King of Murder

“Your fingerprints?” Herculeah asked. She didn’t want to believe it, but the crazed look on Gilda’s face made it true.

“Wait a minute. Are you saying your fingerprints are on the knife because ... because”—she could hardly get out the words—“because you killed her?”

“Do you remember when we were in Rebecca’s house? When we were leaving, I said that only a person who was insane could kill someone like Rebecca.”

“Well, that’s what it was like—insanity. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t plan to kill her. I don’t even remember doing it.”

Herculeah was relieved to see that Gilda had not actually picked up the knife, and had withdrawn her hand. Herculeah knew Gilda had murdered with that knife. Once it was in her hand, she wouldn’t hesitate to use it again.

She had to keep her talking. Maybe Mathias King would come home. Maybe something would happen. She knew she could always dart around Gilda and beat her to the stairs, but she would have to leave the knife! With the fingerprints!

“Oh, yes. She was the older sister. She handed down her clothes to me. My mother was housekeeper there—did I mention that? I wore her cast-off clothes, and she never let me forget it. In front of our friends, she would say things like, ‘I always wore that blouse with the top buttons open. It showed off my gold chains.’ ”

“She was a very greedy girl. She had everything, but like so many greedy people, she wanted it all.”

“If I got a friend, Rebecca would move heaven and earth to get the friend away from me. And she had the money to do it. I thought when we went to high school that I would be free of her. She was going to an expensive private school, but at the last minute, it was decided that I would attend the private school, too—it was a gift from her parents. My mother wouldn’t let me refuse—she said it would be ungrateful.”

Herculeah took a step backward, away from the table with the knife. Gilda followed, too intent on her story to notice she was being led away from her weapon.

“All my life it was like that. The first real happiness I had in life was at Magnolia Downs. I made real friends. I had a nickname for the first time in my life. I was Gilda. People liked me. I had my Tai Chi class.”

“‘Isn’t it wonderful!’ she said. ‘I’m going to be at Magnolia Downs with you. I’ve bought the Magnolia suite. They’re renovating it for me. It has a lovely living room.’ She pointed to the picture of a beautiful, spacious room. She said, ‘I can have parties there, and—I was saving this for a surprise, but I have to tell you. It’s too good to keep. I’ve been taking Tai Chi classes. I have a private teacher and I’ve caught on so quickly I’ll be able to help you teach your classes.’

“And I remember nothing of the next few moments. I only know that I looked down and there was a knife in my hand and Rebecca had been stabbed—I had just stabbed her once—and she was dead.”

“I ran out of the house. The knife was still in my hand, and I flung it aside. I got into my car and drove away. On the way home I lost control of the car and struck a tree. I wasn’t wearing a seat belt—I was too upset—and my face struck the steering wheel. When I got back to the Downs I was in shock, trembling, incoherent—and bloody. I got a lot of sympathy for my accident, and the nurse checked me into the infirmary at once.”

“Rebecca’s body wasn’t discovered until Monday, when the maid arrived. From Friday till Monday I was in and out of consciousness. I kept calling her name—Rebecca, Rebecca. And they tried to reach her—everyone at the Downs knew she was my best friend—but of course they couldn’t. I had such dreams that I actually believed the murder hadn’t happened.”

“Yes, I knew what I’d done then, and I expected I would be arrested. My prints were on the knife, but that was the strange thing. They didn’t find the knife. I had thrown it on the lawn in full view of anyone who came up the walkway, but they didn’t find it.”

“By the time the police came to the Downs, the clothes had been washed, and all traces of blood—hers and mine—had disappeared.”

“I’m going to take the knife”—she glanced back to the table where it lay—“I’m going to wipe off my prints, and put it where it will be sure to be found.”

She didn’t like the look on Gilda’s face. It was as if another person had taken over her body, her mind. Her eyes glowed with madness.

“Then I will depart—alone—and your body will be found in Mathias King’s Den of Iniquity, and he will be the prime suspect.”

Herculeah glanced aside. Now she was beside the last table. And there was the sacrificial dagger that Mathias King had hoped to embed in her chest.

“You’re not going to stab me with that little letter opener,” Herculeah said with a loud, scornful laugh. Startled, Gilda turned to look at her. “Sure it worked last time, but your friend was unarmed. And I’m not unarmed. I’ve got a dagger.”

She picked up the sacrificial dagger and waved it in Gilda’s face. Gilda’s fevered eyes followed every movement.

When she goes for the dagger and tries to stab me, I’m throwing her to the floor, grabbing the murder knife, and I’m outta here, Herculeah thought.

She came closer to Herculeah, and Herculeah could imagine this was how she had looked before stabbing her friend.

Gilda reached out, wrested the dagger from Herculeah, and with a cry of triumph, thrust it at Herculeah’s chest. Herculeah was just ready to throw her to the ground when she heard a scream at the door. It sounded like Meat.

Herculeah’s face was turned to them, and Meat knew it was the last time he would ever look into those hauntingly beautiful gray eyes.