“And now I’m likely the prime suspect in two murders. And if it wasn’t me, who was it? Somebody else who was here. Maybe even somebody I care about. And I don’t know if I want them to find the real murderer or not. And now you’re leaving and I don’t even know if I’ll see you again, and—I feel lost. Like I’m in the middle of a maze and I don’t have the foggiest idea how to find my way out.”
“Oh, Nick.” Lorry set her suitcase down and reached up to touch his face with her free hand. “I don’t know what to say, either. I hardly know you. This would have been difficult even if the weekend had been normal. With everything that’s happened, I just don’t know what to do.”
“I thought—never mind.” He let go of her hand and moved aside. “I’m being stupid. You’re right. You barely know me. I’ll carry your suitcase. Is this the only one?”
“The other one is already down. Bart took it.”
“All right. Let’s go. Don’t forget your purse.”
“Nick, I—”
“Come on!” He strode out of the room. There was nothing for her to do but go back to pick up her purse and follow him.
Peter and Shauna had gone. Hildy had gone. Douglass and Anne were getting into their car. Kendall was waiting in his car. His parents stood together, a short distance away. Bart stood alone.
Nick managed to fit Lorry’s suitcase into the space left in the small trunk. He and his suitcase squeezed into the minuscule back seat. Lorry hugged Ellen and shook George’s hand and then got into the front beside Kendall. As Manziuk had suggested, they made sure all the windows were rolled up and the doors locked.
George shut the door, Kendall turned the key, and a moment later the small car was through the main gate. A television crew and a number of reporters were waiting, but although they tried to get him to stop, and one cameraman ran in front of the car for a short distance, Kendall resolutely shook his head and kept moving until they were through. Soon they were on open highway. The house party was officially over.
Part IV
Never, never pin your whole faith
on any human being:
not if he is the best and wisest
in the whole world.
There are a lot of nice things
you can do with sand:
but do not try building houses on it.
—C. S. LEWIS
SIXTEEN
I’m glad you had a nice time at Aunt Susan’s,” Hildy said as she and her son carried their suitcases into their apartment. “What did you and Diana do?”
“Played Nintendo a lot. And Lego. I know what I want for my birthday.”
“You do, do you? And what would that be?”
“They have some really neat new Lego sets.”
“Oh, I see. Well, perhaps. No promises, though. I might like to surprise you.”
“Mom?”
“Yes, Stephen?”
“What you said before, about how we might be moving away from here. We aren’t, are we?”
“Well, Stephen, the fact is we might not have to go now.”
“How come?”
“It’s hard to explain. Why don’t you unpack and then when your room is tidy I’ll make us some hot chocolate?”
“With marshmallows?”
“With marshmallows.”
He started rolling his suitcase toward his room, then stopped and looked at her. “I’d miss Aunt Susan and Uncle Art and Diana. And the new baby when it’s born. Aunt Susan let me feel her stomach. It’s neat how the baby seems to be kicking. She says it isn’t really kicking. Just moving around. It’s getting to be a tight fit. I wouldn’t want not to see the baby when it’s born.”
“I know, Stephen. I really hope it won’t be necessary for us to go away.”
“Me, too.”
He went into his room and she went into hers.
She shut her door, but instead of beginning to unpack, she sank onto the bed. For the first time since her arrival at the Brodies’, her control gave way and tears streaked down her cheeks. After a moment, she pulled back the duvet that covered her bed and buried her face in the pillow so Stephen wouldn’t hear her. Between sobs, she whispered, “Peter, how can you be such a fool! Oh, Peter!”
Peter Martin was not having an enjoyable evening. Jillian’s parents and her three younger sisters along with several aunts and uncles had been waiting on the doorstep when he and Shauna arrived.
He had to explain everything three times: why they had gone to Brodies’ house for the weekend, who else was there, how the body had been found, and what the police were doing. They wanted to know why it had happened, but he couldn’t answer that. They seemed to think he should have prevented it, but how they thought he could have managed that was a mystery.
Shauna, too, was bombarded with questions and recriminations, and at one point Peter realized Mrs. Jensen had all but said she wished it had been Shauna instead of Jillian. Shauna took it without so much as batting an eyelash. For one brief moment, he wished he could have left Shauna with the Brodies. Then he imagined the barrage of questions he’d have faced if she hadn’t been with him.
As the evening wore on, his head began to pound. When he could stand no more, he went to bed, leaving them to their own devices. If Anne Fischer could get away with it, why couldn’t he?
Just before he went to sleep, he thought of Hildy. It had been nice to see her again. So sensible and competent. It was good that she, and not Genevieve or Jillian, had had his child.
He pulled open a drawer and found the picture Hildy had sent him last Christmas. It was a smaller version of the one she’d had in her room. He sat and looked at it, studying the resemblance to himself in the nose and coloring. But the determined chin was Hildy’s. And so was the serious look in those eyes. Accusing eyes.
