“I love surprises,” Gina said. “I don’t care what it is, I love to be surprised. I hope I die surprised!”
— FROM Population 12,360
AT FIVE-TEN, Sergeant Carrington stood in the kitchen studying the stack of dirty dishes in the sink with an expressionless face. At the dinette, the chief of police was talking with Virginia Fulton.
“… because it’s very serious,” he was saying, “and we have to know everything.”
“Even her name?”
“Everything.”
“Edwina Dare,” she said. “She was my father’s mistress.”
“And why didn’t you want her to speak with Mrs. Wealdon?”
“Because she’d tell her everything!”
“And why didn’t you want Mrs. Wealdon to know?”
“Because Mrs. Wealdon was mean. She’d tell my mother.”
“So why had you come here this afternoon?” “I was going to ask Mrs. Wealdon not to see her.” “Ask her? If she was mean, she wouldn’t listen to you, would she?” “N-no.”
“Well, then! What about it?”
“All right, I was going to threaten her.”
“How?”
“I didn’t have any real plan. It was an impulsive thing. I was just going to try and scare her.” “And what did you do?”
“I hid in her closet. I got in through the cellar door, and I hid up in her bedroom closet.”
“Why did you hide like that?” “I wanted to scare her.” “Then what?”
“I — waited until she came home and into the bedroom. She was throwing something into the closet — a girdle and some shoes or something, it’s all very unclear — but I hadn’t expected her to whip the door open like that. I’d wanted to jump out at her, not to have her surprise me.”
“Then what?”
“She said, ‘Why you little brat! What do you want?’ “ “Then?”
“She said, ‘Just what in hell are you doing in my closet, you …”
“What?”
“She called me a cross-eyed brat.” “And what did you do?”
“I picked up a coat hanger. I don’t know why. I was all worked up. I picked up a coat hanger and I hit her.” “Where?”
“Across her back. I didn’t think.” “Don’t cry any more now.” “I’ll try not to.” “What then?”
“She tried to catch hold of the hanger and get it out of my hand. She chased me around the room. I remember I knocked over the globe there with the soap sculpture inside it. She said, ‘Now, you’ve done it. I’ve had that thing for years!’ She was yelling at me and chasing me.”
“Had you hit her again?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“Then I heard her moan. It was a funny sound she made. I turned around and she was running the other way, running toward the bathroom. I stood still and watched her. She went inside and I heard her vomiting. I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there, and then I remember that she came out. She was holding her stomach. Her face was a very funny color, nearly purple. She looked off in the distance as though she couldn’t see out of her eyes. It was as though I wasn’t there at all.”
“Then?”
“She fell on the bed. She was gasping for breath. I said, ‘Mrs. Wealdon, what’s the matter with you?’ but I don’t believe she could hear me.”
“Then?”
“I ran to the telephone. I was going to call Doctor Mannerheim. I had wanted to call him last week and tell him that I was afraid Edwina would tell Mrs. Wealdon, and that it would get back to my mother and just crack her up.” The girl began to cry, sobs forcing her body to heave. The sergeant walked from the kitchen to the door of the living room, while the police chief patted her hair. “There now, Virginia,” he said, “try to finish. Then you can rest.”
“I couldn’t have done that with a hanger, could I? I’m not that strong.” She was sobbing again, uncontrollably.
“You’ll just have to try, Virginia,” said the policeman. “What happened then? Did you call the doctor?”
“Almost, but then I remembered that he wasn’t a real doctor, that he wouldn’t be able to help her. She was really too sick; she needed a real doctor, maybe even the hospital. I was going to call to the operator that it was an emergency. I should have done that, I know that.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“The doorbell began ringing. I was deathly afraid. Mrs. Wealdon was just barely making breathing sounds there on the bed, and she was sick again, but she couldn’t move. I was too afraid to do anything but get away. I ran to the back stairs that go to the basement. I was going to run out the door and down through the fields, but when I looked out the door I saw Stanley Secora coming in the back way. I shut the door and stayed in the basement. I was numb by then, I was so scared.”
“Were you afraid of being blamed for her death?”
“I was afraid of death, that’s all.”
“What do you mean, Virginia?”
“I mean, I’d never seen anything like that. Just nothing. I was never in such a situation in all my life, don’t you understand?”
“I think so.”
“It was like a nightmare. I knew Stanley Secora was breaking into the Wealdons’, and I knew Gloria Wealdon was dying up in the bedroom, and I’d hit her, and I was in the basement — but none of this seemed logical or real to me. I just began to shake, and I felt as though I were perhaps dead myself, or dreaming. I don’t know — ”
“Then?”
“Always then! Oh, listen, I didn’t mean to hit her! I never even planned to hit her!” “Virginia, be calm.”
• • •
The sergeant wandered into the living room. Fern Fulton sat in the deep chair, staring out at the twilight, biting her knuckles. In the corner opposite, Min Stewart was speaking with Secora, and Jay Mannerheim was resting his head by holding his hand to it, covering his eyes, his elbow balanced on his knee.
At the sound of the telephone, everyone became alert.
The sergeant answered it.
He seemed to say little else than “Yes. Yes. Okay. Right. Yes.”
Then he hung up.
“Anything?” said the voice of the chief of police from the other room.
The sergeant went inside and they spoke in hushed voices together. When he returned to the living room, he said, “I got three news flashes.”
“Well?” said Min Stewart.
“Well,” said the sergeant, “number one is she was poisoned. That’s how she got it.”
“And the rest?” said Min Stewart.
“Number two is we picked up Mr. Fulton. He’ll be along here soon.”
Mrs. Fulton didn’t answer. She just put the handkerchief to her eyes again.
“And now comes number three,” the sergeant said. “Number three is we picked up Louis Stewart, Jr. He was in the five-and-ten,” said the sergeant, “stealing.”
“He was what?” said Min Stewart.
“He was at the dinnerware counter, m’am, stealing spoons.”