Authors: Mary Daheim
T
HERE WAS SILENCE
in the room, though the storm had begun to gather force. I felt sick, and full of self-loathing. Sometimes it was wrong to be right. Or at least horribly painful.
Paula just stood there, staring at me with a moronic grin on her face. Maybe, once she got over the shock of her admission, she would scream denials or even attack me. But for the moment, she hugged me and I hugged her back. I wished Paula would say something, anything to break the tension. And where was Milo? Fifteen minutes ago while I was in the bathroom, I'd called him on my new cell phone. Had I imagined the call had gone through? Had I followed the instructions correctly? My vision had been so blurry that I'd had trouble reading the pamphlet and great difficulty pushing the tiny buttons.
“You were jealous of Crystal,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry. “Maybe not just about Victor. Maybe you saw her and
Crystal Clear
as some kind of threat. Goodness knows, I did.”
Paula leaned against me, her ample body a deadweight. “Jealousy is a powerful motive,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Ugly. Very ugly emotion.”
“True,” I agreed, wishing she'd move. “I didn't want to think it was you, I tried not to believe it. But you said that love had made you crazy, as if you were referring to
something specific—like Crystal's murder. You also mentioned the rum punch Crystal served me when I called on her the night that she was murdered. I don't remember telling you about that. And then it dawned on me that it tasted so bitter because there were already a dozen or so sleeping pills—my pills—in the drink. In fact, I felt slightly sick the next morning. It was you who arranged the meeting between Crystal and me, it was you who stole my pills. You set me up, and I ought to be damned furious about it. But I'm not. I'm just sad.”
Finally releasing me, Paula half staggered to the Second Empire chair. Rheims and Rouen jumped into her lap. “You're wrong, Emma.”
I had also sat down, and tensed in the chair. “In what way?” I asked.
Paula stroked each of the cats with shaking hands. “I wasn't jealous of Crystal and Victor. How could I be? Crystal wasn't in love with Victor. And vice versa, for all I could see.”
“Interesting,” I murmured, wondering how long Paula would remain calm. The wind was howling and the rain was swiftly turning to snow. Maybe Milo had been held up at the higher elevations. “Still,” I remarked, “you must have been pretty fed up with men. You haven't had a lot of luck. Neither had Crystal.”
“Men!” Paula made a slashing gesture with one hand, which sent Rheims and Rouen leaping off of her lap. “They're a useless sex. Why did I ever bother myself?”
“It's true,” I said, not without sympathy. “Men can be a pain. Why do you think I never married?”
Paula's expression was ironic. “Because you're a romantic. You've told me your sad story, about a married man—the worst kind—and how you had his child even though you knew he wouldn't leave his nutty wife. I've
never figured that one out. Haven't you ever heard of an abortion?”
“I had,” I said quietly. “It was legal when I got pregnant with Adam. I didn't choose to take advantage of what was handed down then by twelve old men.”
“Well, I did. Twice.” Paula's voice sharpened. “Why not? Both of the men ran out on me, and yes, one of them was married.”
I actually managed a laugh. “So you let a bunch of old farts on the Supreme Court manipulate you. What's the difference between them and the men who took off? I don't get it, and it's not just because I'm Catholic.”
“The Supremes didn't knock me up.”
“But you developed a hatred of men,” I said. “You got gypped, as well as manipulated. So what are you trying to tell me?”
Paula also laughed, but without mirth. “What you, apparently, didn't figure out.”
But I had. “That you became a lesbian?”
Paula clapped both hands to her head. “You don't
become
a lesbian. That's what you are, how you're born. It simply took me a long time to figure it out and admit who I was. Am. As it did with Crystal.”
Deep down, that's what I expected to hear. But it wasn't enough. “I don't think it's always that simple,” I said. “Sometimes, I think it's a form of rebellion. Look—I can't say as I blame you. As of today, I was about ready to give up on men myself. Maybe I will. I might even find a woman who can fill a void in my life. But I won't
become
a lesbian.” I put the emphasis on the verb and looked Paula straight in the eye. “But I think with you, it cut both ways. You were jealous of Crystal, and you were physically attracted. She not only didn't reciprocate your romantic feelings, she'd been involved with a man you once cared for very deeply. And that's why you killed
her, and you tried to pin it on me because … I don't know. Why, Paula? As I said before, I thought we were friends.”
