The Misfortunes of Others (22 page)

She did not reply. Her beautiful face was set in a frown.

“Just answer one question. Why won’t you tell her?”

She finished putting her brushes and tubes of paint away, and closed the case with a snap. “Why doesn’t she know?”

“What?”

She straightened up and put her hands on her hips. “Why doesn’t she know? Isn’t it obvious? Who’s the one nutcase in this class?”

“You mean Alice.”

“If I were Weezy, I’d have gotten rid of her a long time ago,” Jennifer said with venom. She picked up her case and stalked away.

Nikki, in contrast, was thrilled to talk to him. She showed him what she had done that day, and blushed happily when he complimented her on it.

“It’s very nice. Not that I know anything about modern art, but I like this, I really do.”

“Oh, you don’t have to know anything,” she said seriously. “There’s such a mystique about it, but I don’t understand why, myself. It’s just things you like and things you don’t like. Don’t you think so?”

“Yes, in fact, I do,” said Snooky, a little surprised. “But Weezy doesn’t. She says I’m a philistine.”

This threw her into confusion. “Oh, well … I don’t want to … I didn’t
mean
to contradict what … oh, my goodness, well, you understand what I …”

“Don’t worry. Weezy doesn’t care whether we agree with her or not. She’s perfectly happy with her own opinion.”

This made her laugh, a nervous little giggle.

“Listen,” he said, watching her closely. “You know that Weezy’s very upset over what’s been happening in here. Do you have any ideas about it?”

Her eyes widened. “Me? Any ideas? Oh, no, I couldn’t … I wouldn’t be able to … I haven’t even thought …”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. And I bet you have a pretty good idea who’s behind it, too.”

Then Nikki, like Elmo earlier, surprised him very much. She put her chin up, and an unaccustomed steely look came into her eyes.

“Well, yes, I do,” she said. “I do have an idea. And I have been thinking about it, quite a lot. I think I know who’s been doing everything. And I’m quite sure I know who wrecked Alice’s paintbox, because, you see, I saw it happen.”

Snooky stared. “You saw it?”

“Yes. Yes, I did. And I’m glad.”

“Glad it happened?”

“Yes. Because, you see, the person was only doing it to get back at—at
her
.” Her glance flickered over to where Alice stood, talking to Weezy.

“At Alice?”

“Yes. And—” her chin went up even higher, “and I’m glad!”

“You hate her that much, then?”

Her gaze went back to Alice, as if drawn there by a magnet. A shadow passed over her face. She put up her hand and rubbed her eyes. “I hate her,” she said in a low voice. “She’s so mean all the time, I … I hate her.”

“I can’t say I blame you,” Snooky said, also in an undertone. “But if you know who’s doing all this—”

“Oh, Weezy can’t do anything,” she said dismissively.

“Why not?”

“What can she do?”

“She can get rid of whoever’s messing things up.”

Nikki stared at him, her eyes dilating wildly. “But that’s just what I don’t want!” she cried. “I don’t want that—that other person to go! I just want Alice to go! So does everybody else! It’s all her fault that this is happening, anyway. It’s all her fault!”

Snooky looked into her round moon face and her wide, angry eyes. For some reason he felt compassion stir in him. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Sorry for what?”

“I don’t know. I’m just … sorry.”

She stared at him for a moment, then rushed out of the room.

On his way over to Alice, Weezy stopped him and hissed, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Just talking. Just chatting to people.”

“Well, stop it. You’re making me nervous. You look like a spy.”

“That’s what Elmo said.”

“Well, he’s right. Leave my students alone. I don’t think you should come to class anymore, it’s making everybody crazy.”

“I don’t think it’s me that’s making people crazy.”

She pushed back a curl of hair irritably. “Well, maybe not. But leave my students alone. Nobody likes to talk to a spy. Did Bernard put you up to this?”

“Oh, no, it was my own brilliant idea.”

“So he did, did he? Well, he’ll pay. He’ll pay.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll think of something,” she said darkly.

Alice had already left by the time Snooky looked around for her. He managed to trap Mrs. Castor on her way out the front door by sidling up to her and offering her his arm.

“Thank you, young man,” she said, smiling at him.

He helped her down the steps, where an elderly white-haired man was waiting. “This is my husband,” said Mrs. Castor. “Tom, this is Snooky Randolph. He’s in my class.”

“How do you do,” said Mr. Castor, and shook hands cordially. He turned to his wife and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Ready to go, Lizzy?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

After Mrs. Castor was safely installed in the car, Snooky leaned in the window. “Do you mind if I ask you one question before you go?”

She eyed him curiously. “No, not at all.”

“Who do you think is causing all the trouble in the class? Is it one person, or is it two? You’ve been there for a while, do you have any feeling for what’s going on?”

She sat very still, looking straight ahead of her. When her husband started to turn the key in the ignition, she patted his arm and said, “One minute, Tom.”

Snooky waited patiently. Finally she stirred and said, “I don’t know who’s doing it. I can’t answer your questions. But I do feel one thing very strongly.”

“What’s that?”

“I think that Alice is a genius. Well, I do. And there’s a lot of jealousy around. Artists are so insecure, it’s hard for them to believe in their own work. They hate anyone who they think is better. Yes, they do, Tom, I’ve told you that many times,” she said into the car. She turned back to Snooky. “You know what La Rochefoucauld said.”

“No … no, I don’t.”

“
Nous avons tous assez de force pour supporter les maux d’autrui
,” she quoted in her soft voice. “We all have enough strength to bear the misfortunes of others.”

Snooky laughed.

“Yes, but it’s true,” she said earnestly. “I see in their faces that they’re
enjoying
what’s happening. They’re enjoying Alice’s misfortune, and they don’t care what happens to everyone else’s work.”

