The Sweetest Thing (34 page)

“Why do you say such horrible things? Are you insane or is it just the liquor?”

“I've got my reasons. Very good reasons.”

It struck me then that Spalding had lost all inhibitions, and that perhaps I could get the truth out of him. “What reasons?”

“Reasons,” he slurred. “I have mine and you have yours. You've known it all along. Our life together is a compromise. One big compromise.”

“You don't really care about me at all, do you?”

He leaned over me and the smell of alcohol hit me in the face. “Of course I care, Perri.” He fingered my blouse again. “I have a great affection for you.”

“Just as you do for your car and your golf clubs.”

“Something like that.”

“Why have you done this?”

“Perri, I've only done what you wanted.”

“No. It's not true. I didn't seek you out. You came to me at my house, right after Daddy died. Why did you come? Tell me.”

“I needed you, Perri.” He held me close. “We needed you. We needed your house.”

“My house!”

Spalding grabbed for my shirt again.

I scooted away from him, wriggling free of his grasp. “What are you talking about?”

Spalding shook his head a little, as if trying to clear his mind, then he leaned toward me and whispered, “Those with a keen sense of business can see these things coming.”

“What do you mean, ‘see things coming'?”

“It doesn't matter.”

Then I said, “I know! You're the thief. You're the one who stole all those things from the parties. And then you hid them at our house! Anna didn't steal those things, did she? It was you!”

This Spalding had not expected. He yanked my shoulders and began shaking me. “Shut up! Shut up, you spoiled little tramp.”

From out of nowhere, a flashbulb went off, and there was sweet little Mae Pearl, trembling like a leaf, her pale blue eyes wide as Mamma's demitasse saucers. She was clutching the camera in her hands, fumbling with a new flashbulb.

She clicked the shutter, and again the flash went off. “You leave her alone, Spalding Smith!”

Spalding began to laugh. “Mae Pearl, put that thing down.”

“I won't. I've heard what you said. You're horrible, Spalding!”

He let go of me and took a step toward her. Mae Pearl started backing toward the barn door. He swung his arm around and hit her hard in the face, knocking her to the ground. The camera fell beside her. “You heard nothing! Nothing!”

I screamed and knelt by her side. “Mae Pearl!” Her eyes were closed, and a tiny trickle of blood was on her left temple. “What have you done, Spalding? You've hurt Mae Pearl!”

That seemed to sober Spalding up, and he bent down. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, Mae Pearl.”

I buttoned my blouse. “I'm going to get help.”

But before I could budge, Sam Durand appeared. “Hey, have you guys seen Mae Pearl? She just disappeared, and I—” He saw her lying on the ground. “What happened?”

I looked at Spalding as we both leaned over Mae Pearl. His eyes were so hard that I shivered. He turned to Sam. “Perri and I were taking a stroll and heard Mae Pearl scream. She must have tripped in the dark and fell. She's got a bad bump on her head.”

I was too stunned to disagree.

Sam lifted Mae Pearl's head and tried to revive her. Her eyes fluttered open, and Spalding bent down over her and said, “Are you all right, Mae Pearl? Goodness, you gave us a fright.” But I knew he was whispering some threat, too, as he helped her stand.

I tried to break away from him, but he never let go of my arm. When Sam continued toward the Youngs' house with Mae Pearl, Spalding held me back and whispered, “You keep your mouth shut! She fell. You hear me? She tripped and fell.”

“You're a monster,” I seethed. “Let me go.”

“You better do what I say.” He released my hand and said, “It would be a mighty shame if anyone else were to have an accident.”

I hurried up to the Youngs' house and found the only real thing injured about Mae Pearl was her pride. She whispered to me from where she lay on a chaise lounge, “He doesn't scare me one bit! You develop my photos, and we'll see who's afraid of whom.”

In spite of the circumstances, I could not help but smile.

Seeing Spalding's condition, Andrew drove him home, and Dobbs and I got a ride with Sam and Mae Pearl. We didn't say much on the ride home, but when Sam let us out at the Chandlers', Mae Pearl called after us, “I'll see you tomorrow. And bring those photos with you.”

