Nora and Liz (22 page)

“I’m sorry,” Liz began again, this time to him.

“Murderer!” Ralph howled, flinging himself on Corinne’s body as if to protect it. Or to merge with it, Liz thought; that’s what he wants, poor man.

“Murderer!” he shouted again, twisting around to look at Liz over his shoulder.

“Father!” Nora, terror and horror mingling on her face, tentatively touched his shoulder. “Father, it was another stroke! It has to have been.”

“Brought on by her.” His eyes snapped with brittle fire. “Lessons, taking you away, the car. And then that carrot cake. Poisoned, she poisoned my Corinne!”

“You had some cake yourself,” Nora said, swaying a little.

“Steady.” Liz put an arm around her again. I should be terrified, she thought. Terrified. But she felt oddly removed, and fascinated. Yes, that’s it, she thought, as she watched Ralph pull Corinne’s body closer. His mouth was slack and he was drooling a little; saliva was dribbling onto Corinne’s nightgown, onto her neck. His eyes still burned, but tears showed in them along the bottom lids, little contained rivulets of tears.

“No, I didn’t have any cake,” Ralph said, his voice muffled, for he was lying across Corinne now, awkwardly, holding her, cradling her head. The rivulets overflowed, sending tears down his grizzled cheeks. “I didn’t.”

“Well, I did,” Nora said, “and so did Liz.”

“She served it,” Ralph said. “She cut it. She could have put anything in it. But it’s all right,” he crooned to Corinne. “It’s all right, my sweetheart, my best girl. It’s all right. I’ve called them; they’ll come, they’ll take her away and punish her. Don’t you worry. She won’t get away with it.”

“Father!” Nora said as Liz felt cold sweep over her, and terror at last, and disbelief. “What? Who did you call?”

“I called the police.” He twisted around, facing Liz, and his eyes gleamed coldly, triumphantly. “I called that 911 number for emergencies. I told them there’d been a murder.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

For a moment none of them moved.

I must remember to breathe, Liz thought, realizing she had stopped and seemed to be standing outside herself, watching strangers: a dead woman, a crazy man practically lying on her, two horrified women staring…

Then Nora cried out, “Father, no!” and seized Liz’s hand. Liz, herself again, felt a sharp stab of fear and her stomach knotted, for he had said, hadn’t he, that she had killed Corinne?

“The phone,” Nora gasped, dropping Liz’s hand and rushing from the room. “Maybe…”

Liz followed her.

The phone was dangling from its cord; Nora picked it up delicately, as if handling something hot, and held it to her ear. “I’ll call them back,” she whispered to Liz. “Tell them that…” Then her face changed, and she said into the mouthpiece, “Yes? Hello?… No, I—Nora. Nora
Tillot
… Yes, he’s here. He’s in with my mother… Yes, I think so… Yes”—she glanced at Liz—“my friend, Liz, Elizabeth Hardy… What?… No, of course not!… We were outside in the yard. My father yelled and we went in… Yes, into my mother’s room and—and found her… No, she wasn’t… Yes, my father’s here.” Nora put her hand to her forehead.

Liz moved swiftly to her. Why couldn’t the police—for it must be them, she reasoned, still on the phone after Ralph’s call—why couldn’t they leave her alone instead of badgering her with questions?

“…in with my mother,” Nora was saying; she was leaning against Liz now, heavily; Liz felt the slightest change in her own position would topple her. “Well, all right. Just a minute and I’ll… What?”

A moment later, Nora put her hand over the mouthpiece and said to Liz, “He doesn’t want me to leave the phone, but he wants to talk to Father. Would you get him, please?”

“Are you going to be okay?”

Nora nodded, but Liz dragged a kitchen chair over to her and pushed her gently into it before she left the room.

Ralph was lying full-length next to Corinne now, tears on his cheeks, caressing her face and murmuring. In spite of herself, Liz felt a pang of sympathy for him. It seemed cruel to disturb him, to intrude on his grief, but she leaned over, touching his shoulder. “Mr.
Tillot
?” she said quietly. “Excuse me, but the police want to talk with you. They’re on the phone.”

Ralph twisted around and looked up at her, his eyes glazed with grief and then, as he recognized her, grief gave way to fury and hatred. “You!” he said, pushing her away, then gripping her arm painfully. “You! Get out of my house, get away from here. Poisoner! Murderer! Get out! Get out!” His face reddened and sweat beads stood out on his forehead as he shook her arm violently.

“I can’t leave,” Liz said, wincing in pain, “as long as you’re holding onto me. The police really do want to talk with you, sir. Won’t you go to the phone?” She realized she was shivering inside, as if she’d caught a sudden chill.

He shook her again. “You’ll come with me, then.” He pulled himself up via Liz’s arm; she nearly fell over onto him as he tugged. “You won’t stay with my sweetheart.” He turned, still gripping Liz, awkwardly forcing her partway down on the bed as he twisted down again, kissing Corinne. He’d closed her eyes, Liz saw, or someone had. Had she? Had Nora? But they weren’t all the way closed; she could see white in the
slit
between the upper and lower lids.

“I’ll be back, my sweetheart,” Ralph said, caressing Corinne’s face. “I’ll be back.”

Roughly, he sat, then stood and, shoving Liz in front of him, went to the kitchen and snatched the phone from Nora. “I’ve got her,” he said into the receiver, his eyes snapping.

Crazy, he’s crazy, Liz thought, shaking her head at Nora, who, standing again, was trying unsuccessfully to pry Ralph’s fingers away from Liz’s arm, which was turning red and white where he was gripping it.

“I’m holding onto her. But she’s strong. You’d better come and get her… Well, good, but where the hell are they, then? It’s been hours since I called, God damn it!… What?… No, it has not been just fifteen minutes, young man. Who the hell are you anyway?”

