The Case of the Weird Sisters

by Charlotte Armstrong

  thin thread of shrewdness in Innes when he spoke about money. "I have no more patience with it. I intend to stop stepping in and taking all their losses myself. If they are incompetent to manage, I must manage for them. You heard me speak of it. But you don't realize that they know I meant it."

  Innes raised his silly chin. 'Tve made threats before. This time I think they sensed my determination."

  "What of it?" murmured Alice, with baUoon-pricking impulses.

  "What of it! Don't you see? I'm not a source of income to them, aUve, any more."

  "Innes, that's horrible!" she said. "You shouldn't think of your sisters so . .. why should you?"

  "I can't help it. I do," he said childishly. Then his voice went an octave down. "I think of Gertrude. If it isn't the money, then she's . . . she's determined I shan't be happy. Why should I pretend, Alice? Their mother was odd. They're odd. I'm afraid."

  ffis hand reached out, but Alice folded her arms. "All right. You're afraid. We'll go on from there."

  His eyes fell. "You despise me," he murmured.

  Alice said clearly, "Not necessarily. If we're not going to pretend, I'm afraid of them myself. I don't hke your sisters, Innes."

  He looked merely grateful. "Neither do I," he whispered.

  Fred moved away.

  "Well, what shall we do about it?" Alice said.

  "I want you to wire Killeen."

  Blood rushed into her face. She could feel it. She was startled and dismayed.

  "I want you to take the car while Fred stays here and run down to the telegraph office. It's in the railroad station. Wire Killeen. I'll give you his address."

  "I know his address," said Alice with stiff lips.

  "Tell him to hop a train and come right up here. Right away."

  "But, Innes, why?" He mustn't come, she was thmking.

  "I want to change my wiQ," Innes said, pursing his lips stubbornly. "I want to leave my money to you, Alice."

  "But—"

  "So I can live long enough to marry you," he said savagely.

  "Very well," she said. "Just as you wish, Innes." She marched out of the bedroom.

  Fred was after her. "Here are the keys," he said. "She's got no gear shift, you know."

  "I know," Alice said. Her eyes were full of angry tears. She felt abused and sorry for herself.

  "Fd go," Fred said, "but he wants me to stay here. I guess I'm promoted to bodyguard." Alice took the keys. "Look," Fred said.

  "You better go back to your bodyguarding."

  She wanted to strike out and hurt somebody. Fred would do. Fred and his sympathy.

  A little later she drove the big car down the hill, handling it delicately," because she was unused to it. The town of Ogaunee was depressing—shiftless, she thought; shabby and patched and peeling. A broken trestle to the east spoke of its past. There wasn't much to be said for its present. She drove the length of the main street and foxmd the drab little depot with its old-fashioned eaves, and the telegraph station tucked inside.

  "Mr. Arthur Killeen," she printed. Art Killeen. Oh, God, why did he have to come up here? She didn't want to see him. Or him to see her in this mess. Or him to draw the document that would guarantee her wages for this time and trouble. He must hear about her engagement, of course, but not the way it was going to be if he came up here. Not seeing her like a rat in a trap, playing nurse, being a phony tower of strength, being Innes's beloved. Oh, Art, don't come, because I can't stand all this and seeing you, too.

  The man reached for the blank, and she let it go out of her fingers despairingly. A train pulled in. She wished she had the nerve to drop everything and climb on board. It was headed south. Maybe it went back to Chicago. What difference where it went? But she hadn't enough money. Trapped, she thought

  She paid the man less than a dollar. The word would go out over the wires and reach Art Killeen, and he would come running. Of course he would. Wasn't Innes Whitiock

  his pet client? His wealthy patron? Wasn't there percentage in coming when Innes called? Now he'd know the bargain she'd made and see the short end of it. See Innes trembling and making this cowardly will and whimng about murder.

  Alice walked out onto the platform. It blurred in her sight. The town train-meeters watched her with curiosity. They probably knew exactly who she was. Let them. She kicked at the boards and raised her eyes to the train.

