“It’s all right,” Easter said. “You don’t have to remember if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t?”
“No. Forget Violet.”
“Yes. Yes, I think I’ll forget all about her. She was an ignorant girl with no manners.”
“You don’t mind remembering about Voss though, do you? You don’t like Voss. He swore at you.”
“Yes, he did. He swore at me.”
“You saw him again later that night?”
“I think so. I think it was that night. He came to call for Violet, and I told him she was on her way home.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m—I’m getting confused. I shouldn’t be telling you all this, should I? Lewis is looking at me funny. Stop, Lewis, stop looking at me like that.”
“I—all right, Gwen,” Lewis said. “All right.”
“You’re mad at me for borrowing your gun.”
“No, I’m not, Gwen. You couldn’t help it.”
“That’s right, I really couldn’t. There wasn’t any other gun and I had to have one to protect myself.”
“Mrs. Ballard,” Easter said. “On Monday night when Voss came to get Violet, did he believe you when you told him she was on her way home?”
“No. He said he’d been here earlier and when no one answered the door he drove around a little while, and then he—he saw me walking with Violet down towards the wharf. He said he waited and watched, and I came back alone. He accused me—he said bad things…”
“That’s when you gave him money?”
“I had to. All the money I had, the housekeeping money and the six hundred dollars I’d gotten on Saturday for the pair of blue merles I sold, and two rings and a necklace. He promised he’d keep quiet and go away and not come back.”
“But he came back,” Easter said.
“Yes, early this morning. Very early. It was still almost dark. Lewis hadn’t phoned or anything. I was worried and couldn’t sleep. I heard the car and looked out the window and saw them, Voss and the other man, walking across the driveway. I put on my shoes and coat, and then I went into Lewis’ study and got one of the guns and hid it in the pocket of my coat.
“I went downstairs and opened the front door. I said, what do you want? And Voss said something new had come up, that he and Eddie needed more money so they could get out of the country for good. ‘We can’t talk here,’ I said, ‘Lewis is upstairs in bed, he’ll hear us.’ “
Charlotte looked across the room at Lewis, and she knew from the tragic regret in his eyes that his thoughts were like her own: he should have been upstairs in bed that early morning and he should have been at home when Violet first came. If he had been, all four of them would still be alive, still have a future, Eddie and Violet and Voss, and Gwen herself. For Gwen the road ahead was dark and twisted, with here and there a patch of light and an arrow pointing back, back, back to the gay parties, to Daddy and the teddy bear and the smiling French doll, back to the kinder years, further back, and further, until the end of the road was the beginning.
“We went out to the car,” Gwen said. “Voss got in the front seat and the other one, Eddie, got in the back with me, and he drove out past the cemetery. Eddie laughed as we went past and said, ‘People are just dying to get in there.’ I laughed too, and then I shot him. I shot him two or three times. Voss stopped the car. I told him I was going to shoot him, too. He asked me not to, but I did, anyway.”
One of the dogs began to dream; tail twitched, paws moved in pursuit.
“He was a little man, not much bigger than I am, but he was heavy. I put my hands under his armpits and pulled him over into the back on top of Eddie. Then I got behind the wheel and started the car. I thought of driving it over a cliff, but I didn’t want to kill myself because then who would look after the dogs? You understand?”
Easter nodded. “Of course.”
“Well, then I remembered that Charlotte was away, and I thought, what a clever idea to drive the car into her garage and leave it there. I thought how surprised she’d be when she came back. And you
were
surprised, weren’t you, Charlotte?”
“Yes,” Charlotte said gravely. “Very surprised.”
“I wish I’d been there to see your race. I’ve never liked your face anyway. Liar’s face. Trollop’s face. I’d like to split it open with a knife. I’d like to…”
“Gwen,” Lewis said.
She turned to him. Her expression changed suddenly and completely. “Yes, Daddy?”
“Remember your manners.”
“I’ll try to, Daddy. Do forgive me for telling you the truth, Charlotte, trollop, please have another cup of tea, it’s quite fresh, refreshing and—I have a headache. I’m nervous. Lewis, I’m so nervous.”
“I know,” he said.
“People oughtn’t to make me nervous, ought they?”
“No, Gwen.”
“But they do. You must stop them.”
“I will.” He went over to her and put his hands on her trembling shoulders.
“You love me, Lewis?”
“Yes.”
“You always have?”
“Yes.”
“And you hate
her
, don’t you? You despise her. You hate her face. You’d like to split it open with a knife, wouldn’t you?”
“Gwen—oh God.”
“Say it.”
“No.”
“Say it.”
“I—hate her.”
“And her face, what would you like to do with it?”
“Split—it open—with a knife.”
“There. You see, Charlotte? Two against one. We must hate you, Lewis and I. Isn’t that right, Mr. Easter? Why, where’s Mr. Easter?”
“He’s using the telephone,” Lewis said. “He had a call to make.
She held one of his hands against her cheek.
“We
don’t care, do we?”
“No, Gwen.”
“Why, it’s like old times. Carry me upstairs the way you used to.”
“Not yet.”
“Yes, now. I am tired. I’ve danced all night.”
He picked her up gently and carried her out into the hall. The tears that fell from his eyes lost themselves in her fading yellow curls. He went slowly up the stairs. She was tired—she had danced all night—and she fell asleep in his arms.
The wind had vanished, as if a great hole had opened in the sky and all the winds in the world had been sucked up into the hole.
Easter opened the wooden gate. The police had come and gone, the car had been driven away, and the glow of morning was in the East.
“Good-bye, Charlotte.”
“Good-bye.”
“Get some rest.”
“No, I don’t want any, I’m not tired.”
I haven’t danced all night
.
He touched her hand. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you.”
“It’s my own fault. I asked for it.”
Split it open with a knife
.
“I’m sorry about Ballard, too. I did him an injustice; he’s a better man than I thought he was. He’ll stick by her, and perhaps some day she’ll be cured.”
“Perhaps. Yes, perhaps.”
“This isn’t the time or place to tell you that I love you but I’m telling you, anyway. There are tough days ahead. Perhaps my love might be a comfort to you.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Will it be?”
“Yes. A—great comfort.” Tears pressed behind her eyes like cruel thumbs, until her eyeballs seemed ready to burst.
“Cry if you want to,” he said.
“I never—I
never
cry.”
“Cry now, long and hard. It will make things easier for you.”
“I can t.”
“You will, though.” He bent down and kissed both of her tearless eyes. “Good-bye, Charlotte.”
“Good-bye.”
The gate closed, softly, like the leaf of a book falling into place.
She went back into her house and sat for a long time in Lewis’ chair by the window, watching the brightening sky. She wasn’t sure at what moment the city lights went out and morning came.
FIN
Margaret Millar (1915-1994) was an American-Canadian mystery and suspense writer. Born in Kitchener, Ontario in 1915 and read classics at the University of Toronto. She moved to the United States after marrying Kenneth Millar (better known under the pen name Ross Macdonald). They resided for decades in the city of Santa Barbara, which was often utilized as a locale in her later novels under the pseudonyms of San Felice or Santa Felicia. The Millars had a daughter who died in 1970.
As well as having been a renowned mystery novelist, Margaret Millar also wrote autobiographical nature studies, was a screenwriter for Warner Brothers just after the Second World War and from 1957-8 was elected President of the Mystery Writers of America who, in 1956, awarded her the Edgar Allen Poe Award for her novel
Beast in View.
“Paul Prye” Mystery Novels
“Inspector Sands” Mystery Novels
“Tom Aragon” Mystery Novels
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