“Who? Who is ‘they’? All of them?”

She sat quietly, fiddling with her cane. “I shouldn’t say,” she said at last. “It’s not for me to point someone out. But there’s a lot of hatred there … a lot of hatred.”

“Yes,” Snooky said heavily.

“Can I give you some advice, young man?”

“Certainly.”

“I think you should convince Weezy to take a vacation. Whatever’s going on in there is unhealthy. She should take a break. The students will survive without her.”

He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that myself. I think it’s a good idea. It would give everything a chance to settle down while she’s away.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Castor. You’re very kind. Weezy always sings your praises, and I can see why.”

This made her smile. “Oh, it’s my pleasure. I’ve been meaning to mention it to her ever since this whole thing started. Oh, well, would you like to hear something else that clever man La Rochefoucauld said?”

“Yes, by all means.”

“He said, ‘Old people like to give good advice, as solace for no longer being able to provide bad examples.’ ”

Her husband chuckled and started up the car. Mrs. Castor waved as they pulled away.

A few days later, sorting through her mail over morning coffee, Weezy said suddenly, “What’s this?”

She held up a white envelope. Her name and address had been painstakingly lettered on the front with shiny stick-on gold letters. There was no return address.

“Let me open it,” said Snooky.

“Oh, come on. What do you think it is, a letter bomb?” She turned it over and ripped it open.

The thin sheet of paper inside had no handwriting on it, just the same metallic gold letters that were on the envelope. Weezy unfolded it and smoothed it out.

WEEZY COULD not even speak. She felt physically ill. She felt the gold letters rise up before her dazed eyes and claw at her. She turned her head away.

Snooky read the letter impassively. He folded it and stuck it back into the envelope. Then he turned to her and took her in his arms.

They stood that way, clinging to each other like limpets under the water, for a long time. Finally Weezy said,

“I’m scared, Snooky. I’m really scared.”

He nodded, pressing her to him. “Yes.”

“What … what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll think of something. I don’t want you to worry.”

She gave a gulping laugh. “Oh no, I’m not worried. I’m not worried.”

He nodded and held on to her tightly.

They decided, after some deliberation, to show the letter to the police, and to Maya and Bernard. Snooky insisted on the police; Weezy insisted on Maya and Bernard.

“I have to show her,” she said stubbornly. “I
want
to show her. If something else happens, I want her to know what was going on. I don’t want to disappear without a trace.”

“Maya maybe, but why Bernard?”

“Well, first of all, because she’ll tell Bernard right away. Of course she will, Snooky, there are no secrets between them. And also, I want Bernard’s opinion. He has a very clear mind.”

“What about my mind? My mind isn’t clear?”

“You’re right about the police,” she said mutinously, “and I’m right about Maya and Bernard. Let’s not argue about this.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.” Snooky turned the letter over in his hands. According to the postmark, it had been mailed two days earlier in Manhattan. “Just like the flowers,” he said, staring at it.

Weezy, huddled in her chair, suddenly began to cry. “I don’t understand,” she said, rocking back and forth. “What have I done? What have I done? I feel like I’m being punished, and I don’t even know why.”

“Now, now. It has nothing to do with you. It’s some nut out there.”

“Some nut who knows all about my exhibit. Some nut who slashed my paintings!”

Snooky pulled her onto the sofa and stroked her hair. “Now, now.”

“Why me, Snooky? Why me?”

“I don’t know,” he said soberly.

“I’ve never done anything—
anything!
—to anyone. I’m always so careful about hurting other people’s feelings. I’ll bend over backwards not to hurt anyone. I’ll go out of my way. I spend all my time feeling resentful because people aren’t as nice to me as I am to them. And now, this.”

“I don’t see how you could have made such an enemy,” Snooky said. “It doesn’t seem possible.”

She took a Kleenex from him and blew her nose noisily. “An enemy,” she whispered. “That’s what it is. An enemy. I have an enemy. Why? Why do I have an enemy? I haven’t done anything!”

“Apparently, you’re too talented.”

She shook her head wearily.

“You were going to have an exhibit. Maybe the person who sent this to you thinks he or she deserves one instead.”

She was silent.

“That’s what it said, you know, that you don’t ‘deserve’ one.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Somebody with a chip on their shoulder.”

“Yes.”

“Now who in the world could that be? Who has a chip on their shoulder about their talent? Who thinks everybody else isn’t as deserving?”

Her fingers clenched on his arm. “It’s not Alice. I’m telling you, it couldn’t be. She wouldn’t have done that to those paintings, she just wouldn’t. She wouldn’t do this to me.”

“Are you positive, sweetheart?”

She shook her head dumbly.

A little while later, Snooky kissed the top of her curly head and picked up the phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“The police.”

“Fat lot of good that will do us. They were useless about the studio. Remember how they found one of Bernard’s footprints and got all excited?”

“I haven’t completely ruled Bernard out as a suspect yet.
Hello, Ridgewood Police? Who do I talk to about a threatening letter?”

Bernard read the letter slowly and carefully, as if he were searching for something to eat on a particularly interesting menu. When he was finished, he placed it on the coffee table in front of him.

Maya, Snooky and Weezy looked at him expectantly, three pairs of anxious gazes.

“Well?” said Snooky.

“Well, what?”

“Don’t you have anything to say?”

“It’s a disgusting piece of trash. What else do you want me to say, Snooky?”

“I don’t know. Something else. Something we don’t already know.”

“Well,” said Bernard, “apparently they don’t sell punctuation marks along with those gold lettering sets. Either that, or the writer was in a hurry. I feel there’s never any excuse for poor punctuation.”

“Sweetheart,” said Maya icily, “I don’t think you understand. This isn’t a joke. This letter is … well, it’s frightening. It’s an outright threat.”