“You kidding?” The lieutenant looked like a kid who had brought a baseball only to learn that the game of the day was basketball.
“And we have to wrap up things at Tootles’s house,” Charlie said. “Let’s get at it, and take off.”
Toni met them at the front door. Constance felt very sorry for this young woman who had shadows in her eyes that had not been there a week ago. Toni looked at her coldly, then spoke to Charlie. “They’re expecting you,” she said. “In the television room. It’s the only room in the house that the reporters can’t see into.”
She had started to walk away when Charlie said, “Hold on a sec, will you? How’s Max?”
She shrugged. “Resigned. He doesn’t seem surprised, just hurt and resigned.” She hesitated a moment, then said, “Now they’re saying Johnny got in trouble a few years ago, in college, something about stealing tests. Ba Ba told me, but it seems that everyone else knew all about it.”
Toni had finished growing up, Constance thought, watching her when she led them into the house, her shoulders straight, her head high; and Toni would not forgive her.
Charlie took Constance by the arm and they all went to the television room where Ba Ba was pouring coffee. She looked different, too, aloof and distant, so calm she looked doped. Tootles and Max entered the room, and Spence and Paul followed them. It was a subdued group.
“I’ll keep this short,” Charlie said as soon as they were all seated. Max was pale and remote, much more distant than Babar, and Tootles had been crying hard. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. She held Max’s hand in a death grip.
“I’ll give you everything I gave the police,” Charlie said. “Some of this they would prefer to keep under wraps for the time being, but they didn’t hire me, you people did. They are always afraid that if their suspect knows what they have against him, he will manage to counter it. That’s beside the point right now.” No one moved; he could have been addressing a workshop, a class who knew a test would follow. He told them the mechanics of how Johnny had killed Victoria and arranged his own alibi at the same time. “The clothes probably will settle it,” he finished. “Or they could find traces of turpentine in his briefcase, or a section of rope. They might go after him for Musselman’s death, but maybe not. They will look for the manuscript, naturally, and if it turns up, they may reopen that case and tie the two together. If it doesn’t…” He shrugged. “We’ll wait and see.”
There were a few questions, not many. No one looked directly at Max, who stared ahead stonily. Suddenly Max said, “I was too hard on him. His mother was always too soft, and I tried to make up for her, and went too far.”
Gently Constance said, “We always think that, don’t we? It’s my fault. Whatever my child has done, I’m really to blame. It must be in the genes. I imagine killing Musselman was an accident, don’t you? But after that… he chose. Max. You couldn’t go back to day one and reorder his life, make him be someone else. And the man he became chose his actions.” She paused, then said, “And, Max, on Monday or Tuesday, they were planning to arrest Tootles for the murder of Victoria Leeds. When you are blaming yourself, casting back for what you said, what he said, what you did, what he did, back through the years, you may find a place where you recognize a turning point, an ultimatum of some sort that you’ll feel you should not have pressed. If that happens, just keep it in mind that he knew Tootles was the one they would arrest.”
For a time he studied her face without any readable expression on his own, then he nodded, and put his arm around Tootles’s shoulders. He nodded again.
“Well,” Charlie said, “Gruenwald will be back around, there will be more questions, statements to make and sign, all the routine will be observed. But it’s really over.” He reached for Constance’s hand, but she shook her head.
“One more thing,” she said. “The séance was a fake through and through. You should all know that. I arranged it, and I manipulated it from beginning to end.” Ba Ba gasped, and Toni jumped to her feet, shaking her head. “Tell them. Tootles,” Constance said. “Tell them.”
Tootles moistened her lips, but remained mute.
“Ba Ba moved the planchette in the beginning,” Constance said grimly. “To give it credence. To make it believable. And I moved it later.”
Tootles was staring at her, pale down to her lips. Constance continued to regard her until finally she nodded. “She arranged it,” Tootles said.
“Why?” Toni cried. She turned toward Paul Volte. “What you said… part of a charade?”
Before Paul could speak, Ba Ba wailed. “I never! It moves by itself! I didn’t do it! And you didn’t know anything about a coin collection. How could you have known something like that?”
“We saw David Musselman’s study,” Constance said. “We saw his books on collectibles. Including coins. I don’t know if he has such a collection, but he has collections of other things. And he would not have got rid of the manuscript. Architects are trained to be conservative. To conserve, save. He would have saved a copy of the manuscript.”
“Good God!” Spence said. “You set a trap for him. Diane is Musselman’s widow?”