As Ralph barked into the phone, Nora edged the chair over to Liz and tried to steer her into it. But Ralph’s grip was too strong and too high for her to be able to sit, and Liz, again feeling oddly disconnected from what was happening, found herself on the verge of laughing. But if I laugh, she thought, shrugging helplessly at Nora, I’ll never stop, I’ll have hysterics—I’m almost having hysterics already. That thought in itself made the urge to laugh stronger, so she forced herself to listen to Ralph’s meanderings:

“Supper, yes, like a viper. She’s been taking my daughter from me, disrupting us, making trouble, nothing but trouble… Oh, something with her car—wanted to borrow a jack, she said, but it was a lie, just to get in here, just to destroy us, to kill my sweet Corinne and then me next, I suppose, and maybe Nora, too, and then take the house and all our land, our money.”

“Father,” Nora whispered, her face stiff with renewed horror, pulling at his hand where he was holding Liz, “Father, don’t. That’s not true, none of it is true.”

But Ralph shot his elbow out, catching Nora under her ribs and she gasped, clutching her side, and reeled away emitting loud, rasping, painful sobs that seemed to rise from deep inside her, as if they’d been buried for years—for all her lonely life, perhaps, Liz thought, reaching for her as best she could.

But Nora slowly collapsed to the floor, gradually curling into a ball, as if first her knees, then her hips, then her waist and shoulders melted. Liz struggled toward her, but Ralph, still barking, now into the phone, now at her, wouldn’t release her.

And so they stayed till the police—for it must be them, thank God, Liz thought—pounded on the front door and at last burst into the kitchen.

Ralph cried, “My sweetheart—in there!” and one of the officers ran into Corinne’s room. It was only then that Ralph finally released Liz, shoving her toward another officer. Purplish-red welts appeared on her arm where Ralph had gripped it, and now the officer was holding her, more gently at least than Ralph, and saying, “Are you all right, ma’am?” Liz heard herself answering, “Yes,” and the officer said, “Are you Miss Hardy?” and Liz told him she was and the officer said, “Let’s go where we can talk, shall we?” He led her into the parlor.

As they left, Liz saw another officer bending over Nora, asking her who Corinne’s doctor was, and a fourth prying Ralph loose from the phone and sitting him down in a kitchen chair. Then the officer holding her closed the door, steered her to the sofa, sat her down, and flipped open a notebook.

“Now, Ms. Hardy, your full name?”

“Elizabeth Mary Hardy,” Liz said.

“And you reside at?”

“I live at 448 West 98th Street in New York City, but I’m staying this summer at my family’s cabin on
Yellowfin
Lake. I think you folks keep an eye on it in the winter. It’s called Piney Haven and it’s been in my family for years.”

The officer nodded
noncommitally
and scribbled in his notebook. Liz rubbed her arm furtively, but when the officer looked up, he smiled and said, “I’m Detective Morris. That’s a nasty bruise, where the old man was holding you. Maybe you need some ice on it.”

“No,” said Liz, “it’s okay. But thanks for noticing, um, Detective Morris.”

“Your folks haven’t used that cabin for a long time, have they?”

“No.” Liz explained about her parents’ deaths and her own summer plans, and then, as he questioned her, told how she’d met the
Tillots
and what had happened that evening.

“You all had that carrot cake, is that right?”

“Yes. Except Mr.
Tillot
. He might not have had any; he said he didn’t, anyway. I didn’t notice.”

“Is there any left?”

“Yes. It’s in the kitchen. Should be right on the table. I brought ice cream, too, vanilla. I think Nora put what was left back in the ice box on the back stoop.”

“Why do you think the old man accused you?”

Liz hesitated. “Well, he doesn’t seem to like me and he seems to resent my friendship with Nora. I think he’s afraid I’ll take her away from him. He resents that I’ve taught her to drive, for example, and I can understand that. I mean, as long as she can’t drive, she can’t leave. I think—it’s my impression that he’s a little unbalanced. And he also seems to love his wife very much, so naturally he’s upset at her death.”

“Hmm.” Morris wrote for a few minutes, then looked up. “What’s his financial situation?”

“What?”

“What’s his financial situation?” he repeated blandly.

“I have no idea!” Liz felt shocked, resentful, at the question, and guilty, as if there were some truth in Ralph’s accusation, because it seemed as if Morris thought there could be. Motive, she thought, that must be it; he’s trying to see if there’s a motive.

“What’s your relationship with Miss
Tillot
?”

Oh, God, Liz thought, what in hell do I say to that?

“We’re friends,” she answered, trying to make her face unreadable, trying to ignore the sudden rapid beating of her heart. “We—we seem to be becoming quite close friends, in fact.”

“Hmm,” said Morris again, writing in his notebook. “Was Mrs.
Tillot
ill at all, do you know?”

Liz told him about the stroke and the TIAs and he asked if she’d been in pain recently or had had a recent “episode.” Liz told him about the headache Corinne had had at dinner and said that she’d seemed vaguer than usual.

Morris nodded, writing rapidly. After a moment or two, he closed his notebook and stood up, smiling, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms.—
er
”—he glanced at his notebook—“Ms. Hardy. We’re going to have to ask you to stay here for a bit while we search the house, assuming Mr.
Tillot
gives his permission. That’s routine when we have a case of this kind. There’ll be someone from the district attorney’s office here soon, and state police, probably, and after that, probably, the medical examiner. Assuming, of course, that Mrs.
Tillot
is actually,
er
, deceased.”

Liz suddenly felt dizzy. This is not happening, she thought, it can’t be. I’m a murder suspect. I’ve just fallen in love and now I’m a murder suspect.

“Will I…” she began, planning to ask if she’d be going to jail, if she’d be held, but instead she asked, “May I go back to Nora now?”