A red-eyed maid answered the door.
Blackshear said, “May I see Mrs. Clarvoe, please?”
“She’s not seeing anybody. There’s been an accident.”
“Yes, I know. I have something urgent to tell Mrs. Clarvoe.”
“What’s more urgent than being allowed to be alone with your grief, I’d like to know.”
“What’s your name?”
“Mabel.”
“Mabel, I want you to tell Mrs. Clarvoe that Paul Blackshear is here on important business.”
“All right, but I warn you, she’s been carrying on something awful. When the hearse came to take him away, she screamed, such screaming I never did hear in all my born days. I thought she’d bust a blood vessel. She called someone on the telephone and kept shouting things about a girl named Evelyn. It was fierce.”
“Didn’t the doctor give her a sedative?”
“Some pills he gave her. Pills. Pills is a pretty poor substitute for a son.” She opened the door wider and Blackshear stepped into the hall. “I’ll go up and tell her. I don’t guarantee she’ll come down though. What can you expect, at a time like this?”
“Has Miss Clarvoe arrived yet?”
“Miss Clarvoe?”
“Douglas’ sister.”
“I didn’t even know he had a sister. Fancy that, no one mentioning a sister.”
“She should be arriving any minute now,” Blackshear said. “By the way, when she comes, you needn’t let on that she isn’t mentioned around here.”
“As if I’d do a thing like that. Will she be staying—I mean, sleeping and eating and so forth?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, it’s a queer household; make no mistake about that.”
“I won’t.”
“You can wait in the drawing-room, if you like.”
“I prefer the den.”
“I’ll show you—”
“I know the way, thanks.”
The den smelled of last night’s fire, and the morning rain. Someone had started to clean the room and been interrupted; a vacuum cleaner was propped against the divan, and a dust-cloth and a pile of unwashed ashtrays were sitting on a piano bench. The glass door that led out to the flagstone patio had been slid back and the November wind rustled across the floor and spiraled among the ashes in the fireplace.
Verna Clarvoe came in, her step slow and unsteady as if she was wading upstream in water too deep, against a current too strong. Her eyes were swollen almost shut, and there were scratches around her mouth as if she’d clawed herself in a fury of grief.
She spoke first. “Don’t say you’re sorry. Everyone says they’re sorry and it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter whether they’re sorry or not.” She slumped into a chair. “Don’t look at me. My eyes, they always get like this when I cry. I’ve forgotten where I put my drops. It’s so cold in here, so cold.”
Blackshear got up and closed the door. “I talked to Helen. She offered to come home.”
“Offered?”
“Yes, offered.” It was true enough. He hadn’t suggested it. “She should have been here half an hour ago.”
“She may have changed her mind.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why didn’t she come with you?”
“I had some business to attend to first. It concerns you, Mrs. Clarvoe. If you’re feeling well enough, I think I’d better tell you about it now.”
“I feel all right.”
“Terola is dead.”
“Good.”
“Did you hear what I said, Mrs. Clarvoe?”
“You said Terola is dead. I’m glad. Very glad. Why should you be surprised that I’m glad? I hope he suffered, I hope he suffered agonies.”
“He didn’t. It happened pretty quickly.”
“How?”
“Someone stabbed him with a pair of scissors.”
“Someone murdered him?”
“Yes.”
She sat, quiet, composed, smiling. “Ah, that’s even better, isn’t it?”
“Mrs. Clarvoe—”
“He must have been scared before he died, he must have been terrified. You said he didn’t suffer. He must have. Being scared is suffering. A pair of scissors. I wish I’d seen it happen. I wish I’d been there.”
“And I wish,” Blackshear said, “that you could prove you weren’t.”
“What a silly remark.”
“Perhaps; but it had to be made.”
“I told you on the phone, I started out to see Terola, but I changed my mind and came back.”
“How far did you get? As far as the studio?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t go in?”
“No. The place looked so squalid. I lost my nerve.”
“Did you get as far as the door?”
“No. I never left the car. There’s a yellow curb in front of the place, I just stopped there for a while.”
“For how long?”
“A few minutes.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“I was there, people must have seen me.”
“What kind of car do you drive?”
“A black Buick sedan, last year’s. There are hundreds like it, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“It is.”
“Well, I didn’t race up in a flame red Ferrari. There’s no reason why anyone should have paid any particular attention to me.”
“Let’s hope no one did.”
“What if they did?”
“If they did,” Blackshear said patiently, “you’ll probably be questioned by the police. You had a pretty good reason for hating Terola.”
“If I killed everyone I hated, people would be dying like flies all over town.”
“I don’t believe that, Mrs. Clarvoe.”
“Oh, stop. Stop that boy-psychiatrist approach. You don’t know me. You don’t understand. I’m filled with hatred. How can I help it? I’ve been cheated, duped, tricked—what do you expect? Everyone’s let me down, everyone. Harrison, Douglas, they’re out of this mess of a life. I’m the one that’s left, always the one that’s left.”
From the driveway came the squeal of a car’s moist brakes. They both heard it simultaneously, Verna with dread, Black-shear with relief. He hadn’t admitted even to himself that he’d been worried about Helen’s delayed arrival.
