Морган Лливелин - Drop by Drop

“You needn’t be here, Muffin,” Gerry whispered. “No one expects it of you.”

“I expect it of me, darling. He was your boss.”

“Not by the time he died,” her husband said.

“It began in your laboratory, didn’t it?”

“According to the Seed the fire department thinks the original explosion was in there, yeah. By the time the Nyeberger boys ran out of the lab it was in flames, and the fire spread fast. The kids were in serious trouble; at least one of them had set his own clothes on fire. Their screams must have alerted Bennett, the poor bastard. We won’t know the exact sequence of events for a while, but he got the boys outside. One of the little ones was the last, he’d been hiding under a table. Bennett apparently went back for him and then something else exploded. He took the full force of it.” Gerry paused. “An open casket wasn’t an option. Cremation was the best choice.”

Gloria briefly closed her eyes. “Poor Mrs. Bennett.” After a moment she asked, “Was the Change responsible for what happened?”

“It’s too soon to tell, Muffin, but I don’t see how. The lab wing contained a lot of volatile material. All those boys had to do was expose phosphorus to air to ignite it.”

“Surely no one will blame the children after what they’ve been through.”

“Youngsters that age aren’t children anymore,” said Gerry, “and they haven’t been for a long time. They’ve been seduced into a whole new category in order to sell them overpriced technology. If I’d been in Bennett’s place, would you forgive them?”

Gloria’s response was immediate. “If one of them was our boy, would you want him charged with murder?”

When people began to leave the cemetery Nell stayed where she was. She could not turn her back on the mound of flowers with the bronze urn waiting on top. Could not walk away.

Katharine Richmond hugged her as if she were made of glass. “Are you all right, dear? Are you too cold? I brought a heavier coat for you, just in case.”

“I’m fine, Mom.” To Nell’s ears her own voice sounded like that of a stranger.

“Jess and Colin are coming home with me now in one of the limousines,” her mother said. “You come when you’re ready. I’ll have beds for all of you. You and Jess in the guest bedroom and Colin on the rollaway in the dining room. You don’t want to go back to… you don’t want to go back yet.”

Mrs. Richmond remembered burying a husband.

My mother’s taking me home, Nell thought in an abstract way. That’s nice. But she did not feel it, did not feel anything.

Jack Reece had remained at Nell’s side throughout the funeral service. She knew of him in the general way people in Sycamore River knew about other people; he was Bea Fontaine’s nephew. Aside from that he was a stranger. They were all strangers, the people under the marquee and on the lawn beyond. Faces with no one behind them.

When the workmen began to move the floral arrangements, Jack put a hand on Nell’s arm. She did not feel its warmth, only its weight. “I’m here with my aunt Bea, Mrs. Bennett. We can take you anywhere you like.”

“I have my own car,” said Nell. In that faraway voice which wasn’t hers.

His sudden smile surprised her. “I know you do; I supplied your tires.”

Bea Fontaine insisted, “You’re in no condition to drive right now, Nell. Leave your car here and we’ll bring it to you later.”

Later Nell would recall being in the front passenger seat of a Volkswagen driving along the riverbank. Her eyes were drawn to the moving water. Indifferent to life and death; obedient to another purpose. Rob is gone, but the river will still be flowing tomorrow.

She knew she should be grieving. All she felt was free.

And despised herself for it.

As he drove Jack kept a covert surveillance on the woman beside him. He knew before Nell did when she relaxed slightly. “I think a brandy might be in order about now,” he said over his shoulder to Bea. “How about the Chatham Hotel?”

“In the back of the dining room, where it’s quiet,” she agreed.

Colin and Jessamyn were waiting for Nell at the door of her mother’s apartment. Colin stepped forward and put his arms around her in a tight hug. “I love you, Mom.”

Warmth began to flow through Nell’s veins.

Jess said shyly, “I made up your bed myself. I took the best pillow from Gramma’s bed.”

I would kill for these children, Nell thought. Nothing must ever, ever be allowed to hurt them.

I would kill for them.

At the veterinary clinic Paige Prentiss was not favorably impressed by Tyler Whittaker. The chief of police had too much starch in his shirt and too little give in his attitude. “We’ve been informed by a reliable source,” he said in clipped tones, “that Robert Bennett’s firm was threatened by members of the Daggett’s Woods Conservancy.”

She bristled. “That’s not true! None of us would do such a thing, we believe in peaceful protest. We certainly never blew up any buildings. Who’s your reliable source anyway, a witch with a Ouija board?”

“I’m not at liberty to give you that information. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to examine these premises for incendiary materials.”

“I mind very much! Show me your warrant.” Paige clenched her jaw.

Sheriff Whittaker was not a native of Sycamore River. When he took the job he had been warned that small-town people did not react kindly to the sort of tactics used in the city. “Ask ’em nicely, don’t demand,” was the advice he received from the former incumbent. The disaster at RobBenn was his first really big case, and proving to be a steep learning curve. “I don’t have a warrant with me, Miss Parsons.” He gave her a wooden smile. “I was hoping you’d cooperate.”

“Well, I won’t. Go get your warrant.”

As he left Whittaker heard her hiss, “Fascist.”

He wheeled around. “What was that?”

“Ashes,” Paige said with wide-eyed innocence. “You have ashes on the seat of your pants. Do you want me to brush them off for you?”

Forensic investigation into the RobBenn disaster confirmed that Robert Bennett had been using unstable materials in the production of questionable merchandise. The mystery was officially resolved when Kirby Nyeberger, suffering from excruciating phosphorus burns, recounted from his hospital bed the part he and his brothers had played in the tragedy. The badly damaged boys would be paying for their hour of mischief for the rest of their lives. But no charges were filed. No judge in Sycamore River would hear the case.

Nell began to suffer nightmares about the last few moments of her husband’s life. There must be some way she could have saved him, if only…

If only…

She awoke in the grainy light of dawn to pace the floor and smoke cigarettes, a habit she had abandoned when she met Rob. He would not kiss her if she tasted of tobacco.

“Mom,” said Colin, “I wish you wouldn’t smoke. What would we do if you got lung cancer?”

“You’re like your father, you always see the bright side.”

“Is that a joke?”

But she threw the cigarettes away.

The tobacco industry was one of thousands crippled by the Change. In the manufacture of cigarettes the highly specialized machines were constructed of metal, but every step of the production process involved parts made from hard plastic. Packaging ceased. Distribution ceased. Smokers would have to roll their own from now on.

There would be fewer deaths from lung cancer in the future.