Маргарет Миллар - Do Evil In Return

“I can’t understand you when you shout like that,” Charlotte said softly. “No one’s going to hurt you. Take it easy.”

“They said I got hysterical alla time. I don’t, I don’t! I never did!”

“Easy now.” She turned to Lewis who had remained outside the door. “There’s some brandy in my car. Would you get it?”

“And leave you here alone with...”

“Of course. Mrs. Voss realizes that I’m her friend, I’m going to help her.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Voss sobbed. “Yes, yes! You’re my friend! You’re my friend!”

Tears spurted out of her eyes as if something had suddenly smashed inside her. Charlotte knelt down and put her arm around the woman’s shoulders. She could hear Lewis going down the stairs, very swiftly, as if he was glad to get away.

“I didn’t have nothing to do with it, I didn’t.” She dabbed her eyes with the hem of her torn skirt. Even after all her shouting and weeping, her face was still white. “They can’t put me in jail. I’d die if I was put in jail. I’m sick anyways, I’m sick.”

“I know.”

“You can see in my face I’m sick. Maybe I’m going to die, anyways.”

“That’s nonsense. You need some good, nourishing food, and a nice rest in the hospital.”

“No, no, I’m scared of hospitals. I never been in one.”

“That’s why you’re scared... Here, hold onto my arm and well go downstairs.”

Mrs. Voss was still breathing heavily and rapidly, but she was no longer hysterical. She had enough presence of mind to remind Charlotte to blow out the candle before they went downstairs.

In the huge barren living room Mrs. Voss lay down on the couch and Charlotte took off her coat and wrapped it around Mrs. Voss’s legs.

“What happened that you had nothing to do with?” she asked.

“I don’t know nothing.”

“Yes, you do. I can’t help you if you won’t tell me anything.”

“They was fighting, they was all arguing down in the kitchen after I went upstairs.”

“Who was?”

“Eddie and Clarence and the old man.”

“Tiddles?”

“Yes, Tiddles.”

“What were they arguing about?”

“A purse. Something about a purse.”

Lewis returned with the brandy and Charlotte mixed an ounce of it in half a tumbler of water. She wasn’t sure what effect brandy would have on Mrs. Voss; too much, undiluted, might send her back into hysterics.

“They were arguing,” Charlotte said, “and then what?”

Mrs. Voss began to cry again, softly, exhaustedly. “Oh, I can’t tell. I don’t know.”

“Something happened.”

“I think — I think Tiddles — died.”

“Do you mean they killed him?”

“No — oh, I don’t know. I didn’t see. I just know there was blood, a lot of blood. I heard Eddie on the porch talking about it, he’s ascared of blood. He kept saying they got to wash it off. I started to come downstairs to see what’d happened, only Clarence saw me. That’s when they took me up to the attic and locked me in. They wouldn’t take me along, they said I couldn’t keep my tonsils from flapping. ‘Good-bye, sweetheart,’ Clarence says, ‘good-bye sweetheart, it’s been hell knowing you.’ ” She turned her face away and pressed it against the brown mohair upholstery to hide her shame and humiliation.

Lewis had gone out into the hall again. Charlotte could hear him walking around on the creaking floor, walking and walking, like a man exploring the possibilities of escape from a cell.

Charlotte said, “What makes you think Tiddles is dead?”

“The quiet. They was all arguing in the kitchen first, afterwards on the porch. And then suddenly there was a quiet, a long, dead quiet before Eddie started to talk about the blood and washing it off with a hose. That’s when I started to come downstairs and Clarence heard me. ‘Something has come up,’ he says, ‘Eddie and me are going on a little trip.’ ”

“Where do you think they went?”

“Somewheres in Eddie’s car, I don’t know where. Maybe they took the old man away.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m tired, I’m so tired.”

“I know. I’ll see what can be done.”

She found the phone in the dining room and dialed the County Hospital. When she had finished talking she went out into the hall. Lewis was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase rolling an unlighted cigarette between his fingers. He looked grimly amused, as if it had just occurred to him how funny it was that he, Lewis Ballard, should be in such a place.

“Now what?” he said.

“I though you could drive Mrs. Voss out to the County General. They’re expecting you...”

“Why me?”

“I have to go to the police. I think there’s been a murder and it’s better if you stay out of it entirely.” He was no longer amused, no longer anything but frightened. He said, “Christ,” and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

“You needn’t come into the picture at all,” Charlotte said, keeping her voice low so that Mrs. Voss wouldn’t overhear. “I’ll tell them that I came here alone and found Mrs. Voss locked up and hysterical and that I phoned a friend to come and drive her to the hospital.”

“Your story’s not going to match hers.”

“She’s confused. She may not even remember that we came here together.”

“I hope to God not.”

“Take her around to the back of the hospital — there’s a door with ‘emergency’ printed on it. The doctor on duty is a friend of mine. I told him what to do. Just drive her there. Don’t stay, get home as fast as you can.”

“Christ.”

She went back into the sitting room and told Mrs. Voss that she was going to be driven to the hospital.

“I don’t want to go,” Mrs. Voss moaned. “No. I’m scared.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’ll have a good sleep tonight and tomorrow morning I’ll come in to see you. We’ll try and get you back to normal again.”

Lewis brought his car around to the front of the house and he and Charlotte half carried Mrs. Voss out and put her in the back seat.

Mrs. Voss was weeping again, hiding her face with her hands. Good-bye sweetheart.

When the car was out of sight she went back into the house and called Easter. The phone rang eight or nine times before he answered.

“Mr. Easter?”

“Yes.”

“This is Charlotte Keating. I don’t know if you remember...”

“I remember.”

“I’m down at 916 Olive Street. Something pretty bad has happened. I don’t know exactly what. Could you come and have a look around?”

“I’m in bed.”

“You can get out of bed.”

“If I had a reason.”

“One reason is that I’m asking you to.”

He was there in ten minutes. She couldn’t force herself to stay alone in the house, so she was waiting for him on the porch when he arrived.

He crossed the front yard slowly, taking his time, looking up at the windows of the house, the shattered glass on the roof of the porch. In the half-dark his eyes looked peculiar, intensely penetrating, as if they could see more than eyes were meant to see.

“What’s up?”

“I’m not sure, but I think the old man, Tiddles, has been murdered.”

“Why didn’t you call headquarters and tell them instead of me?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I... well, I didn’t like the way the policeman sounded over the phone.”

“Then you did call headquarters?”

“No — I mean I called earlier. About a different matter.”

Easter leaned against a pillar, attempting to look casual, but his eyes betrayed him. “What matter?”

“It has nothing to do with — with this. Why do you stand there asking me such silly questions?”