Paula's shoulders slumped, and somehow the silver threads in the caftan seemed to turn a dull gray. “We
were
friends. We had so much in common.” She paused, then stood up. “I think we need another drink.”
I started to protest but this was no time for side arguments. I remained in the chair as Paula went behind the counter bar.
“You told me about Tom,” she continued, getting more eggs and milk out of the refrigerator, “and how you had Adam even though his father wouldn't marry you. At first, I felt you'd been a fool. Then I met Adam. He's a wonderful young man. And I thought—not for the first time, but with an altered perception—of what would have happened if I hadn't had those abortions. I began to envy you, resent you, even hate you. Unfortunately, all these things overwhelmed me about the same time I met Crystal.” Paula stopped speaking as she emptied the rum bottle into the mixture, then reached under the counter, presumably for the nutmeg.
“It was bad enough discovering that she'd had an affair with Victor in Portland,” Paula said, her voice gone dull, though her hands were busily mixing the eggnog. “It was even worse when I learned she'd sworn off men and was attracted to women. It wasn't a real revelation for her. She'd always known, but had been in denial. Then she came out of the closet when she moved back here. I not only admired her courage, her causes, her ruthless determination, but I had other, physical feelings for her. She rebuffed me. I couldn't stand any more rejection, especially from my own sex. I guess I snapped.” Paula gave me a strange, sad look. “I set you up because before there
was Crystal, there was you. I fell for you from the start, even though I knew it was hopeless.”
The shock sobered me as if someone had poured ice-cold water over my head. “Oh, Paula,” I gasped, “I'm so sorry!”
“Then let's drink to us,” she said, with a melancholy little smile. “To what might have been.”
I suddenly realized that Paula had stirred the eggnog after putting in the nutmeg. But the nutmeg went on top, as a garnish. She had added something else to the mixture. I still had my mug. Involuntarily, I covered it with my hand.
“No more for me, Paula,” I said, my voice sounding unnatural. “I really should …”
Paula drained her mug in four big gulps. “This batch wasn't for you.” She staggered a bit against the counter, the mug falling from her hand. “I thought about it, but I couldn't.” She lurched between the counter and the refrigerator. “Sorry, Emma,” she muttered, and fell to the floor.
Rheims and Rouen raced to Paula's lifeless body. The stained-glass windows seemed to weep.
That damned Milo had been listening outside for the past ten minutes. I could have killed him.
“Hey,” he said, after Paula had been taken away in an ambulance that was in no hurry to reach its destination, “when do I get to hear a confession like that? I mean, with women being a triangle? It was kind of hot.”
Men.
“What were you doing out there in the snow?” I snapped. “Jacking off?”
“Emma!” The sheriff looked shocked. We were in his office, where I'd gone to give my statement.
“You might have stopped her,” I retorted, firmly closing the pet carrier where Rheims and Rouen were
complaining about their transport. “You might have saved her life.”
“That's dubious,” Milo said, though he looked a bit shaken. “She didn't want her life saved. That's why she drank the poisoned eggnog.”
I leaned back in the visitor's chair, and tried to ignore the smell of stale cigarettes, which about now tickled my nostrils like some Babylonian elixir. “It's my fault,” I said in a tired voice. “This has been one hell of a December. Now I've not only lost a friend, I've caused her death. What a miserable Advent.”
Milo frowned. “Sometime you'll have to explain this Advent deal to me. I don't think Congregationalists had that when I was going to Sunday school.”
“Maybe not.” I reached out a hand. “Give me a cigarette or I'll have to hurt you.”
“I thought you already did.” The words had slipped out of Milo's mouth, and I could tell by the look on his face that he regretted them.
“God, Milo, I thought we were past that. I really did.” It didn't work that way, of course. What was the difference between my dumping of Milo and my correctly perceived rejection of Paula? Neither of them had been able to revert to a real friendship.
The sheriff leaned across the desk to light my cigarette. “I thought I was pretty much over it until Cavanaugh showed up.”
“You think that didn't have an effect on me?” I shot back.
“A good one, though,” Milo said.
“That's debatable.”
“Huh?”
