Dora sighed deeply.
“I can't help thinking it was the incident with the pants,” she said. “Oddly enough, it began with an act of kindness. Atherton could actually be quite kind as long as you did things his way. In
honor of my birthday he had flown us all to New York for a weekend. On the second night we were going out to a fish house downtown. We met downstairs in the hotel lobby. Atherton took one look at George and ordered him to go upstairs and change his pants.”
“What was wrong with his pants?” asked Molly.
“Nothing,” said Dora. “That was the point. Oh, they were a little casual, I suppose, but there wasn't anything really wrong with them.”
“Then why did Atherton want him to change?”
“It was just Atherton's way of dominating people, forcing them to his will. But George was a grown man now, a doctor. He refused to change his pants, said it wasn't necessary. Atherton insisted. The argument escalated until Atherton declared that if George wouldn't change his pants, Atherton would cut him out of his will. That's when Russell spoke up. He said that Atherton was being ridiculous. Atherton replied that unless Russell supported his opinion, he would be cut out of the will, too.”
“George didn't change?”
“No, he didn't. And Russell refused to take Atherton's side. I remember thinking it was a very important moment, a rite of passage for the boys. Of course they were grown men then, but this was the first time they had really stood up to their father. I never dreamed that Atherton was actually serious about disinheriting the boys. Besides, Henry always warned me about any changes Atherton wanted to make to his will. But Atherton tricked us all and went to that man in Boston. I really do think it was all because George wouldn't change his pants.”
“My God,” said Molly, shaking her head at the senselessness of it.
“There was really no way to win with Atherton,” said Dora, her voice level, her eyes hard. “You either did it his way or he cut
you out. That's why I'm still here, I'm ashamed to say. I always did it his way. I was too afraid, too dependent upon him to do anything else.”
She fell silent as the clatter of orthopedic Oxfords signaled Mrs. McCormick's return from the kitchen. She carried a silver tray with a silver Queen Anne tea service and a plate of cookies.
The four of them nibbled cookies and sipped tea and chatted about nothing in particular for another fifteen minutes. Dora went on about gardening and the weather. Nell ate a few cookies and wouldn't make eye contact. McCormick was very subdued.
To get her mind off Atherton Gale and all the people who had died, Molly focused her thoughts on the tea set. She was dying to pick up the creamer and investigate the hallmarks on the bottom but could see no polite way to do so. All she received for her interest was a second cup of tea, which Dora insisted on pouring for everyone.
By the time the clock in the living room chimed nine-thirty, Molly was ready for bed. The days started early at Gale Castle and there wasn't much reason to stay up very late. Nell was yawning, too.
“Will you excuse us, Dora?” said Molly, rising from the table. “It's been a long day.”
“Of course, my dear,” said Dora. “You children run along to bed. I'll help you clean up, Mrs. McCormick.”
“Good night then,” said Molly. “Thank you for dinner.”
McCormick grunted a perfunctory farewell. Molly and Nell headed toward the stairs and to their room.
In the upstairs hall strange shadows played over the suits of armor and the house groaned like an old wooden ship. Gale Castle no longer seemed such an interesting place, Molly decided. There was too much death here, and somewhere a murderer walked free.
“It's pretty wild about Mrs. McCormick and Troutwig, don't you think?” Molly said later, after she had brushed her teeth and was getting into her nightgown. “And how about Atherton and the pants? McCormick was right. The man was insane.”
Nell had already changed into her nightdress. She made no move to get into bed, however. She sat on the overstuffed chair in their room, a worried expression on her face.
“You're not scared about Atherton's ghost, are you?”
Nell glanced up and nodded.
“There's no such things as ghosts, you know.”
Nell nodded her head again, though it wasn't clear whether she was agreeing with Molly or saying that there were.
Molly went to the door of their room and locked them in. Dora was right. You couldn't be too careful these days, even here in Vermont on an island in the middle of nowhere. Maybe David Azaria was right, too. Maybe they should think about getting out.
“I suppose that Atherton Gale does have a lot of influence around here for a dead person. But he's not going to hurt us, believe me.”
