Andrew looked down at his watch. It was after 10:00 A.M. He had gotten here just on time. He pushed the door open and went inside. A bell tinkled faintly as he opened the door. The waiting room was on his left as he walked in. The music from a mellow-listening radio station filled the empty room. The easy chairs in the waiting room were empty, although there was one coat hanging on the coat tree. The air smelled of antiseptic and room deodorizer. Through the door to the examining room Andrew could see his mother’s desk, all neatly arranged, an artificial flower in a vase on it and a picture of himself in a red plastic frame. He sat down for a minute and then jumped up again and wandered around the stuffy room. From inside the office he could hear two voices chattering. Andrew walked over to the gurgling aquarium in the corner and began to tap nervously on the glass sides. Inside, a dozen tropical fish swam purposefully about, exposed by the eerie light of the tank. Andrew bent down and watched them in fascination, wishing for a moment that he could make himself one of them and be inside there, drifting endlessly along, not feeling anything.
An old man’s loud voice said, “Thank you. Doctor.” Andrew sneaked a glance over his shoulder and saw an elderly man with thick glasses coming out of the office. He plucked his coat off the clothes tree and went out the door, never even acknowledging that Andrew was there. Andrew was tempted to yell out, “Hey, you old bastard,” just to see the man jump, but he stifled the urge. He didn’t want the dentist to get testy on him.
After going through the door, he walked up to where Dr. Ridberg was making notes in a file on his desk.
“Hello, Dr. Ridberg.”
The dentist looked up, surprised, and then his lips tightened at the sight of Andrew. He attempted to square his narrow, round shoulders. “I didn’t expect to see you here today, Andrew.”
Andrew shrugged. “I needed to get something from you.”
The dentist looked down at the watch on his thin wrist. “I should think you would be home getting ready.”
Andrew looked at him in surprise, wondering how the dentist could know anything about his plans. “For what?” he asked warily.
“For what?” Dr. Ridberg asked incredulously. “For the funeral, of course. Didn’t you see the sign in my window? I’m closing early so I can get changed and have lunch.”
“I’m ready,” said Andrew.
The dentist sighed and looked back down at his folder. “My wife was going to come with me, out of respect for your mother, but,” he said in a chilly voice, “after what happened yesterday when she was kind enough to try and bring you that food—the way you treated her…”
Andrew smiled to himself as he watched the man fussily rearranging the folders in a drawer. “I came for the money,” he said.
The doctor, who had been expecting an apology or at least an explanation, looked up at him indignantly. “The money? What money?”
“Her pay,” said Andrew.
The doctor shook his head and made a soft, clucking noise. “I am surprised at you, Andrew. I really am. Thinking only of money at a time like this.”
“Don’t try to get out of it,” said Andrew. “You owed her her paycheck. So give it to me.”
The dentist looked at him indignantly, and his balding head gleamed with a halo of perspiration. “I have no intention of trying to cheat you out of this money. Your mother earned it, and I suppose she would want you to have it. But when I think how she would feel if she knew, on the day of her funeral, that you were more concerned with her paycheck—”
“Just give it,” said Andrew.
The dentist gave the young man a withering look and then opened a desk drawer. He hunted around in it and then pulled out a checkbook and opened it. He pulled a ball-point pen from his pocket and began to write. “After all she did for you. The way she sacrificed for you.”
“Not a check,” said Andrew. “I want cash.”
Dr. Ridberg clicked the pen closed and put his hands on his hips. “Andrew, this is not a savings bank. I don’t keep cash around here. I have always paid your mother by check.”
“I want the cash,” said Andrew.
The dentist was about to protest again when something he saw in Andrew’s face made him reconsider. “Oh, very well. I’ll see what I have.” He opened another drawer and pulled out a metal box, which he opened with a key on his key chain. “You know, Andrew, I am really disappointed in this behavior of yours. I’m sure this has upset you very much, but perhaps you should think about going for counseling.” He was counting out bills as he spoke.