I had called Mamma to inform her I'd be spending the night with Dobbs, and I rushed to the darkroom, with Dobbs on my heels. “What in the world is the matter with you, Perri?”

“You'll see. You'll see.”

As we developed the photos, I explained the whole incident to Dobbs. “He practically admitted he stole those things and that he somehow knew that Daddy was going to commit suicide. It's so horrible.” An hour later, the photos lay in the tray, gradually turning into reality, and there it was, blurry, out of focus, but nonetheless truth. Spalding holding my arm, shaking me, and me wincing.

Dobbs looked at the photos and said, “I'm so very sorry it happened, Perri. And it was sure brave of Mae Pearl. But all this proves is that Spalding has a bad temper when he's drunk.”

———

The next morning, Mae Pearl showed up at school with a small bandage on her temple, but otherwise, she pronounced herself fine. In the rush of preparing for all the May Day activities later that afternoon, she and I had no time to talk alone. I watched her to see if she looked afraid, but her pretty eyes sparkled with something more like resolve.

She played her role in May Day perfectly, and every time someone asked her about the accident the night before, she repeated the same story. “I saw Perri and Spalding leave the dance floor and I had the silly idea of following and getting a few candid shots—that's what Perri calls them. And I had that old bulky camera in my hands and wouldn't you know, I tripped right on a big ol' root and fell flat on my face.”

And because Mae Pearl was an actress, everyone believed her. Only, I thought to myself, if they'd been thinking straight, they'd have known that graceful Mae Pearl had never tripped on a thing in her life. But she told her story and played her part in the backyard of Washington Seminary, which was once again brimming with guests.

The afternoon light was perfect as they crowned me May Queen and the Maidens danced around me and put a laurel wreath on my head. And I smiled as everyone applauded. I smiled and swallowed and breathed and batted back any tears that threatened. But the only person I really saw the whole afternoon was Spalding Smith, his gaze following my every move. And he didn't look mean or cruel. He looked absolutely terrified.

Later I realized that Mae Pearl's performance at May Day was of little importance to her. She saved her best performance until that night, when the grounds were empty of guests and all the Seminary girls had made their way home. Alone with me, she asked, “Did you get to develop the film?”

“Yes, Dobbs and I did it last night.”

“Then let's go now to the police. I've made up my mind. I'll tell them everything I heard.”

“Spalding will deny it, and he's threatened more accidents.”

“I told you I'm not afraid of him.”

“Mae Pearl, this whole affair is very dangerous. It could turn out badly for the Chandlers' servants if we aren't careful.”

“But Spalding won't know what we're doing! He's heard me repeat my story loads of times today. He won't suspect anything.” Then she turned to me, hands on her hips, and said, “Anyway, you've been saying it lately—we don't have to be afraid, because the Good Lord is watching over us.”

I just nodded, wide-eyed, at Mae Pearl.

So I drove us to the police station in the Buick, and Mae Pearl and I repeated our story to the policeman, Officer Withers. He had a funny look on his long, skinny face, much of which was taken up by a thick moustache. I couldn't quite interpret what I saw in his eyes, but it worried me nonetheless. We showed the photos to him and told him about Spalding threatening me and hitting Mae Pearl and our certainty that Spalding was involved in the thefts. Officer Withers nodded and listened, and when Mae Pearl was through, he said, “I'd like to ask Miss Singleton a few questions alone.”

Mae Pearl furrowed her brow, and I shrugged, and she said, “I'll wait for you out at the entrance.”

Officer Withers took me into an office, closed the door, offered me a cup of coffee, which I refused, and said, “Miss Singleton, you and your friend, Miss McFadden, claim that Spalding Smith is responsible for a series of thefts that occurred last year, items stolen from the homes of families who were hosting parties. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

He took out a cigarette, lit it, and leaned back in his chair. “I'd like to ask you a few questions. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, it's okay.”

