At ten o’clock, Miss Clarvoe, who had slept late, was just finishing her breakfast. When she heard the knocking on the door she thought it was one of the busboys from the dining-room coming to collect her tray and his tip.
She spoke through the crack of the door. “I haven’t quite finished. Come back later, please.”
“Helen, it’s me. Paul Blackshear. Let me in.”
She unlocked the door, puzzled by the urgency in his voice. “Is there anything the matter?”
“Your mother’s been trying to reach you. The telephone company wouldn’t give her your unlisted number, so she called me and asked me to come over.”
“To tell me she’s cancelled the birthday luncheon, I suppose.”
“She’s cancelled it, yes.”
“Well, she needn’t worry about Douglas receiving a present from me. I sent a check out last night; he should get it today.”
“He won’t get it today.”
“Why not?”
“Sit down, Helen.”
She went over to the wing chair by the front window but she didn’t sit down. She stood behind it, moving her long thin hands nervously along its upholstered back, as if to warm them by friction.
“It’s bad news, of course,” she said, sounding detached. “You’re not an errand-boy; even Mother wouldn’t use you as an errand-boy to tell me about a cancelled luncheon.”
“Douglas is dead.”
Her hands paused for a moment. “How did it happen?”
“He tried to commit suicide.”
“Tried? I thought you said he was dead.”
“The doctor believes Douglas swallowed some sleeping capsules and cut one of his wrists, but the cause of death was a blow on the head. He struck his temple against the washbasin as he fell, probably in a faint.”
She turned and looked out of the window, not to hide her grief, but to hide the grim little smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. Poor Douglas, he could never finish anything properly, not even himself.
“I’m sorry, Helen.”
“Why should you be? If he wanted to die, that was his affair.”
“I meant I was sorry for you.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t feel anything, do you?” He crossed the room and stood facing her. “Do you?”
“Not much.”
“Do you ever feel anything? For anybody?”
“Yes.”
“For whom?”
“I—I wish you would not get personal, Mr. Blackshear.”
“My name is Paul.”
“I really can’t call you that.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t, that’s all.”
“Very well.”
“I—” She stepped back and stood against the wall with her hands behind her back, like an embarrassed schoolgirl. “How is Mother taking it?”
“I’m not really sure. When she called me on the telephone she seemed more angry than anything else.” “Angry at whom?”
“Evelyn Merrick.”
“I don’t understand. What had Evelyn to do with Douglas’ death?”
“Your mother holds her responsible for it.”
“Why?”
“Evelyn called your mother last night and gave her some information about Douglas and Jack Terola, the man who’s supposedly been giving Douglas lessons in photography. I won’t repeat the information. It wasn’t pretty, though; I can tell you that. This morning your mother taxed Douglas with it and he admitted that some of it, at least, was true. Your mother wanted a showdown with Terola and actually started out to see him. Whether she saw him or not, I don’t know for sure. She says she didn’t, that she turned around and came back to the house. Meanwhile, the maid had found Douglas’ body when she went to clean his room, and she called the doctor. The doctor was there when your mother arrived. She tried to get in touch with you immediately, and failing that, she called me and asked me to come over here.”
“Why?”
“The telephone company—”
“I meant, why was she so anxious to have me informed right away? So she could be sure I’d send a nice fat wreath, as I sent a nice fat check?”
“That’s uncharitable, Helen.”
“Yes, I guess it is. I’m sorry. Life has taught me to be suspicious. I’ve learned the lesson too well.”
“Perhaps you can unlearn it someday.”
“Perhaps. It’s harder to unlearn, though.”
“I can help you, Helen.”
“How?”
“By giving you something that’s been too scarce in your life.”
“What?”
“You can call it love.”
“Love.” Violent pink spread up from her neck to her cheekbones. “No. No. You—you’re just trying to be nice to me.”
“I’m not trying,” he said with a smile. “I am being nice to you.”
“No. I don’t want your love, anyone’s. I can’t accept it. It—embarrasses me.”
“All right. Don’t get excited. There’s no hurry. I can wait.”
“Wait? What will you wait for?”
“For you to unlearn some of those lessons you’ve been taught.”
“What if I can’t. What if I never—”
“You can, Helen. Just tell me you’ll try. Will you?”
“Yes, I’ll try,” she whispered. “But I don’t know where to start.”
“You’ve already started.”
She looked surprised and pleased. “I have? What did I do?”
“You remembered Evelyn Merrick.”
“How do you know that?”
“You referred to her quite casually a few minutes ago as Evelyn. Do you remember her clearly now?”
“Yes.”
“In her phone call to you the other night, when she said you’d always envied and been jealous of her, was she right, Helen?”
“She was right.”
“That’s no longer true, is it?”
“No. I don’t envy her any more. She’s to be pitied.”
“Pitied, yes,” he said, “but watched, too. She’s all the more dangerous because she can appear quite rational on the surface.”
“You’ve seen her, then.”
“Not yet. I’ll see her tonight. But I discussed her with your mother last night before the phone call, and early this morning I talked to Evelyn’s own mother. Neither of them had the faintest suspicion that the girl is insane. She appears to have a completely split personality. On the one hand, she’s the affectionate, dutiful daughter, as well as your mother”s idea of a perfect daughter-in-law - and the latter would take quite a bit of doing, since your mother”s not easy to please.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“On the other hand, the girl is so full of hatred and vengeance that she wants only to destroy people by turning them against one another. She’s crafty, she hasn’t had to do any of the destroying herself. She just throws in the bone and lets the dogs fight each other over it. And there’s usually some meat of truth on the bone.”
