Authors: BETSY BYARS
King of Murder (5 page)
“Bring him along by all means.”
“Thanks.”
Herculeah swirled out of the car, shut the car door, and started running. She could call out Meat's nameâthat would stop himâbut she always enjoyed taking him by surprise.
She got closer. Now she could see his shouldersâhe was definitely in a good mood, because Meat's shoulders had a tendency to sag when things weren't going well. Then the crowd parted. She could see him clearly now and she could see thatâ
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. She stopped in place. She blinked as if to clear her vision. She could not believe what she saw.
As she stood there, frozen in place, she realized that Uncle Neiman had been right. Meat hadn't gone to the dentist at all. She remembered his exact words: “I thought Sears said he was going on aâ”
And now at last, she could finish the sentence with what had suddenly become the most despicable word in the English language. Her brain seemed almost to spit out the word.
“âdate.”
Meat McMannis had gone on a date.
Then as he and the date were getting into the car, the date turned as if to say something to Meat. Instead she looked over her shoulder. Her eyes seemed to ignore the rest of the sidewalk crowd and focus directly on Herculeah.
Herculeah felt as if she was being appraised, appraised and found wanting, as if she were an item on the sale table at Hidden Treasures, as if there was a sign around her neck that read AS IS.
Then Meat and the girl got into the car, and the car pulled away from the curb. Herculeah stood there staring after the departing car.
Herculeah prided herself on her ability to maintain control no matter what the situation. But her body sometimes betrayed her. Her hair frizzled. Her throat tightened. Her blood ran cold. Her heart pounded.
Now her face was flushed. Herculeah didn't even have to put her hand up to her cheek to know it would be hot.
She kept standing there long after the car had disappeared in traffic. She would have kept standing there for the rest of her life, perhaps, if a car's horn hadn't sounded beside her.
A voice called, “Herculeah!” It was Gilda. “Want a ride home?”
Herculeah nodded.
She managed to get into the car.
“You looked as if something was wrong.”
“Something was wrong,” Herculeah admitted.
“It wasn't your friend.”
“Well,” she tried to smile, “let's just say it wasn't who I thought it was.”
Gilda looked at her sharply. “I've got an idea,” she said.
“Oh.”
“Rebecca's house.”
“Oh?”
“We could go there now.” Herculeah had a blank look on her face, as if her mind was far away.
“The house where Rebecca was killed. We could go there now. Are you up for it?”
“I've got nothing better to do.”
“Then we're off.”
She pulled the car back into the stream of traffic, and with horns blaring their alarm, they headed for the murder house.
12
THE UNUSED HALF-SMILE
Although Meat would never, ever admit this to his mother, the date hadn't been that bad. At least, he could think of it as a date now instead of a life-threatening disease.
When his mother had told him about the arrangements, he had been beset by one fear after another. They had been like furious, uncontrollable ocean waves washing over himâeach one more treacherous than the one before.
The first wave of fear, of course, had been that she would be an ogre. That she would be ugly was a given. Only very ugly girls would allow their aunt to arrange dates for them.
But, to his surprise, the girl had been pretty. Even with his limited knowledge of girls, he realized this was exactly what most girls wanted to look likeâsmall and blonde, with white teeth and a turned-up nose, and encased in the lingering scent of some flower Meat had never smelled before.
Of course she wasn't what Herculeah wanted to look like, because Herculeah wanted to look like herself. However, his thoughts continued, if Herculeah had had to look like someone else, this would have been his personal recommendation.
His next wave of fear had been that he would never have anything to say, that the afternoon would be one long painful silence after another broken only by her asking, “What are you thinking?” followed by the truly desperate “What are you thinking now?” But from the moment she got into the car, she had handled the conversation.
“Oh, thank you, thank you,” she'd said. “I was soooo bored. I was afraid you'd refuse to take me to the movies and I'd have to go by myself, and while I was desperate, I wasn't that desperate.”
Meat's mother was watching them in the rearview mirror, and she gave him a look. It was the look dog trainers gave their dogs before the command, “Speak!”
“It's not so bad.”
“You've been to the movies by yourself?”
“Yes.”
“But you're a guy. You can get away with stuff like that. You can go anywhere by yourself and nobody gives you looks like this.”
She gave him a look of such pity and scorn that he had to admit to himself that there was probably no movie great enough to risk getting a look like that.
But now the date was almost over. They had had pizza, they had seen a movie, and now they were on their way home, sitting side by side in the backseat while Steffie leaned forward to describe, scene by scene, the movie they had just seen for Meat's mom.
“And I knew who was going to be mutated, didn't I, Albert?”
She poked Meat, and he said, “She did.”
“And I knew who was doing the mutating, didn't I?”
“She did.”
Actually nothing in the entire movie had taken him by surprise, because Steffie had predicted every single thing. Even after the woman behind them asked her to shut up, she continued her predictions in a whisper.
“I've always been like that. I always know what's going to happen. There's a word for what I am, but I can't think of it.”
“Clairvoyant,” Meat said.
“That's it! Your son is soooo smart. But I can only do it in the movies and on TV. In real life, I just bumble along not suspecting one single thing. Oh, are we here already?”
They pulled up in front of Steffie's aunt's house. Meat's mom gave him a look in the rearview mirror, and Meat got out dutifully, held the door for Steffie, and then walked her to the front door.
There Steffie said, “Oh, thank you, thank you. I was sooo bored. You want to do something tomorrow? We could go back and see that movie about the end of the world.”
“I think Mom's got something planned.”
“I'll call you tonight, okay?”
“Fine.”
