Little Sister (29 page)

Andrew’s heart hammered against his knees, which he had drawn up and clasped to his chest. He could not take his eyes off the trunk. He had to know. But he was unable to move. Finally, as he began to ache from sitting in that fetal position, he put his hands on the floor and struggled to his feet.

With halting steps he approached the trunk. Bending over, he grabbed the edge of the lacy cloth and pulled it with a sharp, forceful yank. The flowerpots spun up and cracked against one another. They fell to the floor, dirt and roots spilling out across the carpet.

Andrew faced the naked trunk. Crouching down, he fumbled through the set of keys and, with shaking fingers, tried the smallest one in the padlock. The third key he tried turned and clicked, and he pulled open the stiff lock and slowly removed it from the hasp. He opened the hasp and then put his hands on the lid. He tried to summon every image of horror to his mind, so that when he lifted it, he would not be too shaken. He tried to steel himself, but he felt about as solid as gelatin. Swallowing hard, he pushed up, threw the lid open, and jumped back.

Over the rim of the trunk the corner of a brown envelope stuck up. Andrew leaned over and looked inside. The trunk was filled with papers.

Andrew exhaled and threw his head back, gulping in air. He fell on his knees beside the trunk, laughing exultantly as he reached in and pulled out ledger books, envelopes, and folders. It had to be here. There were old tax returns, yearbooks, photo albums, and receipts from ancient bills piled high inside it. Andrew began to toss them out and strew them around the room as if they were so much confetti. Papers fluttered and settled around him as he delved in again and again. But as the trunk emptied, the last will and testament of Leonora Vincent was nowhere to be found. Andrew’s sense of triumph began to dissipate as he neared the bottom.

All at once his hand met something hard and heavy. He drew back with a cry and then slowly reached in again. He pulled out an old cloth bag and opened it. A box of ammunition fell out of it, and bullets rolled across the floor. Startled, he reached back into the bag and drew out a gun. It was a .38 caliber revolver, dark and pitted with age. Andrew stared down at it in amazement. It was the gun he had shot that night. He fell back on his heels and gazed at it. This was where she had hidden it all those years. This was her evidence against him, his baby fingerprints carefully preserved on the butt and now smudged over by his adult hand.

He stared at the gruesome souvenir of his childhood with a twisted sense of satisfaction. She can’t use it on me now, he thought. He turned the gun around in his hands and examined it curiously. The barrel appeared to be clear, and when he snapped out the cylinder, he saw that it was empty but undamaged. He groped through the bullets on the floor, slipped the shells into the open weapon, and then snapped it shut again. He pretended to take aim at the pillow on his mother’s bed.

From all his reading of mercenary magazines he knew quite a bit about guns, but it was a different thing altogether to hold one in his hand. It felt good to him, as if it belonged there. And it was a weapon, something he and Francie might need.

The thought of Francie and their needs made him turn his attention reluctantly back to the trunk. Placing the gun on the floor beside him, he resumed his search. But it did not take him long to realize that the will was not there. He found a couple of bankbooks with money in the accounts, but he tossed them aside in irritation. What good were they without the will? He couldn’t prove that she had left her money to him, and the bank people would never believe him.

Her face rose before him again, mocking him. “I gave them strict instructions down at the bank not to let you near my money. I guessed that any boy who would do what you did to your own father couldn’t be trusted. Oh, no. That’s my work and my pay. I won’t have you stealing from me, running around and spending my paycheck.” She had laughed and laughed, delighted that another trap she had set had been sprung on him. Andrew slammed down the top of the trunk as if he were guillotining her head with the lid. There was no will here. She had still gotten the better of him, even now.

And then it hit him. Her paycheck. That was it. Relief flooded him. He would go get it from the dentist. Andrew’s mouth fell open in amazement at his own ingenuity. It would work. It was perfect. The dentist would give him the money, and he would have enough to get a car. Noah always kept old cars around the station. It wouldn’t be a great car, but it would be enough. Enough to get away from here. He was sure that eventually the bank would have to give him Leonora’s money. He was entitled to it now that she was dead. But if there were no will, that would probably mean a lot of legal hassle. And he had no time to wait. He had to get Francie away from here. The bank could send him the money at his new address. His and Francie’s.