Nell didn't look convinced.
Molly shrugged and got into bed. There would be plenty of time tomorrow to worry about Atherton Gale and where to spend the rest of their lives. She was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open and more confused than she had ever been in her life.
Molly reached over and turned off the lamp on the night table. Nell didn't move from the chair. In the moonlight that streamed through the window she looked like some kind of gossamer angel.
“Come on to bed,” Molly murmured.
Nell got up from the chair after a moment, but instead of getting into her bed on the other side of the night table she crossed the room and sat down on the floor of the big cedar closet.
“Come on, Nellie,” said Molly with a sigh. “You're going to be all stiff and sore if you don't come to bed. You can't sleep in the closet.”
But Nell didn't move. The last thing Molly remembered before she feel asleep was hearing the closet door squeak closed.
Molly was awakened by a gunshot and a scream.
Her head thick with sleep, she frantically felt around in the darkness for the bedside lamp. There were terrible sounds coming from the floor in front of her, like two animals fighting. What in God's name was going on?
After what seemed liked eons but couldn't have been more than a few seconds, Molly finally found the switch and turned it on. A small yellow cone of light opened to reveal a frantic scene. Nell and another smaller figure were on the floor, wrestling over a snub-nosed, blue-black revolver that was now aimed at the ceiling.
“Nell!” Molly cried. “What are you doing?”
The voice that answered didn't sound human. It was a hideous guttural rasp, like some wild animal in pain. What was more strange, the horrible noises were organized into words that Molly could somehow understand. They were coming from Nell.
“She ⦠killed ⦠Mommy. She ⦠killed ⦠Mommy!”
The gun fired again, and pieces of plaster fell from the ceiling.
Nell jerked her upraised hand back. There was another shrill scream, and the gun suddenly went sailing across the room. It skidded over the uncovered hardwood floor by the window and disappeared behind an old-fashioned steam radiator.
Molly practically leaped out of bed. Nell was now on top of her struggling opponent, pinning her arms against the Turkoman rug.
“Nell, you're talking! Nellie, stop.”
“She ⦠shot ⦠Mommy,” came the awful voice from Nell again, as Molly reached the two and tried to separate them. “I ⦠saw. I ⦠remember.”
“Please,” cried the small figure, who Molly could now see, looking almost like a child in her blue-and-white-checked flannel robe. “You're hurting me.”
It was Dora Gale.
“Nellie, let go!” exclaimed Molly. She finally broke her sister's grip on the tiny old woman and pulled them apart. She couldn't believe that Nell was talking. She didn't want to believe what Nell had said.
“I ⦠saw ⦠her,” rasped Nell, glaring at Dora. “She killed her. I ⦠was in the closet. I remember. And now she came ⦠again. With ⦠the gun. To ⦠kill ⦠us, too.”
Molly shook her head to try to clear it. None of this made any sense. Dora in their room with a gun? Nell talking? Was it a dream? Molly felt groggy, like she'd had way, way too much to drink. But she hadn't had anything to drink at dinner but tea. And this wasn't a dream.
“The poor thing, the poor, poor thing,” said Dora in a shrill voice. “I couldn't sleep. I was just walking around, like I do sometimes at night. Your door was open. I heard a sound. I thought one of you might be sick. I came in and your sister jumped on me. She had that terrible gun.”
“You ⦠liar,” screeched Nell, lurching toward Dora. Molly put herself in between them and stopped Nell before she could get her hands on the tiny old woman and tear her apart.
“Don't, Nellie,” Molly shouted, embracing her sister. “Stop. Please, stop.”
Nell struggled for a moment. Then her hard body relaxed in Molly's arms. She began to sob. Molly turned to Dora, her arms still around her sister.
“I locked the door before we went to bed,” said Molly. “Nell wouldn't have opened it. She was frightened. That's why she was hiding in the closet.”
“The door was open,” said Dora, her voice higher, almost verging on hysterical. “I swear, Molly. Don't you believe me?”