“That must be Helen now,” Verna said. “I don’t know what I’ll say to her, how I’ll act. We’ve been apart for so long, we’re strangers.”
“Then act like strangers—they’re usually polite to each other, at least.”
Blackshear went to the glass door and looked out across the patio towards the driveway. A woman was paying off the cab-driver, a plump grey-haired woman in a black and white suit. When the cab backed out towards the street, she stood for a moment staring at the house as if she wasn’t sure it was the right one. She saw Blackshear and appeared to recognize him. Instead of going to the front door, she started across the patio towards the den with quick, aggressive strides.
Sensing trouble, Blackshear went out to meet her, closing the glass door behind him.
“Hello, Mrs. Merrick.”
Her face was stiff and hostile. “Is she in there?”
“Yes.”
She tried to brush past him but he reached out and clasped her arm and held it.
“Wait a minute, Mrs. Merrick.”
“The sooner this is done, the better. Let go of my arm.”
“I will, after you tell me what you have in mind.”
“You mean, am I going to strangle the little bitch? No. Much as I’d like to.”
He released her arm but she didn’t move away from him. “Much as I’d like to,” she repeated. “The things she said about Evelyn—incredible, terrible things. I can’t, I won’t, let her get away with it. No mother would.”
“When did she make these remarks?”
“Less than an hour ago. She called me at the office—at the office, mind you: God knows who heard her, she was shouting so loud. She made the most terrible accusations against Evelyn. I can’t even repeat them, they were so vile. She kept shouting something about giving Evelyn a dose of her own medicine. I don’t know what she meant. Evelyn’s always been so nice to her. Then she said that Evelyn was a murderer, that she murdered Douglas. I hung up, but she called back right away. I had to take the call, there were other people around. When she finally finished, I asked the boss for the rest of the morning off and here I am. I’ve got to get to the bottom of this.”
“Isn’t it rather a bad time?”
“It’s a bad time, but it’s not going to get any better. I have to find out why she said those things about Evelyn. If she’s crazy with grief over Douglas, well, all right, I can understand that, I’ve had a few griefs of my own. But why should she take it out on Evelyn of all people? My daughter has never hurt anyone in her life, it’s so unfair that she should be attacked like this. She isn’t here to defend herself, but I am. I’m here. And don’t try and stop me this time, Mr. Blackshear. I’m going to see Verna Clarvoe.”
He watched her go into the house.
The two women faced each other in silence for a long time.
“If you’ve come for an apology,” Verna said finally, “you won’t get one. A person isn’t obliged to apologize for telling the truth.”
“I want an explanation, not an apology.”
“You have the explanation.”
“You’ve said nothing yet. Nothing.”
“I gave Evelyn back some of what she gave me. The truth.” Verna turned away, pressing her fingertips against her swollen eyelids. They felt hot, as if they’d been scalded by her tears. “She called me last night. She was quite friendly at first, she said I’d always been kind to her and she wanted to do me a favor in return. Then she told me about Douglas, the kind of life he was leading, the friends he had—sordid, terrible things, in words so vile. I don’t see how a girl like Evelyn would know them, let alone speak them. That’s your explanation, Mrs. Merrick.”
“You can’t be talking about Evelyn. Not my Evelyn.”
“Why not?” Verna said, through clenched teeth. “She was talking about my son.”
“I don’t believe it. Evelyn would never do such a thing. She felt vindictive, perhaps, for a time after the marriage, but she’s all over that. She has no hard feelings now. You saw that for yourself when you met us yesterday. She was pleasant and friendly, wasn’t she? Wasn’t she nice to you? You said so yourself, she bears no grudge.”
“I am not arguing. I am too tired to argue. I told you what happened.”
“You must be mistaken.” Mrs. Merrick’s plump face was like rising dough. “At least admit the possibility that you’re mistaken.”
“There’s no such possibility.”
“What time did she—what time was the call?”
“About ten.”
“There. You see? You’re wrong. Evie stayed with some friends last night. They had tickets for a play at the Biltmore Bowl.”
“It was Evelyn who called me. I recognized her voice. And no one else, no woman, anyway, would know such things about Douglas.”
“These things—how can you be sure they were true?”
“Because he admitted them, my son admitted them. And then he killed himself.” She began to sway back and forth, her arms hugging her scrawny breasts. “Dougie. Dougie is dead. It’s his birthday. We’d planned a little party—Oh God, go away, leave me alone.”
“Mrs. Clarvoe, listen to me.”
“No, no, no.”
“I’d like to help you.”
“Go away. My son is dead.”
She left the way she had come, across the patio. Blackshear was waiting for her on the driveway, his suit collar turned up against the wind, his lips blue with cold.
He said, I’ll drive you back to work, Mrs. Merrick.”
“No, thanks. You’d better go in to her.” She began putting on her suede gloves. “At least Evelyn is alive. No matter what she’s done, at least she’s alive. That’s enough to thank God for.”
She turned and walked briskly into the wind, her head high.