Sara Paretsky - Sisters on the Case

‘‘Are you feeling better, Norah?’’ The very tone of Mary’s voice, the purr of concern, put Norah on guard.

‘‘I’m doing fine,’’ Norah said.

‘‘Ah, that’s good news. I was worried about you,’’ Mary chirped. ‘‘I was wondering if you felt up to it, while I have Tom here, could him and Denny pick up the cupboard? I can’t count on Donel these days.’’

‘‘I’ll go down and unlock the door,’’ Norah said.

‘‘Would it be less trouble if I sent Denny ahead for the key?’’

‘‘I said I’ll go down.’’ She’d send Denny ahead for the key, taunting her, that’s what it was, Norah thought.

She was sure of it when all four of them crowded down the cellar steps. The girl giggling and Denny coming down backwards to give her his hand. A gentleman!

‘‘Hey! It’s creepy in here,’’ the girl squealed.

‘‘Couldn’t we have more light?’’ Mary called. ‘‘Tom wants to look at your furnace while he’s here.’’

Denny opened the storeroom door for her, where she pulled the switch that lit up the whole cellar. Denny seemed to light up with it, as though she had conjured the light for his delight. She could not conceal the pleasure of looking at him, but she turned on Mary. ‘‘Is that light enough for you?’’

‘‘Ah, Norah, you’re still not yourself. It’s Denny made me come along and speak to you for him. I think he’s afraid of you, God knows why.’’ She gave a swipe of her hand at Lainie, who’d crept up, never wanting to miss anything. ‘‘Go there with your father, girl. He’ll need your advice.’’ And to Norah, ‘‘Can we come in for a minute?’’ Her stick ahead of her, she was already in the storeroom. Canny as a scavenger, she saw the gun, but didn’t let on at first. Then: ‘‘There it is!’’ She looked up at her sister. ‘‘It’s the gun, Norah. It’s been on his mind ever since we were here. If I’d known at the time, I’d have said something.’’

Norah’s brief shock of pleasure went dead. She felt let down by Denny, betrayed, him letting Mary in on the little bond she’d thought between him and herself. Afraid of her? Mary’s nonsense. Nobody was afraid of her. He was shy. That’s what she loved about him.

He stood there holding his breath, waiting for the next word.

‘‘What about the gun, Denny? Can’t you tell me yourself?’’ She didn’t want to hear any more from Mary.

‘‘Aunt Norah,’’ he started.

‘‘Just plain Norah, Denny.’’

He nodded. ‘‘Could we borrow it, Aunt Norah?’’

‘‘Who’s the ‘we,’ Dennis?’’

‘‘Mr. Rossa and me. He’ll help me clean it up and take me hunting with him in the fall.’’

Norah did not like Donel Rossa. She didn’t trust him-all his trips to and from Chicago, and his ‘‘holy water,’’ his ‘‘smiles’’ as he called them. He was in the business, she was sure. Why he coddled Mary, she never knew, but she did know how he treated her. Like she was a crook, like she’d befuddled the old lady into leaving her everything. In truth, he made her feel about herself the way she felt about him.

‘‘Have you ever fired a gun in your life, Denny?’’

‘‘I have-in the amusement park in White City. I shot down the whole row of ducks and I took the prize. It was a kewpie doll I gave to my mother.’’

‘‘Oh, my God,’’ Mary said. ‘‘Tell her about the crows in the field this morning.’’

Denny repeated the story much as he’d told it to Mary. He wasn’t sizzling, Mary thought, but he was holding his own. And so was Norah. Mary could see her guard going up. She was afraid of losing something, of something being taken away from her, and she didn’t like Donel, Mary knew.

Tom and the girl had come to the door.

‘‘Rossa knows guns,’’ Tom said. ‘‘He’ll teach you proper. I’m not a hunter myself, but I know one when I see the gun in his hand.’’

‘‘Dad won’t even shoot a fox,’’ Lainie said. ‘‘I’m a better shot than he is.’’

The bold thing, Norah thought. Next she’d want to go hunting with Denny and to hide in a duck blind with him.

‘‘Could I show you, Aunt Norah?’’ Not waiting for leave, he darted across the room and took the gun in hand. He brushed away the dust and broke the breech. Not easily. It needed his strength.

‘‘Empty,’’ he said of the cartridge chamber. ‘‘You must never take a chance.’’ He locked the gun again and held it crosswise to himself and waited.

They were all waiting. Except Mary, who had neither patience nor use for guns, especially this one. She was determined Denny could become the apple of Donel’s eye. ‘‘What good is it to you, Norah? Couldn’t I have taken it the day we were in here cleaning out for you?’’

‘‘You could not,’’ Norah said. ‘‘Shall I tell you why?’’

‘‘There’s no need.’’ She turned round to the door. ‘‘Come on, Denny, let’s go home.’’

Norah spoke out so that all of them would hear. ‘‘You may borrow the gun, Denny, if you give me your word as a gentleman, it stays in this house when you’re not out hunting with it. But you must give me your word.’’

‘‘I do,’’ Denny said with such fervor it made Mary laugh.

She laughed, but with no great pleasure. Norah had won something though she wasn’t sure what. Her back was to them when Denny put the gun back from where he had taken it.

‘‘Thank you, Norah,’’ he said, up close to her face.

Norah thought it eloquent, that soft, rich voice. Simple and eloquent. ‘‘We’ll have a key made for you, Denny.’’

His smile went through her.

Tom was already testing the weight of the cupboard. He had rarely visited the sisters that they did not end things with a quarrel between them. He wanted away. ‘‘Let’s go, Denny. I want to get home before the cows come in.’’

Lainie was there first, lifting the other end of the huge pine box with its clattering doors. ‘‘Lay it down flat and you could put a couple of bodies in it,’’ she said to her father just above a whisper.

‘‘Never mind,’’ he said. But he let her help. He always said she was more help to him than ever a boy would have been.

Denny wanted to telephone Donel that very night and tell him he’d be able to go hunting with him in the fall.

‘‘When you next see him, it’ll be time enough,’’ Mary said, and when he drooped like a spent daisy, she explained, ‘‘Donel Rossa has more on his mind than teaching you how to shoot rabbits.’’

‘‘I know that, but I could start working on the gun by myself. It’s terrible rusty.’’ He suddenly brightened. ‘‘I know what I’ll do-I’ll go in town to the hardware store and they’ll tell me what I need.’’

‘‘I’m sure they will,’’ Mary said. ‘‘And maybe they’ll tell you how to pay for it.’’

A storm blew up in the night and set the beaded curtain rustling. Old bones, she thought. That’s what it was made of. She hadn’t listened to it much since he had come and she had a terrible premonition that she was going to lose him. It was a new kind of pain, as though she needed it. She reached for the flask under the lumpy pillow. She was going to lose that, too.

Rain came with the wind and in the morning she knew they were not going to pick a second round of tomatoes or plough under the potato field. She also knew that one thing she had to do about Denny was keep him busy. She waited for him to come up from emptying the slops and wash the bucket at the outdoor pump. By the time he came in he was soaked to the skin. From the storage bin under the sofa she brought out a checkered wool shirt of Michael’s she’d intended to wear herself someday. The someday had never come. ‘‘It’ll keep you warm hunting ducks,’’ she said. ‘‘Put it on for now.’’