Carol O’Connell - Stone Angel

The police officer leaned down to the open window on Mallory’s side. “I called this in to the hospital. Detective Riker’s got top priority in the emergency room. If they jerk you around and make you wait for that X ray, you got a two-car escort of cops to back you up, okay?”

“Thanks,” said Mallory, as if she might actually need help.

When they were alone, with Riker dozing between them, Charles said, almost incidentally, “Did you notice that Augusta was burning Owltown?”

“She’s cleaning,” said Mallory.

“Pardon?”

“It’s her land now. She can do what she likes with it.”

“You mean Augusta is the one who bought out the New Church land holdings?”

Mallory nodded, as she pulled the blanket up around Riker’s face. “She owns the commercial section and all the waterfront property. She wants to redevelop it as an owl habitat.” She turned to the rear window. “Ah, look at that.” Behind them, another building burst into flames. “Another eviction notice.”

He saw Augusta’s slender silhouette moving away from the flames as the sheriff and his deputy climbed into the front seat. The car was rolling past the smoking remnants of Owltown. Charles leaned closer to Mallory. “But shouldn’t we at least speak to her about – ”

“There’s not much left, Charles, just that one building.” She pointed to the last storefront, saved from its burning neighbor by a wide gap of land. “Oh,” she said, as this too went up in a roar of flames like so much kindling. “All gone.” She turned to Charles and smiled. “Damn.”

The sheriff swung the car around and pointed it back toward the highway, heading for the hospital. His rearview mirror was bright with the flames of Owltown. He turned to his deputy, who had not said a word since the shooting of Malcolm Laurie. “You earned your salary today, Lilith. Your dad is gonna be real proud of you.”

From the backseat, Mallory said, “She was slow with that damn bullet. She still needs work.”

“But she didn’t give up her gun,” said the sheriff in Lilith’s defense. “And her aim was damn good.”

“You’re right,” Mallory conceded. “Not your basic rookie. But she’s got to shoot faster.”

“Well, I can’t let her practice on any more Lauries. Wouldn’t be sporting. They’re limping targets now.”

“Where – What happened?” Riker’s eyes were half open. He turned his head slowly from window to window, trying to fix his place in the world.

“It’s a wrap,” said Mallory. “Go back to sleep.”

“Hardly a wrap,” said Charles. “We still don’t know who killed Babe Laurie.”

“And we may never know,” said the sheriff, not seeming to mind this in the least. And suddenly Charles knew the sheriff had solved that little mystery, for the man reflected in the rearview mirror was smiling contentedly. Mallory seemed unconcerned, disinterested.

“Hey, kid,” said Riker.

“Stay quiet,” said Mallory. “We’re almost there.”

“You remember when you were a little squirt, and I was still allowed to call you Kathy?”

“Yes, I remember. Rest now. Close your eyes.” It was unmistakably an order, but her voice was gentle, soothing. She might have been talking to a child.

Riker did not take direction well. His eyes were all the way open now. “We’ve been through a hell of a lot together, haven’t we?”

“Yes, Riker.”

“So, can I call you Kathy now?”

“No.”

Riker smiled and closed his eyes, drifting off again, mumbling something which might have been derogatory. But even now, Mallory would not let him have the last word. She leaned her head very close to his and whispered, “Sleep.”

Charles toted up the damage to his traveling companions. The sheriff wore a large square bandage above his right eye, but he seemed to be in the best of moods. Riker was defying Mallory and coming back to consciousness. Mallory had shot and wounded all those people, yet she seemed only a bit tired after a long and busy day.

Lilith was another story, for she had just killed a man, and she was not fortified with Mallory’s damaged psyche.

Charles watched the deputy’s profile as she stared out the side window. He caught the almost imperceptible movement of her head from side to side, fighting that slow slide into shock. Her lips were pressed together in a grim tight line. To stifle a scream? Her eyes, so sad, were slowly closing.

Charles intuited a sense of loss, something spoiled.

The passenger window framed an engorged yellow moon suspended over the sugarcane fields. The alignment of the car created the deceit that the moon was also in motion and racing them along the black ribbon of highway, darting behind the odd building and reappearing on the other side.

Lilith’s chin lifted slightly. Her eyes opened, and in the dark mirror of the window glass, Charles noted a hardness in her expression. Her gaze might have been fixed on the same moon that kept pace with them, the same fields, but he thought not. He believed she was looking out on an entirely different landscape.

Death had changed everything.

Mallory had abandoned the boots for a new pair of running shoes. She stood apart from the rest of the party, holding an heirloom wineglass up to the window and staring at the etching of the Shelley family monogram. All the furnishings of this elegant formal dining room had been taken down from Cass Shelley’s attic for this occasion. The long rosewood table was laid with antiques of gleaming silver, crystal and lace.

Charles watched as she carried her glass into the adjoining room, a library of bare shelves. He would have followed her, but his hostess stood in front of him now, blocking the way.

“She’s saying goodbye to the house,” said Augusta.

Charles nodded. He raised his glass and smiled. “To another successful real estate deal.”

She clinked glasses with him, and behind her back, Henry Roth signed in the air, “She’ll be after my place next.”

“I hope there was a deed restriction,” said Charles. “You’re not planning to burn this place or let it rot?”

“Mallory made those very stipulations.” Augusta grinned and went off to see to Riker’s glass, which was in danger of going empty.

The bandaged detective was comfortably ensconced in a well-padded armchair with a footstool. The plaster cast on his arm had been autographed by pretty nurses, state troopers and the lovely Lilith Beaudare. He was enjoying the role of invalid, only needing to glance at the table to have his every wish fulfilled. Augusta had taken a liking to Riker. The rest of the company were left to fend for themselves. The sheriff and his deputy poured their own wine while Augusta and Riker shared a cloud of smoke from cigarette and cheroot.

Charles looked through the wide doorway to see Mallory standing before the library fireplace. The wind rattled the panes all around the house. A draft found entry through an open chimney vent, and a small flurry of dust swirled about the brick hearth at her feet.

So you’ve come home again, Mallory. Was it everything you thought it would be? You have your revenge – the thing you wanted most – and what do you think of it now? You only stand there, waiting for the dust to settle in the chimney.

She was such a closed and private person.

Augusta was right. He would never have answers to all his questions, and he knew better than to voice the most personal ones. So the queries went round and round his brain, blind bats every one, all doomed to fly in endless circles.

As to why she had chosen the name Mallory, he liked his theory that it was her father’s name, but she would tell him nothing about the man. Or perhaps she cared nothing for antecedents. Louis Markowitz had been her father from the age of ten, and apparently he was father enough.