“How much is there?” said Andrew.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” came a voice from behind Andrew in the waiting room. He turned around to look.
Estelle Ridberg had come in, holding an animal carrying case in one hand. A small dog, which could not be seen, was making sharp yipping noises inside the box. She looked angrily from Andrew to her husband as she set the case down on the floor.
“Hello, dear,” said the dentist. “What did the vet say about Pepe?”
“He gave me some pills for him. What is going on here?”
Andrew stared at her as she marched up to the desk and looked into the open cashbox.
Dr. Ridberg sighed. “Andrew has come for Leonora’s paycheck. He’s asked for it in cash.”
Estelle stuck out her plump, pointed chin and spoke to her husband as if Andrew were not there. “Don’t give it to him,” she said.
“I think it would be best just to settle this matter right now and be done with it,” said the dentist, clutching the bills in his right hand.
“After what he did to me? That cash is there strictly for emergencies. This is no emergency.” She turned on Andrew, her face screwed up in distaste. She did not feel afraid of him now, on her own territory, with her husband to back her up. “What are you doing here on the day of your mother’s funeral? Have you no shame at all? I can’t believe you would even show your face here. We should kick you right out of here.”
“Estelle, Estelle.” The dentist tried to soothe her. “Please. I have the cash. I’m sure she’d want him to have it.”
But the dentist’s wife would not be appeased. “No, I’m sorry. This is wrong. Leonora would never have approved of this behavior.” She turned on Andrew and waved a pudgy finger in his face. “You should be here apologizing, never mind scrounging for the last few dollars your poor mother—”
Andrew decided, quite calmly, to point something back at her. He pulled the gun from his pocket and leveled it at the woman’s head.
The dentist and his wife both gasped, and he pulled his wife back toward him. No one spoke. The dog yipped anxiously in the background, as if trying to sing along with the music on the radio. Andrew relished the moment and the alarm which had replaced the smug looks on their ugly faces. He could hardly keep himself from smiling.
“Why don’t you give me the rest of the cash in that box while you’re at it?” he said.
Dr. Ridberg raised a hand as if in surrender, and it trembled as he gestured for Andrew to calm down. “All right, son. All right. Now look. You put that away, and I’m going to give you this money we owe you, and we’ll forget all about this.”
“I want all the money,” said Andrew.
The dentist opened his mouth as if to argue, then thought better of it and picked up all the cash in the box with pale, fumbling fingers. “There’s no need for this, Andrew,” he said, handing over the cash. Andrew stuffed it greedily in his pocket. “I know you’re distraught over what happened to Mother. But this—this is robbery.”
The dentist’s wife was shaking, partly from fear but also from anger. She looked as if she would like to claw at him, for the indignities they had suffered at his hand. “We’ve just tried to be nice to you,” she said in a shrill voice. “And this is our reward.” Her husband put a hand on her arm to try to quiet her, but she was determined to speak up boldly. “You won’t get away with this, you know. Unless you give that money back, we’ll have to call the police. An
d we’ll tell them all about you.”
Andrew looked at her quivering flesh, her mean, haughty little eyes, and he felt as if there were something hot and glowing inside his skull, threatening to burst it open. “No, you won’t,” he said.
Then he fired.
The bullet hit the dentist’s wife square in the chest, between the open flaps of her car coat. A look of horror and amazement flashed across her face as she pitched forward. Dr. Ridberg cried out and grabbed for her, but Andrew fired twice again, and the dentist’s hands left his wife and grasped the bloody front of his white examining shirt. Then he, too, crumpled to the floor.
Andrew looked down at the two of them, heaped together there. His ears rang from the noise, and the smoke from the barrel of the gun curled up and filled his nostrils, making him cough. He bent down for a closer look. Their eyes were open in the blank, startled stare of death. Andrew kicked their sides gently and met no resistance. He straightened up and looked at the gun in his hand as if it were a stranger that had just said something mildly surprising. Then he looked back at the bodies.
