The Stand-In (26 page)

Authors: Evelyn Piper

Now Bran seemed to wake up, slamming his palm down on the round table. “It was Nube Ossian! Nube Ossian!” He said to Desmond, “I've told her a hundred times Nube did it. Nube did it, and now Nube knows I know he did it!”

Desmond tried to hold Bran's eyes. “Bran, Ossian was in London when it happened.”

“You, too, Des? If that's the kind of bull you're going to throw, I've had it. I told Nube he didn't have to do the job himself. Christ, there are professional killers. Nube could be on the moon, and it wouldn't make any difference.”

Mrs. Collier was at it again. “She was the one behind it, Brannie. If Mr. Ossian hired a professional killer, it was because of her.”

Bran's palm came down on the table again, and Mrs. Collier put her hands over her mouth. There were some chairs against the wall, and Desmond pulled one up for Mrs. Collier, but when it touched behind her she jumped and glared as if he was trying to stab her. He turned to her son. “Bran, Ossian didn't kill Ronnie or have him killed. You've got to get that idea out of your head. Ossian's been trying to help you, Bran. He hid Coral's letters to cover for you.” Had he got through? Desmond bent forward to see if Bran was listening. Although it was light outside, it wasn't in here, and he couldn't read Bran's eyes.

“If Nube didn't do it, who did?” He moved away from his mother to have room for the big gesture.
“I
did it, then?”

Mrs. Collier rushed in. “My boy couldn't kill a fly! Remember how you carried on about your puppy dog, Brannie? Spots? Remember, you wouldn't even let me rub Spots's nose in it?” She attempted to take the hand that Bran still had pointed at his own chest when he said
“I did it then?”
but Bran wouldn't let her, so she stroked his cheek again. “The sweetest, the gentlestâ”

Then the stroking hand turned into tigress's claws again.

“I'll rub their noses in it! Before your mother is through she'll rub their noses in it, son. You leave this to your mother, Brannie!”

She put her hand on Bran's cheek again. (He didn't move a muscle.) Desmond couldn't take any more. “Please, Mrs. Collier! I said I'd fix everything. Bran, I did it. I killed Ronnie Ashton. That guy dead in the house. I killed him.”

Bran slapped his hand across his thigh, “That Nube!”

“BranâI saidâ”

“That Nube thinks he can do anything, doesn't he? He thinks I'm going to fall for this!”

“I killed Ronnie, Bran. Don't you want to know why?”

“I haven't time, Des. Some other time.” He looked at his watch. “You just go back and tell Nube, nothing doing. Jesus! I'm supposed to believe that because you were my stand-in you'd be willing to stand-in for a murder!”

“No, Bran. This time if you're not careful you can end up standing-in for me.”

Mrs. Collier had two spots of red in her cheeks. “Brannie, forget about Mr. Ossian. Brannie, call the police! He's confessed.”

Bran sighed deeply and shook his head. “Oh, Mom!”

“Brannie, you either call the police or I will!” She wheeled, but Bran caught her.

“You'll do nothing of the kind! Do you hear me? I'm a big boy now, there's going to be no cops unless I say so!”

“Listen to Mother, Brannie!” She put her hand over his and stroked it. Her voice went soft, a small coaxing voice. “Listen to Mother, Brannie.”

He pulled his hand from under her. “Listen to Mother! You can't hear anything else. Yaketa, yaketa!” He spoke to Desmond. “She can't shut up!” Bran went to the door. “We'll go outside. There's a question I want you to answer. And you stay here, Mom!” Bran opened the door, waved Desmond through grandly, and then shut it in Mrs. Collier's face.

She didn't dare come out, but Desmond would bet she'd have her ear to the door. “Yes, Bran, what?”

“What I don't understand is
why
, Des. Why did Nube do it? Was it because he couldn't make Coral pull out of
Wind?
Was it this was the only way to make sure I'd never direct it? Sometimes I think it's that, but then I think, was it what my mother did?”

“I don't know anything about your mother. Branâ”

“Is it because my mother doesn't trust Armenians? When Nube wanted to sign me for a part in '52, Mom made my agent turn it down. I know those people never forget that kind of thing, but that's not fair to me, is it, Des? I'm not my mother! It's not fair. Ask anyone.”

“Bran, he's not interested in your mother. He couldn't care less. Can't we leave your mother out of it?”

Bran said solemnly, “I have nothing against Armenians.”

“I believe you, Bran. You have nothing against Armenians.” He couldn't get a word in. Standing out there with the sun going down, he listened to a ton of creepy guff about how Nube was trying to take Bran's picture rights away. Desmond kept trying to break in, but then suddenly he heard the velvety coaxing tone softening his voice and recognized it. He was talking to Bran as if he was so far gone reason couldn't penetrate. It was as impossible to make Bran listen to the truth about Ronnie's murder and stop talking about Armenians and picture rights as it used to be in New Orleans to pry the kernel out of a pecan nut without getting some of the bitter part. No, like when eggshells got into raw eggs. You stuck your finger into the slidy stuff and thought you had a piece of solid shell, but then it slid off your fingers again.

Bran was off his rocker. Bran was definitely up the wall. Here he had confessed he had killed Ronnie and Bran still believed it was Ossian, but Mrs. Collier knew better. Mrs. Collier would see Desmond got his, but she wasn't going to be able to stop them putting Bran where
he
belonged, behind bars in a nuthouse. So both of them would get it. He hadn't done anything for Bran, just done himself.

