A Multitude of Sins (21 page)

But in the end, he said simply, “Let me help you, Jenny,” and winced at the blatancy of it even as he spoke.

She stared at him, poised to run, literally.

But she didn’t run. She looked down at the floor, and he could see the slight movements of her eyes tracing the geometric designs of a Navajo rag.

“Help me? Mr. Flagg, I don’t know what you mean.”

That annoyed him, and perhaps subtlety wasn’t the best approach. At any rate, he’d already forfeited it.

“Jenny, you can tell me to mind my own business, but don’t take me for a fool. The symptoms of morphine addiction are rather obvious.” He paused, then, “So are the symptoms of withdrawal. You’re going to need help.”

One hand came up to her mouth, curled into a reflexive, impotent fist. Still, she didn’t run; she sat trembling, locked in a paralysis of doubt and fear, until at length, her distracted gaze turned on the Knight.

“I don’t need…any help.”

He took a long drag on his cigarette, watching her.

“Then why are you here?”

“I—I just wanted to see the Knight.”

“And there’s no help in that?”

She seemed startled at first, then skeptical. For some time she was silent, reading his face, then she asked warily, “Why should you want to help me?”

“Not because of any altruistic or moralistic inclinations on my part, Jenny. Only because of the Knight.”

“You don’t know me just because you have that painting. You can’t call yourself a friend; you owe me nothing.”

“I don’t call myself a friend, but I owe you something, and I know you.” He smiled as her eyes narrowed. “An artist friend of mine once told me he’s in the business of indecent exposure—of the soul. A painting is a failure if it doesn’t expose something of the artist’s soul, and I’ve lived with the Knight for six years.”

Again, she looked at the painting as if seeking guidance of it, and after a long silence turned to him.

“How can you…what do you mean by help?”

He let his breath out slowly. The armor was cracking.

“It depends on what you’ll accept, but I was thinking in pragmatic terms primarily. For instance, you’ll need a doctor. When did you have your last shot?”

The suggestion of a doctor alarmed her, but she was distracted by the question.

“Last night. I mean, early…early this morning.”

“Have you ever tried to quit before?”

“Yes.” A dull, memory-weighted stone of a word. Then she went on with unexpected fervor: “I’ll make it this time, I
will.
Somehow, just to be out of that house, the Salem house, it made me
see,
really see so much for the first time since…” Her mouth tensed into a determined line. “I’ve burned my bridges, and I
will
make it this time.”

“I believe you, Jenny.” But a seed of apprehension was burgeoning. “What do you mean, you’ve burned your bridges?”

Her laughter was a careless, shattering sound.

“I’ve cut off my retreat. I dumped all my supplies and told my—my pusher I’d no longer need his…services.”

Conan stared at her, too stunned to control his reaction, wondering if that explained a certain phone call.

“You what?”

She laughed again. “I told my pusher
finis
;
to leave me alone this time or I’d—” She stopped abruptly, but the implicit threat was all too clear.

“Jenny, who is he?” He regretted the question before it was fully out. She stiffened, suspicious and defensive.

“If I wanted
that
kind of help, I’d go to the narks.”

“All right, but do you understand why I asked? That was a dangerous thing to do. Dealers in this business tend to regard ex-clients as a serious threat.”

She considered that, and it seemed to allay her fear of him, but there was no correlative fear for herself.

“Don’t worry about that.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“I—I mean, I can protect myself, and I…oh, I can’t worry about that
now
.”
Her teeth clenched on a jerking intake of breath, her folded arms pressing against her body.

He watched her until she seemed to recover a little, then he leaned forward to crush out his cigarette.

“Forgive me, Jenny, if my priorities fall out of order. The first priority is medical aid. I have an excellent doctor who’s also a personal friend.”

“No, I—I can’t go to a doctor.”

“But I know Nicky Heideger. Jenny, you can trust her.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want any doctors, and I don’t want—I mean, no one must
know.
Please.
No one.
”

He felt the weight of dread, but again it was an emotional projection from her.

“You mean especially not Isadora?” Then at her mute nod, “Doesn’t she know?”

“No one knows except…I don’t want anyone to know, but especially not Dore.” Then, as if recognizing his need for an explanation, she tried to laugh and added: “It’s bad enough to be a Cinderella whose fairy godmother never showed up, but on top of that, to live with a
real
princess…
”

He wanted to reach out for her hand, but restrained the impulse. Instead, he laughed softly.

“Jenny, Isadora may be blessed with talent and good looks, but she’s as human as you and I, and as much afraid.”

She was bewildered at that. “Afraid? Dore?”

“You know what happened when her father died; you know she’s susceptible to fear and pain. What makes you think she couldn’t understand your being driven to morphine as she was apparently driven to suicide?”

Jenny turned away, confused and on the verge of tears.

“I don’t
know.
Oh, please, you said you wanted to help me.”

“I do, but I don’t understand what you expect of me.”

“I just…maybe if—if you could get Dore away from the cottage…if I could just have a few days
alone
.”

He felt a rush of heat in his face.

“Is that your idea of help? To leave you to quit cold alone? What kind of human being do you think I am?”

She shrank from his questions, her attempts to answer them dissolving into incoherence and finally silence. He was asking too much of her, he realized numbly; she was too ill to be rational. And he’d been less than rational himself. Jenny was reaching out for help, and he’d overlooked the most obvious alternative for her.

He said gently, “I won’t leave you to fight this out alone. What I will do is take you to someone who can give you the kind of help you need, and if you’re worried about Dore, he’s also in a position to help her understand.”

“Who—who do you mean?”

“Dr. Milton Kerr.”

She seemed shocked. “Dore told you about him? But I can’t believe she’d tell…anyone. She was so dead set against anyone finding out about—about that.”