He had not meant to do it. He was sure that he had not intended it when he came over here. He didn’t even know if the gun would fire after all these years. But now it was done. For a few moments he had the panicky, nightmarish feeling of being on a stage and not knowing any of the lines to the play. But as the shock wore off and he recovered himself, a sense of satisfaction began to creep through him. This is what it means, he realized, to get what you want when you want it. To have your own way. To silence the people you hate. To take what you are entitled to.
Andrew stuffed the gun gently back into his pocket and then stepped over the bodies and emptied the metal cashbox on the dentist’s desk. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he rummaged through the dead man’s pockets, emptied his wallet, and helped himself to the cash contents of Estelle Ridberg’s purse. He emptied the desk drawers, but there was no more money in them.
After running back out into the waiting room, he went from window to window, peering out to be sure no one was coming. As he did so, he saw the Ridbergs’ car in the driveway. For a minute he felt elated. He had noticed the keys in her purse. All he had to do was take it and run. It was tempting and filled him with a sense of reckless excitement, but he forced himself to be cautious about it. If he had the car, he would be easy to spot. The police would be looking out for the stolen car. As it was, he thought he was pretty safe. He was sure he had not told anyone where he was going, and he didn’t think he had been seen coming in here. The old man in the office hadn’t even noticed him. He was still wearing his gloves, so there was no problem with fingerprints. Taking the car would just mean taking an unnecessary chance. You got away with your mother, he reminded himself. If they catch you for this one, you’re finished.
He tried to think what to do next. He would have to go out the back way. He knew there was a back way because he had picked up his mother there from time to time. Taking one last look out the windows, he started back toward the office. The dog in the carrying case was barking wildly now and thrashing around in the box. Andrew reached in his pocket and grasped the gun, staring down at the box. Then he shook his head. The dog never hurt anybody.
He pulled his hand from his pocket and looked down at his watch. He couldn’t take the bus back because he couldn’t leave town on the main road. He could hitchhike, he decided. Someone was bound to pick him up in this weather. He would get a ride to the garage and get a car from Noah. Then he’d be set. With money to spare.
He felt the euphoria returning as he thought of the future. He and Francie would be on their way this very afternoon. Money, a gun, a car, and freedom. It was too good to be true. He stepped over the bodies sprawled on the office floor and headed for the fire exit at the back door. He poked his head out to be sure no one was in sight, and then he started down the steps. He pulled the door shut on the office as the languid recorded voice of Johnny Mathis began singing “Chances Are” on the radio.
Chapter 25
“I DON’T WANT YOU TO GO,” SAID BETH.
Francie put down her comb and turned to face her sister, who was standing in her bedroom doorway. “I have to.”
“I think it’s a bad idea,” said Beth. “You saw the way he acted last night.”
“Well, it’s probably because of his mother and all.”
“I don’t care what his excuse is. The guy is unbalanced. Dangerously unbalanced, if you ask me.”
“You don’t really know him,” said Francie. “He’s very temperamental. But he doesn’t mean anything by it.”
Beth stared at her sister, uncertain what to do. She could forbid her to go, but that would imply that she had the final word on Francie’s actions. She wasn’t Francie’s parent after all. She didn’t want to start demanding obedience just when they were getting ready to start this new living arrangement. She didn’t want it to seem as if obedience were a condition of the move to Philadelphia.
“Look,” said Beth carefully, “I’m not passing judgment here. But you must admit he’s acting very bizarre, and I think you should stay as far away as possible from Andrew.”
Francie pulled on a sweater and buckled the belt on her jeans. “I don’t feel like going, believe me. Just what I want to do. Go to another funeral.”
“So don’t go,” said Beth.
“I have to. I can’t just ignore it. You might not believe this, but Andrew made me feel a lot better at Dad’s. The least I can do is to be there for him today.”
