The Innocent (23 page)

He said, “I'll bet she talked about the baby. She doesn't talk about anything but the baby. She worries about it day and night. Was that it, Ned?”

“Yes,” said Dr. Newhouse slowly. “She was worried about the baby.”

He wasn't telling Charles the truth. Did that mean he didn't trust Charles?

“But you're not a what-ya-ma-call-it, Ned, a baby doctor.”

“No, I'm a general practitioner, not a pediatrician.”

“Then why did Marjorie come to you about it?”

“You'll have to ask her, Charlie. Physicians don't divulge, you know. Professional ethics. She can tell you but I can't.”

It wasn't that he distrusted Charles. He had lied to him because of medical ethics. It meant nothing. He was Charles' friend. She could almost hear Charles relaxing, his limbs loosening, the muscles in his face letting go their tight grip. Charles and his old friend were probably hitting each other playfully on the back. Old pals. Old schoolmates. Marjorie felt the acid tears sting her eyes.

Charles said, “Have a drink, Ned?”

“Well, I really—”

“Come on, come on.”

Please have a drink. Please stay.

“O.K. Hey, Charlie, how about while you're fixing the drinks, I take a look at your kid? I'd like to see him. Marjorie said ‘him,' didn't she? You know how I am about kids.”

Insist. Insist. Insist. Charles didn't even hesitate; Charles was smooth.

“Afraid not, Ned, the kid's asleep. Marjorie had a hard time getting him off. He's a very light sleeper. Margie'd have my ear if you woke him.”

“One of those?” Dr. Newhouse whistled. “My youngest was one of those featherweight sleepers, so I know what you mean. Boy, you should see the panicky look on your face!”

“Well,” said Charles. “So long as you understand.”

He didn't understand. He didn't.

“No wonder your little Marjorie was in such a state—those broken nights!”

“You said it, Ned.” Charles laughed.

Laugh. Go on, laugh at him. Laugh at me, too. For a moment I thought I was saved. But Charles finished laughing. Charles' voice was grave now.

“I'm worried about the state Marjorie's in, Ned. No kidding. You see, the kid's been a great trial, Ned, not a well child at all, sickly, puny as hell. I'm worried Marjorie won't be able to take it much longer.”

“She certainly was in a state when I saw her.” Dr. Newhouse paused. “She asleep, too?”

Charles cleared his throat. Marjorie's heart rocked.

“She's out,” Charles said. “She'll be sorry she missed you.”

That was funny, too. That was very, very funny.

“Good idea, getting out. Get your mind off formulas and diapers.” He lowered his voice.

Marjorie, straining her ears, could only hear her own breathing; then he spoke louder.

“Since she isn't around, Charlie—I mean, it's kind of a delicate question because when I gave you the stuff you didn't seem at all set for divorce. You were going on with your first wife. How come you married the girl? What happened to your first wife, Charlie?”

“What happened to my wife? What do you mean what happened to my wife? She died, that's what happened to her.”

For God's sake, hear the fear in his voice!

“Don't you read the papers? It was in the papers, you know. Coming here and asking me what became of my—”

“I don't read the obits, Charlie.” He tried to laugh it off. “Doctors fill up too many lines in the obits to find them good reading. Died suddenly, eh? When?”

“I don't want to talk about it. Jesus! I don't want to talk about it!” Charles tried to push down the fear that was rapidly emptying into his voice. “You can understand my point of view, Ned. Look, I'm still kind of rocky, Ned. I mean I can't talk about Claire yet.”

I said he loves me. I told you I was the one he really loved. Can't you see there's something funny going on? Dr. Newhouse saw nothing.

“I'm a clumsy oaf, Charlie. What did she die of?”

If he said status thymicolymphaticus, Dr. Newhouse would know it meant sudden, unexplained death. Dr. Newhouse might not just accept it. A physician wouldn't be stopped by a long Latin name.

“Cancer,” said Charles calmly.

“Lousy, Charlie. I'm sorry.”