“She ⦠had ⦠key,” said Nell, angrily wiping the tears from her eyes. “In her ⦠pocket.”
Dora stood silently, where she was. Molly went over to her and reached into one pocket of the old lady's robe, then the other. In the second pocket was a key. Molly held it up.
“It's for my room,” said Dora.
“Lie!” shouted Nell. She rushed over, grabbed the key from Molly's hand and went to the door with it. When she inserted the key into the lock, it turned.
“Many of the doors here have the same locks,” said Dora. “Your sister is sick, Molly. She wanted to kill me. I'm terribly afraid she might have killed your cousin, James, too.”
“No!” shouted Nell, but didn't move.
Nell's voice was still raw, horrible. It was a low alto, not the little girl's voice that Molly had last heard from her sister. Could Nell have suddenly begun speaking after so many years to tell a lie? But if she were telling the truth, it meant that Dora really had come to their room tonight to kill them. It also meant that Dora had killed Evangeline O'Hara Cole. Had she
killed Jimmy Gale, too? Molly stared into Dora's frightened blue eyes.
“Why did you come to our room?” Molly demanded. “Was that your gun? Tell me the truth.”
“I am telling the truth,” protested Dora, her voice calmer now, more reasonable. “Nell is the one who's lying. She's ill.”
“There's nothing wrong with my sister.”
“We must get help for her. A psychiatrist.”
“Tell me the truth,” said Molly.
“It's my word against hers. Who wouldn't believe me over a crazy girl like that?”
Molly was stunned by the level of rage that welled up inside her. Nell wasn't crazy, but Dora was right. No one would believe Nell's word against hers. How could Molly get her to admit the truth? She walked over and suddenly found herself grabbing the old woman's hand and bending back her pinkie finger. It was what the bad mother had done to her daughter in David's play, to get the little girl to say she loved her.
“Please, Molly,” said Dora. “You're hurting me.”
“Tell me the truth or I'll break your fingers one by one, so help me God.”
“I am telling you the truth,” said Dora in a tiny voice.
Molly bent Dora's little finger back farther.
“You wouldn't really hurt me, Molly,” said the old lady, trying to smile. “I know you wouldn't.”
Molly released Dora's hand in disgust. Dora was right. It was just a bluff. Molly couldn't do it, even for Nell. She stood up and walked over to the bed, shaking her head.
Nell waited for only a moment. Then, before Molly could move a muscle to stop her, she calmly walked over to Dora, grabbed the old lady's pinkie finger and bent it backward as far as it would go.
“Tell,” she said.
There was a sickening snap, like an old dead twig breaking. Dora shrieked in pain. Nell grabbed another finger and began bending.
“Tell!”
“All right,” sobbed Dora. “I'll tell you, I'll tell you. Just stop. Please don't hurt me any more. Molly, please don't let her hurt me any more.”
Nell released her grip. Molly came over and gently pulled her sister away. Then she sat down on the floor next to the old woman, who had begun to weep. So much for Nell not being able to hurt a fly, Molly thought; perhaps she didn't know her sister so very well after all. They were all probably in some kind of state of shock.
“You killed our mother,” Molly said simply.
Dora nodded, holding her useless finger.
“I'm so sorry,” she whimpered. “Please believe how sorry I am.”
“But why? Why did you do it?”
“He was a monster. You can't know. You just can't know.”
“Who was?”
“Atherton,” said Dora, cradling her broken finger in her pale, almost translucent hand. “I lived with him for more than forty years. It was constant torment. Never knowing where you stood. Never being safe.”
Dora paused, nursed her hand, sobbed. Molly waited in silence for her to continue.
“I've wanted to tell someone for so long. Wanted to, but I couldn't. There was no one I could trust.”
“Tell ⦠us,” said Nell. “Tell everything.”
“We're entitled to know,” said Molly.
The old woman nodded. Then she began speaking in a subdued, defeated voice.
“I used to go through Atherton's desk when he was away. I needed to protect myself anyway I could, to understand what he was up to. He was so crazy, so unpredictable. A short while after the time that I told you about at dinner tonight, when we had gone to New York and George wouldn't change his pants, I found something terrible.”
