Маргарет Миллар - Vanish in an Instant

“What do you think I can do about it?” Meecham said.

“You must come and take the money back again, what’s left of it. I asked her to let me keep it for her and she said no, if I kept it she’d never see more than a dollar at a time like in the old days when Birdie gave her an allowance. I have no right to take the money from her. But you have, Mr. Meecham. You sent it to her and you can take it back again. That would be lawful, wouldn’t it?”

“No, it wouldn’t, because I didn’t send her any money.”

There was a silence at the other end of the line. Then Garino’s voice again, talking not into the telephone but to someone beside him. “He says he didn’t send it, Mama.”

“He must have. Where else would she...?”

“She borrowed it, maybe.”

“Who from? Who’d lend her money?”

“She wouldn’t steal.”

Then there was another silence, and Mrs. Garino said in a barely audible voice, “I never leave my purse around anymore.”

Meecham spoke sharply into the phone: “Garino?”

“I’m here, Mr. Meecham. I was talking to Mama. She says to tell you we’re very sorry we bothered you, and... and what else, Mama?”

“Merry Christmas,” Mrs. Garino said.

“Oh yes, and a merry Christmas,” Garino said gravely.

“Wait a minute, Garino.”

“I am embarrassed, making such a big mistake, thinking you sent the...”

“Forget it. Is Mrs. Loftus home now?”

“Yes.”

“Keep her there.”

“By this time she is too drunk to go out anyway.”

“I want to talk to her,” Meecham said. “It’s very important. I can leave right away and I should be there in a little over an hour.”

He put the phone down and turned to Alice. She was smiling at him, but not very convincingly.

“You left me behind once tonight,” she said. “I don’t want to be left behind again.”

“Do you like long winter drives in the country?”

“Very much.”

“Sure?”

“I adore them.” She reached down slowly, bending at the knees, and picked up her scarf from the floor. She said, without rising, “I could sit right down here and bawl.”

“Please don’t.” He pulled her gently to her feet. “Remember, you’re twenty-three.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“No. Here, I’ll put on your scarf for you. Will you let me?”

“I guess.” She watched him as he tied the scarf awkwardly under her chin. “Meecham, do we have to go?”

“We have to.” He switched off the hall light and for a moment they stood in the dark facing each other but not touching. “You’re not angry?”

“No.” She shook her head, rather sadly. “But I don’t think I’m twenty-three any more. I think I’m older.”

The lights in the Garinos’ basement apartment were on. From the sidewalk Meecham and Alice could see right into the kitchen. Mrs. Garino was sitting alone at a big linoleum-covered table, motionless, as if she was listening for a sound or waiting for something to happen.

Garino answered the door. He had a sleeping kitten nestled in the crook of his arm.

“You arrived fast, Mr. Meecham.”

“Yes. Miss Dwyer, Mr. Garino. Miss Dwyer is my fiancée. She came along for the ride.”

“Come in, come in.” Garino stepped back to let them in, and at the movement the kitten awoke and began sheathing and unsheathing its claws against the rough wool of Garino’s sweater coat. In and out, the claws moved like iridescent needles being thrust in and out of tiny pink plush cushions. “I will get my keys.”

“I could hold the kitten for you,” Alice said shyly.

“Ah, you like kittens, eh?”

“I love them.”

“This one, he is the littlest. He is always the last to eat, and when he sleeps he is always at the bottom of the pile, so I spoil him a little to make up for this.” Alice sat down in an old wicker rocking chair and Garino put the indignant kitten on her lap. “I will go and tell Mama to fix some coffee.”

“I already put it on,” Mrs. Garino said from the kitchen, sounding rather angry that anyone should have to remind her to make coffee.

“Come out here for a minute, Mama.”

“I’m not dressed for company.” But she came to the door anyway, smoothing her skirt down over her hips. “We’re upset around here today. I didn’t have time to fuss with clothes.”

Meecham introduced the two women and they eyed each other carefully from an ambush of smiles before they stepped out into the open.

“She can stay down here with me,” Mrs. Garino said to her husband. “She wouldn’t want to go up there to that...”

“Mama.”

“How many times a day do you have to say Mama to me like that? You might as well be honest and say shut up .”

“That wouldn’t be so polite,” Garino answered blandly. The two men went out into the hall and Garino closed the door.

“Is she still in her apartment?” Meecham said.

“Yes, I went up to check fifteen minutes ago. She is drunk, naturally, but not as bad as I expected. I heard her through the door walking around talking to herself.”

“Does she know that Earl’s dead?”

“I couldn’t tell her. She was so happy today, spending that money, how could I spoil it? It’s a long time since she had money to spend and it went to her head. When you never have more than a dollar, a hundred dollars seems like it would last forever.”

“If my guess is right, there’s a lot more than a hundred dollars involved.”

“Then you know how she got the money?”

“I don’t know how she got it,” Meecham said. “But I know where it came from originally.”

“She didn’t steal it, though?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.” But he sounded relieved.

The door of Mrs. Loftus’ apartment was locked. Though Garino had the key to it in his hand, he knocked once, and then again, before using it.

The old lady was sitting sideways on the battered davenport, her feet up and ankles crossed, her back to the door. She was smoking a cigarette through a long silver holder, her fingers elegantly extended.

She spoke without moving her head. “Don’t I ever get any privacy anymore?”

Garino turned a little white. “I asked you please not to smoke when you’re drinking.”

“You’re a butterinski, Victor. That’s what we used to call people like you in my day. What do you want now?”

“I brought someone to see you.”

“I’ve already seen someone.” She flicked the ashes off her cigarette in the general direction of an ash tray. Some of the ashes spilled on the floor and the rest on her dress. Meecham noticed that the dress already had two or three scorch marks on it though it looked brand new. Everything she wore looked brand new — the magenta-colored dress with a purple velvet flower at the waist, sheer black stockings, ankle-strap suede pumps and a hat made of sleek black feathers. Nothing fitted her. The hat perched on her head like a reluctant raven, the stockings hung in pleats on her legs, and the full skirt of the dress stuck out from her fleshless hips like a ballerina’s tutu.

The room smelled of whisky and of smoke, more acrid than cigarette smoke. Meecham saw then that the old lady had been burning something in the grate. The center of the fire had burned down to a crust of gray and black ash, but around the perimeter some material was still smoldering.

“I didn’t know you were going out,” Garino said.

She bent her head toward him, slowly, as if to avoid frightening the raven on her head. “I am not going out, Victor.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“I said...”

“It’s very cold and late, and besides, the bars will be closed pretty soon.”