Stephen was a cute little kid. Had a birthday coming up soon, Hildy had said. He’d have to send something. Hildy had asked if he could come for the party, but he didn’t think so. Didn’t want to get the kid’s expectations up. The kid was better off not having a father popping up once in a while messing everything up. That was what Peter’s father had done. A travelling salesman, when he came home, he’d thrown their lives into chaos, and then, just when Peter got used to his being around, he was gone again. No, Peter wouldn’t do that to Stephen. Better no father than one who only blew in to mess up his life. Come to think of it, he wouldn’t even send a birthday present. Hildy would take care of him. No fear. Maybe one of these days she’d meet a good man. He hoped so. She deserved to be happy.
Happy. That’s what he’d talked to Lorry about. How this life was all there was and a person had to grab his happiness. Well, he wasn’t feeling too happy right now. He’d never had a wife die before. He wondered how long he should wait after the funeral before he asked his secretary out for dinner. Maybe if he chose a nice secluded restaurant? On the other hand, there was no reason they couldn’t have a business lunch some time soon. A long private lunch.
Anne and Douglass returned home to find Jason and Trina in the middle of a loud argument. Something to do with the mess in the kitchen and living room.
“What’s going on here?” Douglass strode between them.
“I’m not cleaning up after him!” Trina yelled.
Jason swore at her.
“Shut up!” Douglass shouted. “You don’t use language like that in front of your mother. Now what happened here?”
Trina spoke when Jason didn’t. “He had a party. I’ve no idea how many kids. And they got raided by the cops.”
“We did not get raided!” Jason glared at his sister. “How many times do I have to tell you? Some idiot on our street complained about the number of cars, and the cops came because of that!”
“Yeah, right. And the noise had nothing to do with it, I expect?”
“You make me sick! Why don’t you tell Mom and Dad how you just got back? How you haven’t been here since Saturday? Why don’t you tell them you spent the whole time with Luc?”
“Trina!” Anne exploded.
“Oh, get off it. I’m old enough to know what I’m doing. And don’t worry, we know how to be safe. You don’t have to be afraid you’ll be a grandmother for a while yet. If ever!”
Douglass turned on her furiously. “Trina, don’t you dare talk like that to your mother!”
Trina rolled her eyes. “Like I care what she thinks!”
“Trina!”
“I—can’t—take—this.” Anne walked out of the room and slowly went up the stairs.
“Jason, you get this place cleaned up. Now. I’ll talk to both of you later.” Douglass turned towards his study.
Jason sneered. “Mrs. Young can clean this up tomorrow. That’s why we have her. She’s our cleaning lady, remember?”
“Where is she? She should be here.”
“I told her to leave on Saturday,” Jason said. “All she did was complain about the noise.”
“Why didn’t she phone us?”
“Because neither you nor Mom thought to give her your phone number. And I certainly wouldn’t.”
“You two are impossible. I suppose you think we’ve had an easy time. With two murders!”
“Two?” Trina’s eyes were wide. “I only heard about one.”
“Naw, they said on the radio today there were two,” Jason answered before Douglass could. “Wish I’d been there.”
“I don’t suppose you or Mom did it, huh?” Trina asked.
“No, we didn’t do it!”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Yeah, they wouldn’t have the guts,” Jason remarked in a low voice.
“If I were going to murder anyone, it would be you kids.” As he said the words, Douglass saw the contempt in their eyes and realized with a stabbing pain in his stomach that he didn’t know these two people—his son and his daughter.
Nor did he know his wife any more. She had fled upstairs. Likely she had a bottle up there. Just as he had one in his study. He turned toward it. But fifteen minutes later he sat in his chair with his face buried in his hands. A few drinks from a bottle only brought a moment of forgetfulness. They wouldn’t help these strangers become a family.
“That was some long weekend.” Kendall sighed as he and Nick entered their apartment.
“So, what do you have on this week?” Nick asked.
“Not much. Marilyn said something about a party she wants us to go to on Friday. I thought I’d go into the office tomorrow. Start looking things over. I guess both funerals will be this week, won’t they?”
“It all depends on when the police are through with the autopsies.”
Kendall shivered. “I hate to think about all that stuff. Cutting them open and everything.”
“Not something most people can take,” Nick said.
“I’d be the one who fainted.”
“Good thing you chose law over medicine, then.”
“Actually, I felt stupid back there. It was so—embarrassing. I’m in the bathroom throwing up while Lorry handles everything. Not exactly something I’m proud of. It should have been the other way around.”
“Lorry isn’t your average woman.”
“Got it bad, don’t you?”
Nick threw a pillow and Kendall laughed as he caught it.
“Remember that conversation we had on the way up there?” Kendall asked. “You were so sure no woman was ever going to get under your skin.”
“Drop it, will you?”
“So when are you going to see her again?”
“Probably never.”