I heaved a heavy sigh. “Let's say it was fun while it lasted.” Then I explained about Tom and Kelsey and my
mixed feelings toward the man I was beginning to call The Phantom.
“That's weird,” Milo said when I'd finished.
I shook my head.“It's not at all weird. It's Tom. He needs to be needed, and always by someone who is weaker, more troubled, and beset with problems he thinks he can solve. I don't qualify. I'm too damned normal.”
“That's weird,” Milo repeated.
I gave up trying to explain and started to stand up, then stopped. “Do you want to sleep with me tonight?”
Milo's long jaw dropped. “Are you kidding?”
“No. I need a friend. I need a lover. I need a
man.
You're it, cowboy.”
But the sheriff hesitated. “Are you still drunk? You seemed to be able to drive Ed's car okay.”
“I'm completely sober. Come on, Dodge, give me the courtesy of a prompt reply.”
Typically, Milo needed to mull. Then he shook his head. “I don't think so, Emma. Sorry.”
I gaped at him. “You're turning me down?”
He gave a nod. “It wouldn't be right. It isn't your style. It's not mine, either.”
Milo was right, of course. I avoided his gaze, then stood up. “I guess it was a bad idea. Blame it on Crystal Bird. She's cost me plenty in the last week or two.”
“No problem,” Milo said, also getting to his feet.
I glanced down at the pet carrier and gave the sheriff a wry little smile. “After all, I have the cats.”
But I still didn't have a car, which dawned on me once more as I left Milo's office. It was after ten, it was snowing, and I wondered if Ed would mind if I kept the Beamer until morning.
I decided he wouldn't. Ed would have to drive me home after I delivered his car. Knowing how lazy he was,
and genuinely concerned about disturbing his comfort so late at night, I drove the BMW to my log house.
Again, someone was waiting for me. This time, however, I readily identified my visitor. Vida was sitting in her Buick, which was parked by my mailbox.
“Good grief,” she cried as she got out of her car, “is that one of Ed's collection?”
“I borrowed it,” I called back.
Vida trudged up to the front porch. “Why does he keep buying German cars? Why can't he get himself a big Cadillac if he wants to show off?”
“Ed thought he was buying an English automobile when he got that one,” I said, nodding at the Beamer. “He was sure that BMW stood for British Majesty Wheels.”
“He's almost as demented as you are,” Vida retorted as I let us into the house. “Now you tell me how you deduced that Paula was the killer and why you didn't let me know what you were up to. And yes, I would definitely enjoy a cup of hot tea. I've been waiting twenty minutes in front of your house. I'd no idea you'd take so long at the sheriff's. Not to mention that that wretched nephew of mine didn't call me until almost ten to let me know what had happened.”
Poor Billy. He was definitely getting coal in his Christmas stocking this year. “Come into the kitchen,” I said, after putting our coats in the closet. “I'll tell you all about it.”
“Start with why you didn't tell me in the first place,” Vida demanded, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table.
I glanced over my shoulder as I turned the heat on under the teakettle. “I thought I might be wrong. I hoped that I was wrong. It was all sort of intuitive. When Tom left me that note today, I raved and ranted about giving up on men,” I continued, joining Vida at the table. “Then I had a sudden thought. Some women
do
give up. Most of
them simply go on with their lives, get a hobby, volunteer, whatever. But occasionally, a rejected woman will form an attachment with another woman. I'd remembered that when I first met Paula, she'd given me a brief rundown on her previous lovers. One of them was a tuba player. I guessed that Victor was that long-lost love. He'd come to see Crystal, not Paula. I gathered that Victor and Crystal had also been lovers, apparently while she was still in Portland. Everything began to fall into place.”
I stopped as the teakettle whistled. “Somewhere in the early stages of the investigation, I mentioned that Paula, among others, had had the opportunity to swipe my sleeping pills. But I dismissed the idea, because I couldn't see a motive then, I couldn't imagine her trying to frame me, and most of all, I didn't want her to be the guilty party. She was my friend.”
Vida harrumphed. “Some friend. Didn't I always tell you I didn't think much of Paula Rubens?”
I bit my tongue. Had Paula been a saint with a heavenly crown, Vida still wouldn't have warmed to her. Thus, I would never tell Vida that Paula had been attracted to me. Her reaction would be extreme, and very negative.