“The new will,” said Molly. “The one that left everything to our mother.”
“You know about that?”
Molly nodded.
“I couldn't believe what I was reading,” said Dora. “It was so callous, so hideous of Athertonâcutting out our own sons like that in favor of some ⦠stranger. And all because of something so ridiculous, a grown man not changing his pants. I couldn't bear it, after all those years I had spent with Atherton, after everything I had given up. Living at Gale Castle was already torture, it was like being in prison with the cruelest jailor imaginable, and now Atherton was going to punish me even more, punish me by cheating our children of their birthright.”
“Did you try to talk to him about it?”
“What would have been the use?” said Dora, shaking her head. “Atherton wouldn't have listened. He'd just be furious that I had gone through his desk and found out his secret. He'd see it as treachery, betrayal. Atherton went insane if he thought someone was disloyal, and he was so very stubborn. For weeks I was in agony and despair, a helpless pawn in his game like everyone else. Then finally I couldn't stand it any longer. I made a plan. I told everyone I was going to visit my sister in Chicago, but I flew down to North Carolina, instead. I was only seventy-seven then. It was much easier to get around.”
“How did you know where we lived?” asked Molly.
“I had found some letters that your mother had written to
Atherton in his desk, too,” said Dora. “Your mother had gone on about her two girls, about you and Nell, and about how her husband spent all of his time drinking, so I knew what to expect. I waited outside your house in my rented car, wondering if I could really do what I had decided to do. The man who I knew must be her husband left the house early, got in his pickup truck and drove away. Then later I saw the two little girls leave and I knew she must be alone.”
Molly swallowed hard. It had been Molly and Taffy going off to the movies that Dora had seen. Nell had still been inside, hiding in the closet.
“I didn't know that I could go through with it,” Dora went on. “But I went to the door and rang the bell. Someone opened it. The next thing I knew, I was putting the gun back in my purse and walking back to the car. I don't remember pulling the trigger. I don't remember even seeing her.”
“You ⦠shot her,” said Nell. “In her ⦠head.”
Dora let out a wail that was barely human.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm so sorry. It was a horrible thing to do, I know, but because of it, I thought, some good would finally come from the Gale fortune. I knew that, under the terms of the will I had seen, if this young woman died, then everything would go to worthy causes. Russell and George would still suffer, of course, but so many people could be helped by Atherton's filthy money. The children. The sick. The old. If you could look into their eyes as I have, you would understand how important it is to help those in need. That's the only thing that was in my mind, I swear to you. That's the only reason I could go through with it.”
“But Atherton changed his will,” said Molly accusingly. “You killed our mother for nothing.”
Dora wept softly.
“I know, I know. My God, you can't begin to comprehend
how I've suffered all these years because of it. I had no idea that Atherton had made another will. When the man from Boston showed up after the funeral with it, I thought I would die. I prayed to die for the terrible thing I had done, but I couldn't. God made me live, and keep living, all these years to punish me. Oh, the guilt, the anguish I've felt. And Atherton made sure I couldn't get away. The trust only pays for my expenses as long as I stay at Gale Castle. I have no money of my own, no property, nothing. I'm still Atherton's prisoner here in this terrible place.”
“My God,” said Molly, shaking her head.
“You must understand how desperately I wanted to make amends for what I did to your mother, Molly, to cleanse my terrible sin. That's why I had the Gale family reunion last month. My children and I couldn't use Atherton's fortune to bring any good into the world, I knew, but maybe the Gales could. Of course, after what I had done to your mother I couldn't face your branch of the family, but I invited all of Atherton's other blood relatives. I tried to persuade them to do something decent with the money, so Atherton's greed wouldn't triumph over all of us, so that your poor mother wouldn't have died in vain. How naive I was. It was useless, of course. They were all just like Atherton. Venal. Greedy. Selfish. I could see that the Gale Trust would just end up going for jewelry and fast cars and divorce lawyers.”