“Oh, come on—”
“I mean it, Kendall. Stop bugging me about it. You never know when to stop!” Nick slammed into his bedroom.
Kendall stood still for a moment, his face thoughtful. After a moment, he walked over to the phone and dialed. “Marilyn?… I’m okay.… Yeah, well, a lot happened.… I don’t know. I haven’t looked at the papers.… Of course Nick didn’t do it! I don’t care what the papers say. I ought to know if he’d commit a murder or not. Although I think he did want to murder me a minute ago…. I’m joking. Marilyn, I missed you this weekend.”
“My house party didn’t exactly turn out the way I’d planned.”
Ellen’s understatement got a quick laugh from Bart. But as he saw her puzzled look, he coughed.
“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” she said.
“I know. But it was rather a peculiar way to put it.”
“I suppose.” They sat together in the day room, Bart with a drink in his hand, Ellen with a cup of tea beside her.
“How’s Mrs. Winston?” Bart asked after a moment.
“The pills Dr. Felmer gave her seem to have done the job. She’s fast asleep.”
“Still have to face it when she wakes up.”
“I know. But tomorrow I may be more equipped to help her.”
“Yeah, there’s that to be said.” He took a cigarette from his case and lit it.
“When are you going to give up that disgusting and filthy habit?”
“No immediate plans.”
“You don’t care what it does to your insides?”
“Frankly, no. I figure you gotta go some time, so what’s the difference?”
“The difference could be several years.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So?”
“I do feel sorry for you.”
“Thanks a whole lot, but I don’t remember asking you for sympathy.”
“No, you only ask for money.”
“Touché.”
“I can just see you thirty years from now, still coming around begging for money. Only then you’ll be asking Kendall instead of George. Won’t that be awfully demeaning for you?”
“Well, you’ve just told me if I keep smoking I won’t have to worry about old age, so I guess I’ll assume that the gods will look after me and I’ll be history by then.”
“Speaking of that…”
“Speaking of what?”
“Well, God, I guess.”
“Were we?”
“You said something—it doesn’t matter what. I was only going to say how curious it is that Lorry is so religious. I mean, going to church here even when it meant going to a strange place where she wouldn’t know anyone. And then, what she’s doing for the summer. I don’t think she makes any money. Helping kids on the street. Likely most of them don’t even want help.”
“Strange girl, all right.”
“So much like her mother. Not always, of course. We were great friends as girls. But Patricia met this young man who was going to seminary. At first, she was sorry for him. Such a waste, you know. She thought she could change him. But as she got to know him better, she was the one who began to change. She began to believe what he said—that you could know God. And the next thing we knew she was married and gone off out west with him. Happy, too. That’s the surprising thing. Not just in her letters, but I’ve seen her a few times. She’s never had a house with enough rooms, and he’s never been paid enough for them to manage properly, but she’s genuinely happy. Just like Lorry. Rather peaceful to be around.”
“Almost like she knows something you don’t,” Bart mused.
“Yes, that’s it exactly. That’s what Patricia was like. So annoying, yet, sometimes, I’ve wondered if there was something I missed. Not that I’m unhappy,” she said hastily.
“Of course not,” Bart dismissed the topic. “Now, about the money. You implied that if I helped you out this weekend, you’d see that I went away with a little more in my pockets than when I arrived.”
“You’ll have to give me a chance to talk to George. He’s in his study just now working on a case that’s going to court this week, so I wouldn’t want to interrupt him. Perhaps later tonight. You don’t mind staying overnight, do you?”
“Not at all. Although I would prefer to move into the house. If the truth be told, mice aren’t really my favorite companions.”
“Oh, certainly. I’ll change the bedding and give you the room Hildy was in, sha
ll I?”
“That would suit me just fine.”
Alone in his study, George sat nursing a Scotch and trying to concentrate on the file before him. It was a tricky civil case. One of two partners had exercised an option to call for the other partner to buy him out, only to discover that his partner had no intention of doing so, but was exercising a smaller clause which gave him the right to refuse and force the first partner to buy him out. In other words, the first partner’s bluff had been called, and he couldn’t come up with the necessary capital. It was a real mess. If only they could work together… but it appeared that by calling the option into effect, all chance of the two men’s working together harmoniously had ended. The firm of Brodie, Fischer, and Martin was representing the second partner.
Normally, George would have enjoyed preparing for the case, but today he was unable to concentrate for more than a few minutes at a time.
He thought back to Friday afternoon and the feeling he’d had of impending doom. Well, he had certainly been right, hadn’t he?
And to add insult to injury, Bart was still in the house, likely out there cajoling Ellen into giving him money. George supposed he’d find himself writing out another check. Likely, he’d be doing that for the rest of his life.
Well, Bart was family. Besides, George had the money to spare. Only it galled him to think that he was making money only to have Bart go and throw it away. He could tell Bart this was the last time. Make it sound convincing. But of course, Bart was Bart, and that was it.
Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1) Page 29