Andrew rose to his feet as if in a trance, his mind alert with the details of his plan, despite the lateness of the night and his lack of sleep. He picked up the gun and carried it with him down the stairs to the foyer, where it had last been fired, years before. He took it to the closet and stuffed it into the deep side pocket of his overcoat.

Then he went back into the parlor, to await the gray-gold light of dawn. He had been awake all night, and his nerves were frayed, but he was not tired. He felt like a man who was spending his last night in prison, now able to count the time in hours until he was free. He only wished that he did not have to wait those last few hours for the world’s business to begin, so he could put his plan in motion. He thought that this must be how a general felt on the eve of a major attack. He was powerful.

At nine o’clock sharp he dialed Francie at her house.

“Hello,” said the voice.

“Get Francie,” he said.

There was silence at the other end, as if she might not obey. He was about to scream at her when he heard her place the phone down, and then he heard the squawk of her voice calling Francie’s name. In a few moments his girl came to the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, babe,” he said.

“Hello.”

“I know you can’t talk with her there, but I want you to meet me today.”

Francie made a soft, snorting sound. “Where have I heard that before?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Anyway, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. And you have to.”

“I don’t have to do any—”

“The funeral’s today. I know you want to come.”

There was silence at Francie’s end.

“I came to yours, didn’t I?”

“I know, I know.”

“Just tell her,” said Andrew. “You have to go. She can’t say no to that. It’s at two o’clock. At the cemetery.”

There was a note of defeat in Francie’s voice. “Okay, I’ll go.”

Andrew smiled. It was going to work. “Tell her to go fuck herself,” he said softly.

“Andrew,” Francie protested.

“I’ll be with you later, babe.” He hung up and closed his eyes, relishing the glow of success. Then he reminded himself that he still had things to do. He looked down at his military watch. He didn’t have time to waste today. Andrew pulled his coat from the closet, locked the house, and started up the street to where his mother usually caught the bus to Harrison. An icy drizzle made the roads slippery, and it took him longer than usual to get up to the bench beneath a tree that served as a bus stop. He looked impatiently up the road, the rain dripping down his collar. The bus seemed to take forever to arrive, but finally he saw it coming. He climbed on board and shoved his last few dollars in the driver’s face for the fare. The driver eyed him coldly as he counted out his change into Andrew’s gloved hand. Andrew was too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice.

He found a seat near the back, next to a window, and arranged his bulky overcoat around him so that the gun in the deep side pocket rested in his lap. He had almost forgotten that he had put it there the night before. But it made him feel good to know he had it with him, even though through the fabric of his coat it felt cold against his leg. The dreary landscape rolled by as he looked out, his face pressed to the window. The cold glass felt good against the feverish warmth of his cheeks and his forehead. Although he seemed to be studying the passing farms and rocky hillsides, he could not see very much through the sheet of sleet that was now coming down, pelting the bus window with little icy missiles.

In the seat across the aisle a small child was crooning, despite his mother’s best efforts to keep him quiet. The child’s cries seemed to rake across Andrew’s nerves. Andrew turned to look at the child and caught the mother’s eyes. Her apologetic expression turned offended when she saw the look on Andrew’s face, and she pulled the child to her and encircled him protectively. The child quieted down, and Andrew resumed looking out the window. Once he got the car, he would never ride a bus again, he thought. It was like riding with a herd of barnyard animals.

The houses and buildings were appearing in clusters as the bus neared the town of Harrison. Andrew sat upright in the seat, ready for the stop. The woman across the aisle shoved her child’s arms into his jacket and then zipped him up. She picked up the child, and as the bus pulled up to stop just at the edge of the Harrison business district, she stood up and started to edge out of her seat. Andrew waited until she was halfway into the aisle before he jumped up and barged past her, making sure to crack the child with his elbow. The baby started to yell again as Andrew bolted down the aisle and got off the bus.