Nodding at Bran, making agreeing sounds, he remembered how Millie had called him Mr. Fix-it. He remembered her begging him to wait, just wait. He remembered that he had refused to do any more waiting because he was going to make waves for once. This time he was going to fix it, and he had, he had fixed it! Christ, had he fixed it! Desmond was so full of fury that when he heard the voice behind him and turned and saw Boy, all his anger focused on
him
. “You son of a bitch! I'm going to break you in two!”

The bastard gave a kind of yelp, and the door flew open and out came the tigress looking wild. She stood in front of Bran.

“Don't you dare touch him! You leave him alone, you hood!” She stretched her arms out and said to Bran, “Come inside, come inside!”

Boy said, “Boy Flyte-Martin, madam. Young man, your mother is trying to protect you from this blackguard, and he is a blackguard! Do you see this stick? I can't walk without it because that ruffian savaged me.” The gold head glittered in the afternoon sun as he lifted his cane up high in the air and socked it down, hitting its point,
crack
, against the blood-red brick of the step, and now as Bran's eyes followed the path of the cane, fixed on the cane, stayed on it, Desmond remembered Bran's father's cane and Bran and Bran's mother hanging on to Bran again. It seemed to Desmond that Bran remembered this, too, and decided that this time he wasn't going to hide behind his mother's skirt. Why else was he trying to pull away from Mrs. Collier, trying to shake her off?

“I can take care of myself! Let go, Mom, lemme loose, God damn it!”

Boy said, “No cause for alarm, madam. My man's gone for the police, and they should be here any moment.”

Bran's jacket sleeve ripped, and he was free of Mom. He said, “You got the cops on me? You got the cops on me?”

“Young man! I say!”

Bran had a gun. It had been in his pocket, and in his hand now it was pointed at Boy's belly.

Mrs. Collier screamed, “No, Brannie! That's best! The police are best, I've been telling you. Brannie, wait for the police!” She moved toward him again. “Nobody's going to hurt you. Mother won't let anyone hurt you!”

Desmond knew what was going to happen and shouted, “Bran, she's right! Bran,
don't
!” But Bran didn't seem to hear or see him. What did he hear? What did he see? Retreating from his mother's outstretched arm, backing off from her, Bran fired at his mother's head.

It was what Mrs. Collier's face looked like, what there was left of her face, that made Desmond bend and charge Bran. Bran screamed and the pistol flew out of his hand, and Desmond dived for it. Feeling stupid, he held it on Bran, who was bent over, his hands between his legs and his eyes spurting tears. Desmond lowered the gun.

Saliva was dripping from Bran's mouth, and he was moaning over and over, “You hurt me, you hurt me.”

He sounded like a kid, then like a kid he whined to what was left of his mother's face. “He
hurt
me!”

Desmond just stood there with his arms hanging and the pistol hanging from his hand. The three of them stood there until Boy's shrill voice broke in over Bran's.

“Officer, officer! Hurry, man! Hurry!”

Bran was shaking his head, blinking his eyes as if he had just come up from underwater where everything wavered and wouldn't stand still and was shadowy. He wiped his face with his sleeve, looked down and, Desmond believed, for that one moment saw his mother. Desmond was positive that for that one moment Bran realized he had killed her. His eyes seemed to clear, but then they clouded again and Bran, his legs apart, awkwardly, started calling her as he ran, “Mom, Mom, Mom!”

Bran had a head start, but Desmond could run faster, and they reached the railing at the same time. Desmond grabbed Bran's left leg, but Bran kicked out and Desmond lost his hold and fell, and Bran went over the cliff. Desmond saw his face, and his eyes weren't eyes, but only a flash of purest blue, and the sound he made falling was not a scream, because Desmond heard him call his mother, once very clearly.

Desmond had cut his leg when Bran kicked him, and a doctor was cleaning it up when he heard Boy's shrill voice from the next room, telling the cops all about it.

Boy hadn't heard one word about his having killed Ronnie. All Boy had heard was Desmond trying to convince Bran that Mr. Ossian hadn't killed Ronnie. All Boy had seen was Bran first pulling a gun on him for calling the cops and then using it to kill his mother. Why? Because she, knowing her son was insane, wanted the cops.

When Boy heard that Ronnie had been blackmailing Bran because Ronnie was the father of Coral Reid's kid, he would be convinced, like everyone else, that Bran had killed Ronnie.

So when the police questioned Desmond, he gave Millie's version of his part in the business. (He felt like a ventriloquist's dummy.) But why not? Bran was dead. Mrs. Collier was dead. Ronnie was dead.

There were only two people who knew that he had kidnapped Kitten and killed Ronnie. One was a kid of five, and the other was her mother. The next logical step would be to marry the one person who could testify against him. Nobody would think it suspicious. Wasn't he Millie's boyfriend? Hadn't they been at the St. Georges screwing, the night her kid was snatched? When he was unconscious, hadn't Millie moved in and taken care of him? Everyone, including Coral Reid (his heart banged) would believe a wedding was in the cards.

And Millie? (He remembered her hands on him. He remembered her feeding him. He remembered her eyes on him pinning on the medals nothing would convince her he didn't deserve.) To Millie this would be the final miracle. To Millie this would have been arranged up there, too, a marriage made in heaven.

About the Author

Merriam Modell, pen name Evelyn Piper, was born in Manhattan, New York, in 1908. She is known for writing mystery thrillers of intricate, suspenseful plotting that depict the domestic conflicts of American families. Her short stories have appeared in the
The New Yorker
and two of her novels,
Bunny Lake Is Missing
and
The Nanny
, were adapted into major Hollywood films.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Julianna Lee

ISBN: 978-1-5040-1684-1

This 2016 edition published by
MysteriousPress.com
/Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

345 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com