  There! There in the window, a face she knew. A long, wise, sad face. Her heart jumped. She knew it well, knew every line. For a whole year she'd sat and watched that face, and she knew its whole repertoire of expressions MacDougal Duff. A friend. A face she knew

  "Mr. Duff! Professor Duff!"

  But she had to talk to him! Because he would know. He did know about murder. He was an expert. He could tell Innes and set them right If only she could talk to him about It and bring him up to that house and let some sense m and clear up this stupid, maddening, suspicious, uncer-tam, upsetting situation!

  "Mr. Duff ... oh, please!"

  She ran along. He saw her now and smiled. How sweet his smile was! He knew her. He remembered her. But he was just going through.

  Just going through.

  Alice stood still. Why should MacDougal Duff break his trip for her? The train bumbled along; its rear end swayed; it crawled off, heading for the little hills.

  She dug her fists into her pockets, whipped around on her heel, and made for the car. Up across the town she could see the peeling face of the Whitlock house. Damned jack-o-lantern, she thought.

  A small boy, adoring eyes fixed on the big car wWle his body was paralyzed in utter admiration in a tricky pose on a baggage toick, fell off as she viciously slammed the door ot the haughty beauty. She turned the crumpled fender and went roaring up the main street.

  A dog ran from her angry horn, a typical Ogaunee dog, a miserable hound. She swept with a speed and splendor up the hill.

  Alien, she was. Alien in this ghastly town, this dead, this dying place. With a sick millionaire and his delusions on her hands, and no sympathy, not a scrap of it, for him in her heart.

  Alice went down for lunch at one o'clock. Innes and she had spent a quiet morning. He read. She read. They were quite apart, but she was there m the room and that was all he seemed to want. The doctor had come and gone. Come directly from the front door, turning his eyes neither to the left nor the right, and gone out the same way. Alice reported a quiet night and only four of the pills taken. The doctor, viewing Innes thoughtfully, said they were to continue.

  At one, she gave Innes another pill, called Fred to hover near by, and went down to her lunch.

  The sisters were in the dining room. Gertrude sat at the head of the table, as befitted the oldest one. Today she wore a brown silk dress, particularly unbecoming to her colorless face. Alice watched her push food onto her fork with a dainty crust of bread. She managed very well. One would scarcely think she was blind. Except for the spots, old spots from old food, visible on the bosom of her dress. A gob of mayonnaise landed there, and helplessly Alice watched it slide. One did not say to Gertrude Whidock, "Hey, there, you spilled something."

  Maud, who could perfecdy well see with those little sharp gray eyes, was even filthier. She gobbled, she slupped, she chewed with sound effects. Her teeth clicked. Her fingernails were banded in black. Alice kept her eyes averted from that quarter.

  Isabel was rather dainty, though awkward with her left hand. She had to pursue bits around her plate. She had no crust of bread to capture them. She kept the right hand in the kid glove resting primly in her lap. A fine crewl thought Alice. Dear lord, how long?

  The food was good, although not too plentiful. Isabel savored every morsel as if it were her last. Isabel, AUce gathered, ran the house and did the ordering. It was beneath Gertrude, for some reason. And Maud was far too lazy to be bothered.

  Talk was heavy going.

  "Innes tells me," said Alice, "that there used to be a

  pine woods behind the house. How lovely it must h
ave been!"

  "Yes," said Gertrude, "there is a pine woods, of

  course."

  So that was stopped. One didn't say to Gertrude Whitlock, "Oh, no, Miss Whitlock, youVe forgotten. There's only an ugly hole in the ground.''

  She tried again. "Innes tells me his father was the original owner of all this land."

  "Certainly," said Gertrude.

  "Papa," murmured Isabel. "Let's not speak of him, Alice, please. This is such a ... a nervous day."

  Alice stared.

  "My father was killed in an automobile accident," Gertrude said piously. "Isabel was with him. It was a terrible experience."

  "I'm so sorry. I didn't know.''

  "Well, how do you like the family?" boomed Maud, disconcertingly enough.

  Alice smiled, opened her lips to speak, and smiled again.

  "We're a bunch of old women," Maud said. "Ha ha. When's the doctor coming?"

  "He's been," mouthed Alice.

  "What? What did she say?"

  Isabel ripped off the brief remark on her fingers.