Charles continued, “And as if that weren't enough, now there's the kid so sickly and Margie going off her nut worrying about it. I'm terribly worried about Marjorie, Ned. You saw how she was. I'm afraid she'll crack up or something. Between Margie and that kid I don't get a minute's—”

You told me Charles can't worry about anybody but himself. What's the matter with you? You were so clever this afternoon. You knew Charles, and I didn't. Now you know nothing! Oh, she thought, how silly to be angry at Dr. Newhouse. He couldn't help it. You just didn't think there could be a woman tied to a chair and waiting to be killed by her husband. It was beyond the realm of possibility. Oh, speak now or forever hold your peace, she thought. Rest in peace.
Requiescat in pace
. Dr. Newhouse couldn't help her. He would turn out to be a star witness for Charles, that's what. When she was dead, he would testify for Charles that she was of unsound mind.

“Maybe it would have been better if we'd followed through with that stuff you gave us, Ned. The kid hasn't had a well moment since it was born. Dr. Larker didn't think it would live.”

“That's a darn shame, Charlie. What does it weigh now?”

“Weight? Well, I don't know, exactly.”

“What does your pediatrician prescribe? What do you add to the formula? Dextro-maltose? Karo syrup? There's this new preparation, protein hydrolysate, that I have the greatest faith in.”

“I don't know. Didn't Margie tell you? I mean, if she came to see you about the baby, why didn't she tell you all that stuff?”

If I was worried about the baby when I came to see you, why didn't I talk about it? It was Charles, Charles! Oh, what's the use? Marjorie thought. She could hear a chair being pushed again. The blue chair. Dr. Newhouse was getting up. Leaving?

“Let me take a look at the baby, Charlie.”

There were more footsteps. Marjorie closed her eyes to place their direction. Someone was moving down the room, someone was following. The steps moved toward the kitchen? No, the bedroom. The steps moved toward the downstairs bedroom, their bedroom, then, more quickly they retreated and went across the living room again.

“Where do you keep the kid, Charlie? After all, I did everything I could to keep him from birth. I kind of owe it to him to give him the benefit of my professional knowledge. I'm not going to charge you for it, Charlie, so what do you care?”

“I forgot about that drink. What will you have, Ned? Scotch? I've got some Irish whiskey I'd like you to take a look at.”

“Anything. If I wake him, Charlie, I'll rock him to sleep again. I'm good at that too.
‘Turaluralura, turaluraley.'
What's this door here? Oh, a duplex apartment, Charlie, what do you know? So that's where you hide the body!”

“What do you mean? What the hell do you mean?”

“What are you getting so excited about, Charlie? Oh, what did I say—Oh, I mean I was wondering why I saw no sign of infant paraphernalia down here, not a sign of all the stuff they've got to have, and I naturally wondered. Charlie, what's the matter?”

A man's home is his castle. Even a policeman had to produce a warrant before he could invade your castle. Dr. Newhouse would never get up those stairs.

“Don't bother tonight, Ned, huh? Some other time.”

“All I want to do is take a look at him. You say you're so concerned over your baby and then when I—What's going on here, Charlie?”

“There's nothing going on. What the hell! You may be a doctor but I don't have to let you look at it if I don't want to!”

“No, you don't have to, but why won't you? You've got me very curious, Charlie. Why are you blocking those stairs? What's up there?”

Curiosity didn't kill a cat. Lack of curiosity killed a cat. Beckwith had been right.

“You know what you can do with your curiosity, Ned.”

“I'm going up.”

“It's none of your damned business.”

“I'm making it my business.”

“Get out of here. Get out of my house. Get out of my house, Ned, before I paste you one.”

“Try and make me. Go on, try and make me.”

There was a scuffle. Marjorie could hear Charles' heavy breathing, then the thud of a blow and another blow and then something fell and groaned and was still.

“You're soft, Charlie,” Dr. Newhouse said. He started up the steps, two at a time.

About the Author

Merriam Modell, pen name Evelyn Piper, was born in Manhattan, New York, in 1908. She is known for writing mystery thrillers of intricate, suspenseful plotting that depict the domestic conflicts of American families. Her short stories have appeared in the
The New Yorker
and two of her novels,
Bunny Lake Is Missing
and
The Nanny
, were adapted into major Hollywood films.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1949 by Evelyn Piper

Cover design by Julianna Lee

ISBN: 978-1-5040-1832-6

This 2016 edition published by
MysteriousPress.com
/Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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EBOOKS BY EVELYN PIPER

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