“I’m sure he did,” Beth said, chastened by the implicit reminder of her own chilly reserve of the week before. “And believe me, I applaud your loyalty. I know you want to do the right thing. But I have a very bad feeling about him. I’m worried about you.”
Francie took a Kleenex from her purse and cleaned off her glasses. “It’s no big deal. I’ll be back in no time.”
“I’d better go with you,” said Beth, “to be on the safe side.”
“I don’t think you should,” said Francie firmly. “That’s only gonna make it worse. Look, Uncle James is going to be there the whole time. Nothing can happen. Besides, you’ve got a list a mile long of things you have to do if we’re ever going to get out of here.”
Beth sighed and chewed her lower lip. “We could get it all done afterward.”
“What about the headstone?” asked Francie. “You promised you’d get that, and the place is a half hour’s drive from here.”
“I thought we would do that together,” said Beth.
“There won’t be time. Beth, I’ve got to do this. And you promised we’d get that stone.”
Beth grimaced. “I wish Mom were buried here. Then we could just add his name to hers. It would make it easy.”
“Why wasn’t she?” Francie asked. “I never understood that.”
“Her family had a plot near Boston, where she grew up. She always wanted to be buried with her parents.” Beth did not add her personal suspicion that her father had wanted to save the expense of the plot and the stone.
Francie stuck out her chin. “Well, you said we could get something nice for Dad.”
“I thought you were going to help,” said Beth peevishly.
Francie threw her hands open in a helpless gesture. “I didn’t know this was going to happen.”
“All right, all right,” said Beth. She pointed a finger at Francie. “I’m gonna drop you over at Uncle James’s. I want you to promise me you’ll get a ride back with him.”
“I will,” said Francie irritably.
“All right, get your coat,” said Beth.
“I’m just going up there so I don’t feel guilty, and then I’ll come back. In fact, I’ll meet you at the parsonage later.”
“Okay,” said Beth. Gathering together her boxes for the church and her packages for the post office, Beth followed Francie out to the car. She drove to her aunt and uncle’s and watched as Francie started up the walk to the door of the parsonage.
“B
orrow an umbrella,” Beth called after her. “You’ll get soaked.”
Francie ran back to the car, tipped the front seat forward, and rummaged around behind it. She held up a beat-up folding umbrella and showed it to Beth.
“Ready for anything,” said Francie.
Beth smiled begrudgingly and watched after the sturdy, sensibly outfitted little figure as she trudged up the walk and disappeared into the house. You can’t spend the day worrying about this, she admonished herself. Concentrate on what you have to do.
With a sigh Beth started off” on her errands. Her first stop was the real estate office, where she dropped off the duplicate keys. Next she went to the post office, where she encountered a line, long for Oldham, of three people waiting at the window. Once the packages had been posted, she stopped in the luncheonette next door and ordered a cheese sandwich. While she ate at the counter she scanned the local paper, noting, as she turned the pages, the follow-up article on Leonora Vincent’s death. Her former employer, a Dr. Ridberg of Harrison, was quoted as praising her work and deploring the road conditions in the mountains around the area. The article said that Andrew could not be reached for comment.
Yeah, he was too busy harassing us, Beth thought. She pushed her plate aside, her appetite spoiled by the mention of Leonora Vincent’s son. The thought of his appearance in the house the night before made her shudder. She turned around abruptly on the revolving stool and looked behind her, half expecting to see him there, glaring at her. Then she shook her head and looked down at her watch. The funeral would be starting any minute now. The sooner it started, the sooner it was over. And the sooner we can get out of this town, she thought. And away from that guy. The sooner the better.
Beth left her money on the counter next to the paper and ventured out into the wet afternoon. She got back into the car and drew a blank on what she was supposed to do next. Then it came back to her: the headstone. She sat there for a few moments, trying to think of a way to get out of it, but finally she turned on the motor, pulled out, and headed out in the direction of the monument place.
Little Sister Page 24