Constance nodded. “It was a trap. The first part had to look real so he’d accept the rest. Ba Ba is so good with the Ouija; it looks so real when she does it. There isn’t any jealous muse, no curse, no gift of the gods. Is there, Paul?”
He had been standing by a chair, holding the back of it with a white-knuckled grasp. Wordlessly he turned and walked out of the room, his shoulders hunched; he looked ancient moving away from them.
“No muse,” Constance repeated softly. “Victoria Leeds knew that. Her death had nothing whatever to do with him. She left him months ago because she had come to understand the barrier was his doing, his choice. We think what she said to Janet was that his Byronic pose was tiresome.”
She stopped when it became apparent that Toni was no longer listening. Staring at the empty doorway, she was as immobile as a piece of art, her face blank; she seemed oblivious to the lengthening silence in the room. Finally she took a step forward.
Abruptly Tootles pulled Max’s hand away from her shoulder and stood up. “Just where are you going?” she demanded harshly.
Toni did not even glance at her. “I’m leaving,” she said in a dull voice.
“Right!” Tootles yelled. “Leave! You know where you’ll end up? In Hollywood making cute little figures that can chase other cute little figures off cliffs and get a chuckle out of cute little kids high on Saturday morning cartoons.”
Color flared in Toni’s cheeks; before she could say anything, Tootles drew in a long breath and went on almost savagely. “
I
never told you it would be easy.
I
never promised you a magic wand, or a mysterious muse to sit on your shoulder, or a goddam talisman to make life easier.
I
told you it would take a lot of fucking hard work.”
Her gaze swept the room, art on every flat surface, art hanging from the ceiling, crowding the window sills, in every corner. Her gaze hardly even paused at her own work,
Seven Kinds of Death
, but continued to take in all of it.
“You do it yourself,” she said in a lower, even harsher voice, “or it doesn’t get done. Your hands, your eyes, your sweat… . If your fingers bleed you put on Band-Aids; your feet hurt, take off your shoes; your head aches, take an aspirin, but you do it. No fucking magic. And you look at it and you say, it wouldn’t be here without
me
! Maybe it’s good and you say, I did that. Maybe it’s a piece of shit, and you say, I did that. Another little hole in the universe is plugged up, and you did it. You look at the world and your hands tell us what you see there, and you say, I’m here! I did that.”
Charlie took Constance by the hand. Quietly they walked out of the room. Tootles’s voice followed them to the porch, the driveway.
They had got into the Volvo when Spence appeared, ambling toward them in his slouchy way. He put his hand on the door by Constance. “If that was a show last night, you guys sure missed your calling. Some act!”
They both waited. This wasn’t what he had followed them to say.
“You didn’t clear up the problem of the ruined sculptures,” he said.
Very distinctly they heard Tootles scream, “Ba Ba, shut the fuck up!”
Charlie grinned and leaned forward to look past Constance at Spence. “The sheriff thinks Johnny might have done it to supply a motive for Tootles.”
Spence’s ugly face brightened. “Yeah,” he said softly, then again, “Yeah! Johnny must have done it.” He reached in to shake Charlie’s hand, and then leaned forward to kiss Constance. “You guys are pretty terrific,” he said, and shambled away, back toward the house.
Charlie started the car. “Son of a bitch,” he murmured. “He knows, doesn’t he?”
“I think Spence knows a lot,” she agreed.
He started to drive, and smiled when her hand found its way to his thigh. He didn’t know which he wanted to do most, go home, or drive to the nearest motel.
“Home,” she said lazily. His grin widened and he covered her hand with his.
A few months later a special delivery parcel came addressed to both of them. It was a large and heavy box, marked fragile. Charlie carried it to the kitchen table to open it. It was a bas-relief of Constance, done in a creamy ivory marble. He stared at it for a long time, uncertain if he liked it or not. After a quick drawing in of her breath Constance touched it, moved her fingers over the cheeks, along the chin.
When he looked up from the piece to her, there were tears in her eyes, and he suspected that the work was very good. It was not idealized, not romanticized. The face was strong and rather implacable, and although the bones were very fine, there was an androgynous quality overall. The eyes were cast downward a little. The eyes were knowing, not just looking, but also seeing. It was almost frightening, that feeling of awareness, as if the stone eyes could see through the many layers of defenses that shielded most people from view.
He put his arm around Constance’s shoulders, and he was glad that when he looked at her, that piece of stone was not what he saw. He did not voice this because he was almost certain she already knew.