He went back, got in the car, and sighed with relief. He would spend the rest of the drive, he decided, practicing a half-smile that would, when he saw Herculeah, make her think he'd gotten Novocain on that side of his face at the dentist's office.
He didn't get to practice his half-smile for more than three seconds, because his mom glanced at him over her shoulder and said, “So what was Herculeah doing following you?”
“What? What do you mean âfollowing me'?”
“Well, I can't imagine what else the girl was doing. She was standing not ten feet away from youâI saw her in the rearview mirror. She watched you and Steffie get into the car, and she watched us drive away. I half expected her to run after the car like that dog we used to have.”
Meat cleared his throat. “Let me get this straight. Herculeah saw me with Steffie.”
“Yes.”
“She saw us getting in the car?”
“Yes.”
“I don't believe you,” he said.
But even as he spoke, he recalled Steffie's words as they got into the car.
“Did you see that girl standing on the sidewalk watching us?”
He had said, “No.”
“Well, I wish my hair was springy like that. All my hair will do is turn under.”
And his mother had said, “I saw that girl. Your hair is a hundred times prettier than hers.”
And Steffie had fluffed her hair and said, “Thanks,” as if that was exactly the comment she had been fishing for.
He felt himself sinking into the car's upholstery, the way the Wicked Witch of the West shriveled up in The Wizard of Oz.
His mother was still talking, but his increasing misery had blocked out her words.
“And one thing more,” his mother continued in a loud commanding voice. “Look at me, Albert.”
Their eyes met in the rearview mirror. Due to the importance of this one thing more, she had not started through the intersection even though the light was green.
Horns blew behind them.
“I think you should make it clear to Herculeah that you have a life of your own to lead.”
“I think that's a done deal,” he said.
Satisfied, his mother steered the car through the intersection.
13
THE MURDER HOUSE
They pulled into the driveway of a large, two-story brick house with columns across the front. In the yard was a FOR SALE sign with the prominent name of the realtor on top.
Herculeah looked at the house. It had obviously been the home of people who were rich, but it was no mansion. Also, it did not have the look of a house where a murder would take place. However, it did resemble the house described in A
Slash
of Life.
Slash
of Life.
Herculeah and Gilda got out of the car and crossed the well-kept lawn. Halfway to the steps, Gilda stumbled and stopped.
“Are you all right?” Herculeah asked.
“Yes, it's nothing. I just remember something that happened right here.”
“It must have been something unpleasant, because your face is pale.”
“I'm fine,” she said firmly, and continued up the walk and up the steps. Herculeah followed.
“I'm glad they're keeping the place up,” Gilda said as she fished in her large purse for keys. “This house is very important to me.”
She put the key in the lock, turned it, and opened the door.
She hesitated as if entering the house was going to be very difficult. She took a deep breath.
“I'll go first, if you like.”
“Please.”
Herculeah stepped into the entrance hall. She was still in a sort of daze from seeing Meat and his date. Usually she felt that a house of murder had a special aura. The temperature was colder somehowâa ghostly chill perhaps. Today, in her numbed state, the air seemed ordinary.
She did notice that the inside of the house was the same as the house in
A Slash of Life.
A Slash of Life.
She glanced to the right. The large Buddha sat in a crevice in the wall. Herculeah recognized that it was made of jade and probably very valuable.
“Oh, here's the Buddha,” Herculeah said. “You mentioned it earlier in the car, and this morning, Uncle Neiman told me that you specifically mentioned the Buddha at the book signing.” Had it only been this morning? “It was in the book, and here it is in the house.”
“Yes.” Gilda stepped into the entrance hall and crossed to the Buddha. “Rebecca and I never left this house without rubbing our hands over Buddha's belly for luck.”
She rested her hand on Buddha's belly. She sighed and turned away. She paused in an arched doorway. “Here's the parlor. We weren't supposed to play in here, but it was the perfect place for hide-and-seek.”
“Is that where she was killed?”
“No, that happened in the library.”
“We don't have to go in the library if that would upset you.”
Ever since they had entered the house, she had felt Gilda becoming more and more anxious.
“I want to see it.” She glanced at Herculeah with gratitude. “I could never do it without someone like you along for support. This is the last time I'm ever coming here, and it's a way of closing the book, of saying good-bye.” She strengthened herself with a deep breath. “The library is this way.”
They walked down the hall to a room, and Gilda opened the door.
The library was large and lined with books. But they weren't the kind of books that you read, Herculeah thought. They were rich-people books-leather-bound, with titles embossed in gold.
In the center of the room, facing the door, was a large, handsome desk. The divided front was carved with scenes of two famous people at their desksâAbraham Lincoln on the right, Shakespeare on the left.
Gilda interrupted Herculeah's thoughts. “She died at that desk,” she said.
“Don't go in any farther,” Herculeah advised. “You can say good-bye from here.”
But, as if she was sleepwalking, Gilda moved into the room. Her steps on the thick Oriental carpet were soundless. Herculeah followed.
“This was her father's desk,” Gilda said, “but after his death, it became hers. She was a lot like her father. That's his portrait behind the desk.”
Herculeah glanced up at the oil painting of a man trying to look genial but failing because of the straight line of his mouth. “Did she resemble her father?”
“Somewhat. Her father was good to my mother and me. My mom was the housekeeper here for many years. Mr. Carwell left my mother money in his willâa lot of money. That's how I bought my apartment at Magnolia Downs.”
The top of the desk was empty of items, the dark wood polished to a sheen. “There used to be a leather-edged blotter here,” Gilda said, “a silver inkwell there, a silver box of cigars on the right. And, of course, the letter opener.”
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