well … I guess I would try to help him. I guess it was partly my fault. But I’d never take him back.”
“He’s going to be bothering you after I’ve gone.”
“I can handle it. Really. I can make him understand.”
“Can you? You seem a little shaken up.”
“I’m all right. Really. Only … don’t leave just this minute.”
He kissed her. “I’m going to leave a little before dawn.”
She hugged him with all her strength. “Out of my bed and off into the cruel cold world,” she whispered. “Oh, how I’ll miss you!”
“I’ll take George along with me. I’ll put the rotor back in his car and give you the keys. The pink sheet from the rental outfit is in the glove compartment. Hire some kid to drive it to Syracuse and turn it in and pay for it. They don’t care who brings it back as long as they get their money and their car.”
“Does George know?”
“It’s going to come as a surprise to him.”
She pressed close to him. “Tonight I’m going to give you a lasting goodby, Sid. It will last until I see you again, believe me.” She backed away, flushing. “Now I’ve got to go tell Tom how Jud acted. He’s in there itching to know.”
“I’ll come with you. I want to hear him laugh. He has a very dirty laugh.”
“Sir, you are speaking of my benefactor.”
“I keep forgetting you’re a rich nurse.”
“Not rich,” she said with a smug and knowing smile. “Just terribly comfortable.”
Bertold-Jones-Hefton spent the last few minutes in his room at the Bolton Inn smearing all the areas where he could have left fingerprints. He coated the pads of his fingers with transparent model cement. He left the room at midnight. He paid his bill to a sleepy desk clerk and left an envelope at the desk for Mrs. Pettingill, explaining that he had been called away to do some retakes in the Buffalo area and would be back in several weeks to complete the job in Bolton, assuring her he would get in touch with her at that time, and thanking her for her cooperation. He had typed the note on the old machine available for guest use, typed his most recent name, scrawled a single backhand initial. When he had first arrived, pleading an arthritic stiffness from the long drive, he had talked the clerk into signing him in. So there was only one disguised signature in existence, and that was on the vehicle registration for the used Buick, and if all went well, it was unlikely that would be traced. Even if it was, he did not see how it could do them much good.
On the Run Page 14
