Лоуренс Блок - Ariel

“I know. I only spend time with you out of charity. I’m going to take a tax deduction for it.”

“Shut up. The thing is, if they’re so glad you’re my friend, why wouldn’t they let you move in?”

“ Your parents might. Or I could just move in quietly and they wouldn’t notice.”

He giggled. “My father could live in the same house with you and not notice you were there. At dinner you could ask him to pass the salt and he’d pass it and still not notice. But my mother would catch on sooner or later. She’s sharp.”

“Mine would never go for it, David and Roberta.”

“Can’t you get unadopted? And move in here?”

“I don’t think so? she said. She went to the window again, just to see if the car happened to be around, and she couldn’t see it. “Anyway,” she said, “I don’t want to move out of my house. I like it there.”

“I know you do.”

“I want to live there forever. I knew that the minute I saw it and every day I like it more.”

“I know.”

She sat down heavily. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Want to listen to the music some more?”

“No. Maybe I’ll go home.”

“It’s still early.”

“I know. I’m in a weird mood.”

“Want to play a game? Cards or Boggle or something?”

“No.”

He touched her arm lightly. “Listen,” he said, “don’t panic or anything, okay?”

“I guess.”

“We’ll think of something. Maybe nobody’ll want to buy your house.”

“Are you kidding? A house like that? Somebody’ll buy it.”

“Yeah.” He brightened. “Maybe my father’ll buy it.”

“Your father?”

“He’ll buy it for us.”

“Sure,” she said. “Just tell him you need it, like the tape recorder. ‘Daddy, I sort of need Ariel’s house.’ Perfect.”

“Don’t laugh,” he said. “It might work.”

It was cold when she left Erskine’s house, with a wind blowing up that chilled her the minute she got outside. She had her bookbag hitched over her shoulder with the strap cutting into her. The bookbag was heavier than usual, weighted down with one of the tape recorders. She was carrying the other one.

A car’s engine turned over as she left the house. About the time she reached the sidewalk, the car was pulling away from the curb several houses down the street. She was only faintly aware of it until it braked to a stop alongside of her.

“Ariel!”

She turned. It was the Buick, and Jeffrey Channing was leaning across the front seat, rolling down the window on the passenger side. There was a small hole in the window, she noticed, with lines radiating out from it like the spokes of a wheel.

“Come here, Ariel.”

He knew her name. Well, of course he would know that. If he was Roberta’s lover or lawyer or whoever he was, he would surely know her name. He’d been following her, after all. Small surprise that he knew who he was following.

“You’re Ariel Jardell,” he said.

And you’re Mr. Jeffrey Channing, she thought, but decided against letting him know that she knew who he was. She merely nodded, and took a tentative step toward the car, moving from the sidewalk to the narrow strip of lawn between sidewalk and curb.

“Get in the car, Ariel,” he said. He let the door swing open and smiled at her, a tight smile that stopped short of his eyes. He was definitely a handsome man, she thought, and wondered that Erskine couldn’t see it.

Old enough to be her father...

“Get in, Ariel. I’ll drive you home.”

“I live close,” she said.

“I know where you live.”

“I don’t mind walking.”

“It’s cold out. I’ll give you a ride.”

“No, I sort of think I’d rather walk.”

“Get in the car,” Channing said. There was a taut quality in his voice that she recognized. Roberta’s voice had that tone to it at times when she was having trouble holding herself together. If he was really Roberta’s lover, maybe he learned it from her. Or maybe she got it from him.

“Get in the car, Ariel.”

Suppose she ran. Suppose she turned around and ran up the path to Erskine’s door. They would let her in and Mr. Wold would call the police.

And tell them what?

“Ariel—”

“Why were you following us?”

“Why were you and your friend at my house the other day?”

“Your house?”

“On Fontenoy Drive. I saw you there, Ariel.”

“Oh,” she said. “We went to visit a friend of mine from my old school. Her name is Linda Goodenow.”

“You were at my house.”

“I didn’t know it was your house. Honest. We were visiting my friend Linda. You can ask her if you don’t believe me.”

He looked at her for a moment. Then suddenly his face brightened with a smile. “I believe you,” he said, moving to pat the seat beside him. “Now hop in and I’ll give you a ride.”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t you know me, Ariel?”

“No.”

“You don’t recognize me?”

“I don’t know who you are.”

“I’m a friend of your mother’s.”

“My mother?”

“That’s right.”

Her heart pounded in her breast. “Do you mean it? Are you telling me the truth? You really know my mother?”

“Of course.”

“You know who she is? Is she alive? Does she live here in Charleston? You really know her?”

“Get in the car, Ariel.”

“Are you going to take me to see her?”

He smiled again for an answer.

Who was he? Her father? Roberta’s lover? Some combination of lawyer and detective? It didn’t matter. He knew her mother and was taking her to meet her. It was hard to believe but it was true. It was...

She got into the car.

“Where are we going?”

“For a ride.”

But she already knew that. He had driven out of the neighborhood down streets she did not know, and it was hard to tell whether he had a destination in mind or was just letting the car find its own way. She was sitting next to the door now, her right hand on the handle. All she had to do was wait until he stopped for a light or a stop sign and then open the door and hop out.

“Are we going to see my mother?”

“Your mother,” he said, like an echo.

“Are we?”

“You’ll be home in time for dinner, Ariel.”

“Home?”

“With your mother and father.”

Her heart sank. Of course! Like a fool she had believed what she’d wanted to believe. Erskine had said the man was old enough to be her father and she had believed he was her father. And he’d mentioned knowing her mother, and she’d believed he meant her real mother when all along he was talking about Roberta. Unless—

“You mean Roberta.”

He nodded. “Your mother,” he said. “I have my own name for her, you know.”

“You do?”

“I call her Bobbie,” he said. His voice was very soft, tender, and Ariel could imagine him murmuring love things to Roberta — to Bobbie — and the idea stirred something in her.

“Where are we going?”

“I told you. For a ride.”

“I want to go home.”

“Where’s that?”

“You know. On Legare Street.”

“You can’t go home again, Grace.”

“My name is Ariel.”

“There’s no time left, Grace. The captain’s lost at sea and all your little ones have died in their beds. Did you smother them as they slept, Grace?”

Oh, God, he was crazy. That’s why he’d had that tightness in his voice, just like Roberta. He was as crazy as she was. Maybe even more so.

Why was he calling her Grace? And what was he talking about?... Little ones, smothered in their sleep... he was talking about Caleb!