  "Oh, he's been, eh?" Maud looked disappointed. "Say, Isabel, Innes ought to have some wine."

  "I have the keys," said Isabel

  Maud twisted her lips to dislodge something from a tooth. "If I had any sense Fd go to the dentist," she an-noimced rather cheerfully.

  Alice finished her meal and fled, excusing herself for nurse's duty. They were fantastic, she thought Disjointed. Scattered. She went into the kitchen to search for some ice.

  The kitchen was large and old. The linoleum on the floor had tracks in it, beaten bare. Josephine was washing dishes with her big hands pmk and bright in the suds. She brought them out, dripping, and showed Alice the ice pick. No newfangled electric icebox here.

  Alice was picking daintily away at a hunk of slippery

  ice when she felt herself surrounded by the aura of Mr. Johnson. He had on a stiff, clean new pair of cotton work pants, but the green shirt was the same. Also the underwear. The pick fell from her nerveless fingers, and he took it, aimed one vicious powerful blow that struck like lightning and shattered the whole side of the ice cake. • He grinned. His teeth were very bad. "O.K.?" he said.

  "Thank you," said Alice and filled her dish, watching out of the comer of her eye as he sauntered over and picked an apple peel off a dirty dish to nibble on. She fled, wondering for the nineteenth time who and why was Mr. Johnson.

  At the top of the stairs she looked back. He was sauntering mto the sitting room. She heard Maud's voice. "Say, go on downtown and get me a box of chocolates."

  "Where's the money?" said Mr. Johnson.

  "You got money," Maud said. "Go on, be a sport."

  Then there was silence. An ugly silence. Alice fled for the third time. Her unagination, she told herself with fervent hope, was too vivid.

  Fred took the bowl of ice. "He's taking a nap.''

  "Oh. Well, then . . .''

  "Want to give me the keys?" Fred said.

  "Of course. I'm sorry. They're in my purse." She went off to her own room and in a moment he followed. He stepped inside the room and half closed the door.

  "Is Innes all right?" she said automatically.

  "Sure. I can hear. Nobody came near him all morning, did they?"

  "No." She handed him the keys to the car.

  "Who's this KUleen?" Fred asked abruptly.

  "Oh. Why, he's a lawyer."

  "You blush easy," said Fred.

  "rm afraid that's none of your busmess," she told him frigidly.

  "I know it. Go ahead. Smack me down some more. Is he coming, though?"

  "How would I know? I suppose so. He'll probably come." Her voice got bitter in spite of her.

  Fred said, "Well, I was going to say . . . When will he get here, do you know?"

  "Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock," Alice said

  promptly and blushed again. "I mean, naturaUy, that's the first tram."

  'Well look, if I were you I wouldn't... You didn't say anything about him downstairs?"

  "No."

  "Don't," said Fred.

  "Why not?" she said carelessly.

  He pushed the door a Httle tighter and came nearer. Don t want to put a time lunit on this thing," he said soflyy. "Can't you see?"

  "No. What do you mean?" She wished he'd go.

  "Well, look, if they think tomorrow's too late, there's still tonight."

  "Oh God,''said Alice, "I can't keep thinking about that always. Things are bad enough without worrying about murder. Murder!" she repeated scornfully

  Fred considered her m silence for a moment "Yeah, but look, just don't let it out."

  "All right I won't," she said. "Is that what you want? Then..." she wanted to say, "Let me alone."

  "You know," Fred drawled, "if anything does happen to him, you'll be a million dollars out"

  Alice felt shocked, "Why, yes," she said carefully, "though I hadn't quite thought of it that way."

  "I though you did think of it that way. I mean, I'm sorry, maybe I got you wrong after all. But I thought you wanted to marry hun because of the money "

  Alice stared at him. It all seemed long ago, somehow.

  "I'm sorry, Fred said. "I mean if I'm wrong. I mean if you..."

  "I told you," said Alice boldly, "and it's true."

  "That's what I thought."

  "Look, Fred," Alice said desperately, "you've been a big help. Keep on being a big help, will you'?"

  "I'm on your side," Fred said. "I thought you knew that.