She thought of her mother and Douglas, and how they had fought throughout the years, not like dogs, or like boxers in the ring face to face, but like guerrillas stalking each other in a dark forest. Into this forest Evelyn had thrown a giant flare which lit up the trees and the underbrush and scorched the enemies out of their cover.
Poor Douglas. He was always a boy, he could never have grown up in a dark forest.
“I sent him a check for his birthday,” she said dully. “Perhaps if I’d sent it sooner—”
“A check wouldn’t have made any difference, Helen. The doctor found nearly fifty sleeping capsules in the medicine chest. Douglas had been planning this for a long time.”
“Why does Mother blame Evelyn for it, then?”
“She has to blame someone. And it can’t be herself.”
“No,” she said, thinking: Mother was trapped in the forest just as much as Douglas was. Years ago someone should have led them out, but there was no one except Father and me, and Father was too harsh and I was lost myself.
She covered her face with her hands and tears slid out between her fingers.
“Don’t cry, Helen.”
“Someone should have helped. Years ago someone should have helped.”
“I know.”
“Now it’s too late, for Douglas, for Mother.” She raised her head and looked at him, her eyes softened by tears. “Maybe it’s too late for me, too.”
“Don’t think that.”
“Yes. I feel inside me that I’ve lived my life, I’m only waiting, like Douglas with his hoard of sleeping capsules. Perhaps I’ll get another phone call, perhaps it will light up the underbrush and I won’t be able to bear what I see.”
“Stop it.” He put his arms around her, but her body grew stiff as wood at his touch and her hands clenched into tight fists. He knew the time had not yet come, and perhaps never would.
He walked away to the other side of the room and sat down at the desk, watching the change come over her at his retreat, the relaxation of her muscles, the easier breathing, the levelling off of color in her face. He wondered if this was how they must remain for all time, a room’s width away from each other.
“You’re very—kind,” she said. “Thank you, Paul.”
“Forget it.”
“I suppose now I must go home and stay with Mother. That’s what is expected of me, isn’t it?”
“By her, yes.”
“Then I’ll get ready, if you’ll excuse me.”
“I’ll drive you over, Helen.”
“No, please don’t bother. I’ll call a cab. I don’t want to interfere with your investigation.”
“My investigation, as such, is almost finished. You asked me to find Evelyn Merrick. Well, I’ve found her.”
“You think it’s all over, then? Everything’s settled?” Her voice was insistent. “You have no further work to do on the case?”
“There’s work to be done, but—”
“More than ever, in fact.”
“Why more?”
“Because there’s been a death,” she said calmly. “Evelyn’s not going to stop now. I think Douglas’ death will actually spur her on, give her a sense of power.”
It was what Blackshear himself feared, but he hadn’t wanted to alarm her by saying so. “It could be.”
“Where did she get her information about Douglas?”
“From Terola himself, I guess.”
“You mean they could be together in some extortion racket?”
“Perhaps Terola intended it that way, but Evelyn needs deeper satisfactions than money can give.”
“But you think they were partners?”
“Yes. When I went to see Terola about her, he was pretty cagey. I got the impression he knew the girl a lot better than he admitted.”
“So if there’s any evidence against her, this man Terola would have it?”
“Evidence of what?”
“Anything that can be used to put her away some place. So far she’s done nothing actionable. In Douglas’ case she didn’t even tell a lie. She can’t be sued or sent to jail just for phoning Mother and telling her the truth. And yet, to a certain extent, she’s morally guilty of Douglas’ death. You’ve got to stop her, Paul, before she goes on.” She turned so that he couldn’t see her face. “I may be next.”
“Don’t be silly, Helen. She can’t call you, she doesn’t know your number. And if she comes to the door, don’t let her in.”
“She’ll think of some other way. I feel she’s—she’s waiting for me.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Look, if you’re nervous about going over to your mother’s house, let me drive you.”
She shook her head. “I’d rather you went to see Terola. Tell him about Douglas, force him to talk, to give you information that can be used in court.”
“That’s a tall order, Helen. Even if he knows Evelyn like a book, he’s not going to read it aloud to me. He’d incriminate himself.”
“You can try, can’t you?”
“That’s about it. I can try.”
He waited while she went into the bedroom to dress for the street. When she came out she was wearing a dark grey woollen coat and an old-fashioned black felt hat with a broad brim turned down over her forehead. The outfit made her look as if she’d stepped out of the previous decade.
“Helen.”
“Yes?”
“Mind if I say something personal?”
“You usually do, whether I mind or not.”
“You need some new clothes.”
“Do I?” she said indifferently. “I never pay much attention to what I wear.”
“It’s time you started.”
“Why?”
“Because you and I will be going places together. All kinds of places.”
She smiled lightly, like a mother at the exaggerated plans of a small boy.
They took the lift downstairs and walked through the lobby together. Mr. Horner, the desk clerk and June Sullivan, the emaciated blonde at the switchboard, watched them with undisguised curiosity and exchanged small, ugly smiles as they paused at the swinging door that led to the street.
“My car’s a couple of blocks away. Sure you don’t want me to drive you over to your mother’s?”
“It isn’t necessary.”
“I’ll come there later to see you, if you like.”
“I’m afraid it won’t be a very cheerful household. Perhaps you’d better not.”
“Shall I call you a cab?”
“The doorman will.”
“All right. Goodbye, then.”
“Goodbye.”
Outside, on the busy street, Evelyn Merrick was waiting for her.