Lye in Wait (33 page)

I shook my head. "I can't believe you show up here out of the
blue and it has nothing to do with Walter's death."

A primitive, guttural cry beside me cut off her retort. Debby
stood with her hands clenched white around the ceramic chicken
bank, her pale face suffused with blood, and the tendons of her
neck standing out under her skin. The sound built and seemed to
take on a life of its own, a reverberating ululation of naked anguish
that made my jaw ache.

Jacob erupted from the storeroom, scuttled to his sister, and
wrapped both arms around her as if he could smother her cries
with his body. Debby twisted from him and launched the chicken
bank at Grace. It flew over her head and exploded on the cement floor at the far end of the room. Meghan, standing against the wall
by the stairway, flinched away from the porcelain shrapnel.

Grace's eyes bulged, and her mouth dropped open. She recovered quickly and began fumbling in her capacious handbag, scattering the contents on the floor around her feet. Her search netted
a nasty-looking pewter-toned gun. When she pointed it toward
Debby, Jacob, and me, clustered together in front of the stove, it
looked even nastier.

"Mother, what are you doing with my gun?"

Fury overcame Meghan's features, and she turned on Richard.
"Your gun? You have a gun? Around your daughter? Have you completely lost your mind?"

"She doesn't know where I keep it," Richard said.

"But your mother does?"

Richard, confused, looked back at Grace. "How did-"

"Oh, will you two shut up!" Grace rolled her eyes and brought
her other hand up to help grip the gun.

Jacob ignored the gun, focusing on calming his sister. The horrible noise she'd been making broke and faded. I groped for how
to get the abruptly perilous situation under some kind of control.
Grace seemed to be watching the Silvermans, and I reached behind
me to the burner control on the range and gave it a twist. Soon I
felt the increased heat against my lower back.

Meghan had been slowly backing toward the staircase, but
Grace saw her from the corner of her eye.

"Stop her!" she yelled at Richard, who moved with sickening
alacrity to cut Meghan off.

"Mother didn't do anything wrong," he said. "She didn't hurt
anyone. So she'll just put the gun away, and we'll leave. Okay?"

It was Grace who said, "No"

For the first time Richard looked worried. "Mother. We need to
go. They'll find who really killed Walter. I know it wasn't you. You
barely knew him."

"You really think a police detective was at your apartment
about a stupid key? Don't be so dense. They wanted me." Grace
laughed. First it was just a strange, inappropriate chortle, but it
grew to a staccato giggle. Then the laughter stopped like she'd run
into a wall, and she pointed the gun at Richard and Meghan. Well,
really at Meghan, since Richard had moved behind her and stood
with his hands on her shoulders. Grace's finger twitched on the
trigger. My breath caught in the back of my throat.

"Maybe you should tell your son how well you knew Walter," I
said, trying to get her attention.

It worked. The barrel of the gun moved toward me. "Shut your
mouth," she hissed.

WOULD SHE SHOOT ME? I honestly didn't know. But I did know we
needed Richard as an ally.

"Richard," I said. "Your mother was married to Walter Hanover.
She married him, cheated on him, and took his child and deserted
him. You were that child. You were born Richard Hanover. And
your mother never told you, even when you lived right next door
to him."

The stunned look on Dick's face would have been comical
under other circumstances.

He turned to Grace. "Mother?"

Her eyes flashed, and her chin lifted. She waved her hand, red
nails flashing like talons.

"Irrelevant. A long time ago, and unfortunate. But irrelevant."

"Jesus Christ!" Richard yelled, making me jump.

Her voice took on a whining undertone. "How was Ito know
he'd moved in next to you? I didn't think he knew anything about
either of us, about where either of us lived. How could I tell you? I didn't even know if he still lived in Cadyville until he contacted
me. You have to understand, Richard, I did it for your own good.
Think about it. Think about that old man. You knew him. Can you
imagine being his son? A nothing, a nobody? Daddy Bly gave you
so much more than Walter Hanover ever could have, and I gave
you Daddy Bly. I did it all for you, to save you from squalor and
poverty and obscurity." Here she pursed her lips. "Not that you did
much with the opportunity, Richard."

After several seconds Richard blinked and looked away. "I'm
sorry, Mother."

Meghan's eyes closed for a moment, her dismay mirroring my
own. It didn't matter whether it was fear, guilt, habit, or a moral
compass permanently knocked askew by his caustic upbringing
that caused him to capitulate so easily; any hope of him going
against his mother to help us had retreated into the distance.

Mama's boy. Useless, pathetic little mama's boy. I wondered what
he'd do if I said it out loud, if I could goad him into rebelling.

And I discovered I didn't want to know. As much as I despised
the man, I couldn't bring myself to taunt him the same way I'd
seen his aging mother do. And reasoning wouldn't work, that was
obvious. Swinging him to our side was a lost cause.

Grace directed a triumphant smile my way, and I returned it
with a sarcastic grimace. The heavy scent of beeswax infused the
air as the chunks rapidly melted into the cocoa butter behind me.
The heat from the burner felt uncomfortable against my back, and
with a casual flip I drew my braid forward over my shoulder, afraid
my hair might suddenly combust.

"Now then," Grace said, considering Debby and Jacob. She
pointed the gun casually at Jacob. "You, I know. Walter's friend. The one who stayed quiet and sat in the corner like a good little
boy. But who are you, honey?"

"Nobody to you," Jacob said.

"I was Walter's fiancee," Debby said, the words like sandpaper
in her throat.

"Oh! So you're the one he was so worried about. The poor little wacko. Wouldn't want to upset the fragile bird-might send it
back to its cage, with the bars and the needles and all sorts of other
unpleasantness, I should imagine. But you don't look so delicate to
me. And let me tell you, honey, Walter's no great loss."