  "Then why does it matter what I'm marrying him for? The thing is, now, to get out of this mess." "We can't get out until he's well enough to go." "I know."

  "And all I meant was to warn you. A million dollars isan awful big stake. You've got to keep it in mind."

  "I've got it in mind," Alice said.

  "Relax," Fred said. "Gosh dam it. What do you want to get mad at me for?"

  "I'm not."

  "Well, good," he said.

  She tried to smile. "Tell me again, what's this about not talking? Maybe I wasn't listening."

  "All I say is, watch out they don't know the money's getting willed to you tomorrow. Because if they do know, and if they really are up to something, that would make tonight a bad night for the boss. Now do you see?"

  "Yes, I see," said Alice.

  Fred leaned back on the door. It swung closer to closing. He seized the knob and pushed it, using his strength. It wouldn't close.

  "Oh, my God!" screamed Alice.

  She saw the fingers in the crack. In the crack where the hinges were. Fingers being squeezed. She knew it must be excruciating pain.

  Fred looked at her, startled. He didn't release the door, kept leaning his weight on it But there was no sound. Weirdly, impossibly, there was no sound. The fingers were caught in the door, and it must hurt. It must hurt terribly, but no one cried out. There was no scream of pain.

  Alice wrenched the knob from Fred's hand and pulled the door open. Isabel stood there.

  "Oh, Miss Whitlock, Tm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

  Isabel freed her right hand from the crack. She used her left to do it. She lifted the stiff, unnatural gray kid fingers out of the crack and hung them at her side.

  "It really doesn't matter," she said, with a brilliant smile. "I was just going by." She nodded and moved off.

  Alice felt hysterical. "It couldn't hurt her," she said, "but I thought it was a real hand. I thought it was real."

  "It's artificial, all right," Fred said thoughtfully. "I guess that proves it. So she's only got one arm."

  Alice looked up in alarm.

  "I was thinking, last night," he muttered, "how do we know?"

  "How do we know what?"

  "If they're really blind, or deaf, or crippled."

  Alice said, "Do you feel all right?" sarcastically.

  "I don't feel so good," Fred said, "and that's a fact. I wonder what she heard."

  "You think she was listening?"

&
nbsp; "Certainly I think she was listening. Am I a dope? Are you?"

  "I guess she must have been listening," Alice said humbly. "Now what?"

  "It means a hard night tonight and no rest for the weary," Fred said. "Thaf s what it means. Like I said."

  10

  They had an argument about mentioniag the incident to Innes. Fred said they ought not. Said it would scare the pants off him, and he was scared enough already. But Alice insisted that if a man was in special danger he had a right to know it. She said if Fred was really worried, then Innes must be told. Otherwise, she pointed out, it was taking too much responsibility.

  "You don't like responsibility, do you?" grumbled Fred, giving up. "All right, we tell him."

  "But not until tonight," Alice compromised.

  Through the long weary afternoon, Alice drowsed in a chair beside the big bed where Innes lay. Fred came in and spelled her about three o'clock, and she slept on her bed for an hour. Nothing happened. The whole world seemed to be waiting for Innes to heal or for night to fall. The house was quiet. The sisters were invisible. It was too quiet. They were too retiring. One felt one hadn't an eye on them.

  Susan came while Alice napped. She didn't stay long.

  Innes begged for company at dinnertime, and Alice thankfully ate from a tray in his room.

  At about eight o'clock Gertrude rapped on the door. She came in with her somehow stately walk, steering herself a straight course across the room, avoiding furniture in her imcanny way.

  "How are you feeling, Innes?"

  "A little better." Innes forced a confident note into his voice, though he shrank in bed.

  ''Are they taking care of you?"

  "Yes, oh, yes. They wash my face and they feed me pills." Innes was being brave and funny, but his fear blared like a trumpet to Alice's ears.

  ''rm sorry," said Gertrude daintily, "that there is so little I can do for you. But if there is anything, please let me know."

  "Of course. Of course, Gertrude."

  "Then good night." She found the door herself. She made Alice think of a sailboat. Her progress went in geometrical designs, like tacking—as if she knew by memory how many paces to a fixed point and the angle there on which she must turn.