“As dead set as you are now?”

There was little logic in the comparison, yet it seemed to convince her. At least, she was ready to examine this alternative in the light of feasibility and even hope.

“I talked to Dr. Kerr once,” she said.

“Did you like him?”

“I don’t know. I trusted him; he had a good ear.”

He smiled at that. “Jenny, let me take you to Morningdell. You can commit yourself voluntarily and be free to leave any time you want to.”

The anxiety returned suddenly. “But if I do that everyone will know. They’ll know why, and I don’t want—”

“No one needs to know why you’re there. Not exactly.”

“Yes, I…I don’t have to tell anyone
exactly
why.” Then a perplexed frown. “But what about Dore? She shouldn’t be alone; Dr. Kerr insisted on that, and she won’t want to go back to Salem.”

“She isn’t quite alone here now, and I’ll see that she has someone to stay at the cottage with her. Miss Dobie, perhaps. Let me look after her. It’s time for you to look after yourself.”

The tears welled behind her lashes, and she closed her eyes to hold them back. After a while, she nodded slowly.

“I
could
talk to Dr. Kerr, and it’s beautiful there. I mean, at Morningdell; so quiet. The oaks…there’s courage in oaks, you know.” She looked at the Knight once more, then as if she were finally satisfied, turned to Conan and smiled.

A beautiful young woman, he thought, when she smiled. “Will you look after Dore, Mr. Flagg? And will you help her understand?”

“If she needs help. How much do you want her to know?”

The smile faded; she frowned uncertainly at her hands. “Not…everything.”

“Only that you felt yourself at an emotional crisis, that you simply recognized a need for professional help?”

She nodded. “Yes. Can you—would you talk to her?”

“No.” Then at her stricken look he added, “I’ll stay around to offer moral support, but you must talk to her. Please, Jenny, don’t leave without talking to her.”

“Would that bother her?”

“Yes. Believe me, it would bother her very much.”

He wasn’t sure she did believe him at first, but finally she seemed to accept it.

“All right, if you’ll…be there when I talk to her.”

“I will.” He smiled as he came to his feet. “I’ll call her now and have her come down here. Then I’ll take you to Morningdell. We can call Dr. Kerr while—”

“
No
. Not…now.”

He stopped, put off balance by her insistent tone.

“Why not now, Jenny?”

“I’m not hedging. I made my decision before I came here.” She looked up at him defiantly clamping her teeth against a shiver that would have set them chattering.

It came in waves, he thought; tides whose intervals would grow shorter in the hours to come.

“I don’t doubt you, but you haven’t answered my question. You’re going to need a doctor, and soon.”

“I’ve made it for—for two days on my own before, and I can’t go tonight. I have to talk to—” She hesitated, but only briefly. “I mean, get my things packed. My painting equipment—will they let me paint at Morningdell?”

“I’m sure they will. How long will it take you to get packed?”

She paused, avoiding his eyes.

“Tomorrow morning. I’ll go tomorrow morning.”

“But
why
,
Jenny? By then you’ll be—”

“I’ll be all right,” she said doggedly. “Please, leave me some choices and some privacy. If you’re afraid I’ll back out, I’ll call Dr. Kerr now. I know that doesn’t guarantee anything, but it’s the only commitment I can make. You’ll have to take the rest on faith.”

He sagged, chastised. But it was easier to take the rest on faith than put down the apprehension coming into focus in his mind. There was a reason for her procrastination. She’d almost slipped; almost said she had to talk to
someone.
The person she called from a pay phone?

But it was futile to argue with her, and dangerous. Her trust in him was too tenuous. She needed help, and if she didn’t accept it from him, the consequences could be disastrous. It would have to be done on her terms. He could only assuage his anxiety with the thought that Harry Munson would be watching the cottage tonight.

He knew the answer to his question before he asked it. “Will you talk to Dore now?”

“No.” Her hands tightened in a double fist, the knuckles pressing white against the skin. “I thought if you’d be bringing her home from the Surf House tonight, maybe then we could—I could talk to her. I don’t want to tell her before she goes to work; she might think she has to stay home with me. That job’s so important to her, and it’s spring vacation. Max is counting on her.”

His next question was as rhetorical as the last.

“Will you let me stay with you during the evening? Or Dr. Heideger? You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I don’t
need
anyone; I don’t
want
anyone! Don’t you understand? Can’t you just let me—” She covered her eyes with her hands, the words choked off.

A brief, dull flash lit the window, thunder rumbling in its wake. The timbers of the house creaked in the first gusts of wind.

“Jenny, the decision is yours, but make me a promise.”

“What…promise?”

“I’m not going to the Surf House until later in the evening.” There was still the matter of Sean’s phone call, he reminded himself grimly. “Call me. If I’m not here, I’ll be at the Surf House. Call me if you need help, or if you just need someone to talk to. Please, promise me that.”

She came closer to actually weeping than she had yet, but the tears didn’t fall. Instead, she gave him that smile that transformed her plain, colorless face.

“Dore said you were an extraordinarily kind man.” Then she averted her eyes self-consciously. “It’s a badly used word, kind, but she meant it in its best, truest sense. Yes, I’ll call you if—if I need anyone. I promise you.”

“Thank you.”

She pulled herself shakily to her feet.

“I must get home. I told Dore I was just going out for groceries; she’ll wonder if I’m gone too long. Mr. Flagg—” Her gaze was direct and clear. “Tomorrow morning. That’s a promise, too. A promise to me.”

CHAPTER 18

The first gusts of rain came as Conan accompanied Jenny to her car. He took shelter behind the redwood screen on the porch and watched her drive away, only aware that he was automatically searching the streets when he didn’t find what he was unconsciously looking for: a tan Chevrolet.