It was like jabbing a wounded animal. Debby charged. Grace
pointed that stupid gun at her. Wiry little Jacob grabbed his sister
and spun her around. She fought him, adrenalin against adrenalin. I thought of running, then, with Grace distracted, but the Silverman's struggle blocked my path to the back door, and Richard
stood with Meghan in front of the stairway.

I stayed where I was.

The gun went off.

The bullet would have hit Debby except Jacob knocked her feet
out from under her so she fell out of the way.

"I did it," Jacob shouted. "I killed Walter."

All movement ceased. Whiter than humanly possible, Debby
stared up at her brother, confusion and disbelief on her face.

Grace laughed.

"But he wasn't supposed to die. Honest, Debs, it wasn't supposed to be Walter who drank the schnapps. He'd been sober for
years-I never thought he'd drink it. It was an accident. I meant it
for her." He pointed at Grace.

He held out a hand to Debby. Slumped on the floor, she didn't
take it. She pulled her knees to her chest in a fetal position and
covered her face.

I could barely make out her mumbled words. "You were his
sponsor. You were his friend. Oh, Jacob, what were you thinking?"

At least Grace had stopped laughing. "You little worm. You
tried to kill me?"

Jacob watched Debby, as if trying to make her look at him
through sheer force of will. Finally, he closed his eyes and nodded.
"You wanted to meet Walter in a bar, both times he came to see
you in Seattle, an' he was afraid between your spite and his worries he might be tempted to have a drink. So he asked me to come
along."

Grace shook her head in wonder. "Pathetic"

On the floor, Debby made a noise somewhere between a growl
and a whimper.

Jacob sighed. "And both times you and Walter got together, you
drank Rumple Mitz. Tossed the stuff back like it was water. I knew
you'da never noticed a little addition until it was too late."

Grace glared at him, and I wondered for a brief moment
whether he was trying to get her to kill him. But she had rested
her forearms on the island counter to take the strain off them and
seemed more interested in Jacob's tale than in shooting him.

"I bought a bottle of it-wasn't easy-I hadn't bought a bottle
of booze for almost twelve years-and some drain cleaner from the
Safeway. Got the idea from Walter himself, joking about drinkin'
drain cleaner and talkin' about how Sophie Mae here made her
soap. I 'member my grandmamma used to make soap with lye
from the grocery store, too. You 'member that, Debs?"

Debby didn't respond. After a few moments, Jacob continued. "I mixed it up with some water, and I mixed it strong. Then
I worked off the seal of the Rumple Mintz, poured out half, and
replaced it with the lye. Then I reattached the seal with a dab of
superglue."

Crude, but effective.

"I gave the bottle to Walter to give to you," he said, looking back
at Grace. "A kind of send-off gift, get on your good side a little. I
figured you'd drink it after you got home, and since you said you
hadn't told anyone you were up in Seattle, no one would think of
looking up here if you died."

Grace looked angry, sure, but also oddly speculative. "Clever,"
she finally said.

But Richard looked confused again. "I don't understand. I
thought you flew in on Sunday. But you were here before Walter
died?"

"Yes, Dickie-Bird. I was here before he died, and I didn't tell
you.

" A y?"
V V c

"Because I didn't want you to cock it up"

"But..."

"Oh, shut up, Richard!"

"Why?" Meghan asked Jacob. And while I could understand
someone wanting to pour lye down Grace's throat on general principle, I wanted to know what Jacob had had in mind, too.

"She wouldn't give Walter a divorce. He'd tracked her down in
California and asked her to sign the papers, but she kept putting
him off. She'd ask for money, and he'd give it to her, but then she'd
want some more. Two times he gave her money to fly up here so's she could sign them. The first time she changed her mind. And he
knew she'd do the same thing this time, too.

"How was he gonna marry my sister if he couldn't get a divorce
from that one?" He pointed at Grace, who regarded him with a
spellbinding stare. "She told him to go ahead and get married anyway. She'd done it. Twice. But Walter didn't want to do that. He
said he was goin' to take her to court, get the divorce anyway, even
if it made a stink." He pointed at her again. "And you threatened to
bring Debs into it. I couldn't let you do that. She didn't even know
he was still married to you."

"Well, you've certainly brought her into it now, haven't you?"
Grace said.

Jacob looked at Debby, who sat rocking, her knees up to her
chin, both arms wrapped around her legs. His eyes filled with
tears.

"I was only tryin' to make it better for her. Make it so's she'd
get somethin' she wanted for once. She deserved to be happy," he
whispered.

Grace sniffed. "You all heard him, right? So you know I didn't
kill Walter."

Unenthusiastic nods all around.

"So how did he die?" I asked. "He didn't drink. Why would he
have decided to jump off the wagon that particular morning?"

Jacob shook his head, at a complete loss for words. Meghan
frowned. Debby was off in her own little world. Richard looked
confused again.

But Grace watched me, her dark eyes glittering with... satisfaction?

"You were there," I said.

She didn't respond, but the corners of her lips turned up an
infinitesimal degree.

"You made him drink the schnapps."

I didn't even know about the schnapps," she said.

"What did you say to him?"

She shrugged, a tiny movement of her shoulders to indicate
how trivial my question was. "He threatened me. He said he'd have
me arrested for bigamy."

"Bet you didn't like that."

"Not much," she admitted. "I said a few things to discourage
him."

"Like what?"

She waved me off.

But I'd seen how she laid into Richard on a whim, heard about
how she'd treated Walter when they were young, and he'd only
recently recovered. I could imagine how she'd react to a direct
threat.

Grace had been there at Walter's house that morning-she'd
told me as surely as if she'd spoken the words-and he told her he
wouldn't put up with her manipulations any more. She'd pulled
out the big guns. Debby. Erin. Richard. Direct attacks on Walter
himself.