He looked up and down the deserted street and then started walking back in the direction the bus had come from. The dentist’s office was in the ground floor of his home, which was on a corner of Main Street, a few blocks from the town. Andrew had been there several times before, and he had no trouble finding the place as he walked quickly along, his collar pulled up against the sleet, his leather soles slipping along the sidewalks. There were no other walkers in the miserable weather. A few cars passed him, going slowly along, their windshield wipers plowing away the sleet as it struck. The Ridbergs lived on a corner surrounded by trees and brown, brambly bushes. A white sign out front announced the dentist’s practice. Andrew peered up the driveway and noticed that the station wagon was not there. There were lights on in the dentist’s office but none in the house. He was relieved to see it, realizing that the wife was probably not at home. He did not really want to run into her after that business with the shopping bag and the casserole. She was probably still pouting because he hadn’t wanted her dinner.

Andrew climbed the front steps and reached for the doorknob. A three-by-five card was taped to the pane in the door. The message on it was neatly typed: “Closed at 10:30 today due to funeral. Dr. Ridberg.”

Andrew looked down at his watch. It was after 10:00 A.M. He had gotten here just on time. He pushed the door open and went inside. A bell tinkled faintly as he opened the door. The waiting room was on his left as he walked in. The music from a mellow-listening radio station filled the empty room. The easy chairs in the waiting room were empty, although there was one coat hanging on the coat tree. The air smelled of antiseptic and room deodorizer. Through the door to the examining room Andrew could see his mother’s desk, all neatly arranged, an artificial flower in a vase on it and a picture of himself in a red plastic frame. He sat down for a minute and then jumped up again and wandered around the stuffy room. From inside the office he could hear two voices chattering. Andrew walked over to the gurgling aquarium in the corner and began to tap nervously on the glass sides. Inside, a dozen tropical fish swam purposefully about, exposed by the eerie light of the tank. Andrew bent down and watched them in fascination, wishing for a moment that he could make himself one of them and be inside there, drifting endlessly along, not feeling anything.

An old man’s loud voice said, “Thank you. Doctor.” Andrew sneaked a glance over his shoulder and saw an elderly man with thick glasses coming out of the office. He plucked his coat off the clothes tree and went out the door, never even acknowledging that Andrew was there. Andrew was tempted to yell out, “Hey, you old bastard,” just to see the man jump, but he stifled the urge. He didn’t want the dentist to get testy on him.

After going through the door, he walked up to where Dr. Ridberg was making notes in a file on his desk.

“Hello, Dr. Ridberg.”

The dentist looked up, surprised, and then his lips tightened at the sight of Andrew. He attempted to square his narrow, round shoulders. “I didn’t expect to see you here today, Andrew.”

Andrew shrugged. “I needed to get something from you.”

The dentist looked down at the watch on his thin wrist. “I should think you would be home getting ready.”

Andrew looked at him in surprise, wondering how the dentist could know anything about his plans. “For what?” he asked warily.

“For what?” Dr. Ridberg asked incredulously. “For the funeral, of course. Didn’t you see the sign in my window? I’m closing early so I can get changed and have lunch.”

“I’m ready,” said Andrew.

The dentist sighed and looked back down at his folder. “My wife was going to come with me, out of respect for your mother, but,” he said in a chilly voice, “after what happened yesterday when she was kind enough to try and bring you that food—the way you treated her…”

Andrew smiled to himself as he watched the man fussily rearranging the folders in a drawer. “I came for the money,” he said.

The doctor, who had been expecting an apology or at least an explanation, looked up at him indignantly. “The money? What money?”

“Her pay,” said Andrew.

The doctor shook his head and made a soft, clucking noise. “I am surprised at you, Andrew. I really am. Thinking only of money at a time like this.”

“Don’t try to get out of it,” said Andrew. “You owed her her paycheck. So give it to me.”

The dentist looked at him indignantly, and his balding head gleamed with a halo of perspiration. “I have no intention of trying to cheat you out of this money. Your mother earned it, and I suppose she would want you to have it. But when I think how she would feel if she knew, on the day of her funeral, that you were more concerned with her paycheck—”