“Were you at the Valentine's Dance at the Chandler residence in February 1933?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Were you at the party given a week later—” he shuffled through a few papers—“at Becca Chandler Fitten's house?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I know you have been through a particularly traumatic time this past year after your father's death. I understand that you and your father were quite close and that he often confided in you about financial issues.”

“I was used to doing finances with my father.”

“How would you describe your father's state of mind in the weeks preceding his death?”

I frowned and wrinkled my brow. “What do you mean?”

“Was he overly concerned about finances? Worried? Desperate?”

“Desperate people do desperate things.”
Mr. Robinson's words slithered into my mind.

I thought of Daddy's drawn face, the way he looked worried most of the time. “He was as concerned as everyone else in America, I'd say, sir.”

“Desperate for money, perhaps?”

“No!” I was beginning to feel a little panic creeping up my spine.

“I find this all extremely interesting.” He crushed out his cigarette, leaned back in his chair, and put the fingers from each hand together, making a bridge. “You see, Miss Singleton, earlier today I had a visit from Mr. Spalding Smith.”

That caused me to sit up straight.

“Strange, isn't it? His story was quite different from the one you and Miss McFadden related. He also told me about an argument you had with him last night, over stolen items. Mr. Smith claims that both you and your father were stealing costly items from homes during social gatherings; he claims your father hid these things in your house and that you knew where. Is this true, Miss Singleton?”

I felt my pulse throbbing in my temple and stared at the policeman. “That's preposterous! No one has ever found the missing items—certainly not at my house.”

Except for Dobbs, in Daddy's toolbox.

The policeman bent down, retrieved a shoe box, and opened the lid. Inside was what appeared to be every single item stolen from the Chandlers—the pearl-handled knives, the jewelry, the silver. I thought I might faint.

“Is it not true that Mr. Smith has been asked by his father to watch over your house? He claims he found all this as he was helping your family clean out the house but didn't come to the authorities immediately so as not to deepen your shame and grief.”

“He's lying about it all! He stole everything—not my father.”

“Miss Singleton, Mr. Smith has an airtight alibi. He has never been to Becca Chandler Fitten's house. Mrs. Fitten has confirmed this. Nor to three of the other parties where other thefts occurred last February. But either you or your father was present at each one.”

He looked down at his notes, ruffling papers around on his desk. “Spalding Smith says you will do anything to protect your family name, to get your house back. He feels that other stolen goods are hidden somewhere on the property, although he has not been able to find them.”

I kept staring at the pearl-handled knives.

“Mr. Smith hoped you would come forward and confess to your father's crimes. He says he didn't want to rush you but has been trying to convince you to turn in these items that were found where you'd hidden them—in your father's toolbox. He says you were arguing with him about bringing the stolen things to the police last night.”

“It's a lie!” I felt dizzy and couldn't imagine how this man could believe such a crazy story.
Perhaps it's no crazier than your own.

Daddy did not steal things.

Was he desperate? Yes? Was he in danger of losing everything? Yes. Did he steal things? No! Impossible.

I stood up quickly. “I would like to go now. I won't answer any more of your questions until I have a lawyer.” I needed to talk to my mother. “You have no proof of these things!”

“Not yet, Miss Singleton. Not yet.”

When I told Mae Pearl about the interview and the accusations, she said, “The nerve of Spalding! Well, we'll just have to prove him wrong, that's all. He's desperate, making up lies, trying to cover his hide. We'll think of something.”

“I've never seen you like this, Mae Pearl. You're so . . . so—” I searched for the word—“unafraid to confront.”

“Heavens, I'm surprising myself and I can't believe it's me talking. But I do know we have to prove what Spalding has done.”

Before I let Mae Pearl off at her house, I said, “Please don't say anything to Mary Dobbs yet. We'll talk to her after her party. I don't want her worrying about me right now. I want her to enjoy everything tomorrow night.”

Back on Club Drive I pulled Mamma outside, and I paced back and forth, back and forth, as I frantically told her everything about what Spalding had said and done at the hayride and then about Mae Pearl and my visit to the police station and of Spalding having gone down earlier and of the way he accused Daddy and me.