Once a Widow (13 page)

“All right. What’s his name again?”

“Richard Barry—a young fellow, much younger than the woman. I told him about her making the phone call from the hospital last night. If you want a lead, you might start with that.”

“Thanks,” Beckwith said dryly, “but I’m more interested in the murder of Lew than I am with a balmy female who lams out of the hospital in the middle of the night without any clothes.”

“Will you check the call?” Shannon asked. “This fellow acted a little queer, as if he was afraid the woman had told me something he didn’t want anyone to know. And call me back, will you? As far as I know I’ll be here until five.”

“Okay. I’ll have the call checked. Right now I’m going to talk to George Yundt some more.”

“Third degree?” the doctor said mockingly.

“No rubber hose—just a friendly conversation. He’ll break down.”

“Maybe. Goodbye, Chad.”

Shannon had lunch in a small restaurant nearby, returned to his office and called his home. Celia and little Jack were going to the beach, along with two other neighborhood mothers and their children. Would he be home for dinner? Shannon told her that he would, unless something came up. “You’d better,” Celia said. “Do you realize that I haven’t seen you since five o’clock this morning? Did Ed Malone’s wife have a boy or girl?”

“A boy. That’s five boys and five girls.”

“That’s nice. We don’t even have one and one.”

“We can keep trying. How about trying tonight?”

“Clint? We’re on the phone.”

He laughed, and then said soberly, “I suppose you’ve heard about Lew Sprang?”

“Yes. It’s—terrible. You liked him, didn’t you?”

“He was a fine old man.”

“Do they know who did it?”

“Not yet. Listen, we’ll talk about it tonight. Have a good time at the beach.”

“We will, but come home as soon as you can.”

“If it’s a girl, what’ll we name her?”

“Clinton Shannon, if you—”

“Goodbye, honey.” Shannon hung up, grinning, but the grin went away as he thought once more about Lewis Sprang. He went to the small lavatory off his office, washed his face and hands, shaved with the electric razor he kept at the office, put on a starched white jacket and was ready for his first patient of the afternoon.

At two o’clock Chief of Police Beckwith called to say that the long distance phone call made from the hospital pay booth the night before had been to the residence of Mr. Richard Barry, in Cleveland.

“Was it completed?” Shannon asked. “I mean, did someone answer?”

“Yes. So what? Are you satisfied?”

“No, but thanks anyway. Has George Yundt confessed?”

“I’m working on him,” Beckwith said. “He will.”

“Good luck.” Shannon replaced the phone and sat staring at it for a moment. Why had the woman telephoned Cleveland, he asked himself, when she might have reached her husband at the summer place at Erie Cliffs, only sixteen miles away? And why had she left the hospital as she had? Had she been afraid of something, or someone?

And suddenly a thought came to him, unbidden. The man who claimed to be Richard Barry had said,
I read in this morning’s paper that a woman had been found on an island in the lake and taken to Memorial Hospital.
Shannon compressed his lips. There were no morning papers published in Harbor City, just two evening ones. Of course, Barry might have seen the item in a Cleveland paper, perhaps the morning
Plain Dealer.
It was possible. Still…

His office door opened and Lucille Sanchez said, “Doctor, Mrs. Knight is next.”

Shannon nodded absently. “Send her in.”

Karen Barry awoke at noon in a sun-filled room and immediately sat up, remembering. It had been three in the morning when Maggie, in response to Karen’s phone call, had arrived at the rear of the hospital in Harbor City where Karen had been waiting in the darkness by the thick shrubbery. Maggie had brought the station wagon, as Karen had instructed, and as they headed back toward Cleveland Karen dressed in the clothes Maggie had brought—underthings, sweater, slacks, moccasins. Maggie had asked no questions; she had been with Karen for many years, since Karen’s first marriage, and nothing surprised or shocked her. She was a tall, angular woman in her late fifties, neat and gray-haired with a strong chin and calm blue eyes. She was married to Albert, the combination chauffeur and gardener. They were the only servants at the big house in Cleveland during the summer months.

Karen had simply said, “Thank you for coming, Maggie. I can’t explain this right now. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Maggie stared straight ahead at the road illuminated by the headlights. She was an expert driver.

“I depend upon you, Maggie, you know that.”

“Yes, ma’am. By the way, the mister telephoned last night. He—”

“Richard?” Karen asked sharply.

“Yes, ma’am. He was worried about you.”

“Indeed?”

“He said you went out in the boat alone yesterday and didn’t come back. He made me promise to call him if you came to the house in Cleveland.”

“Did you call Richard—after you heard from me, I mean?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, listen, Maggie; you’re not to call him, not under any circumstances. And if he calls again, you haven’t seen me or heard from me. I—I have a—a problem.” Karen’s voice broke for an instant. “Something I must think about.”

“I understand,” Maggie said, not understanding at all, but her protective feeling for her mistress compelled her to add reprovingly, “You shouldn’t go out in the boat alone. You know you can’t swim.”

“But I can swim,” Karen said quietly. “Quite well, in fact. I took lessons at home and completed them at the Y pool in Harbor City. Richard didn’t know about it. I—I wanted to surprise him.”

“He’ll be pleased,” Maggie said.

“I’m sure he will be.” Karen’s voice held a sudden bitter edge.

Maggie shot her a swift, uneasy glance and then returned her gaze to the road. Off in the east the sky was turning gray. It would soon be dawn. The car rushed through the night and the two women sat silently, each thinking her own secret thoughts. By the time they reached the lake shore boulevard leading into the city the sun was glinting on the lake below them and casting a yellow glow on the Terminal Tower. There wasn’t much traffic yet and they arrived at the big house on the lake before six o’clock. Maggie offered to make coffee but Karen declined, saying that she would sleep first.

“Will you be home long?” Maggie asked.

“I don’t know. I—I’ll see.”

“If you are, I’ll want to get some food in. All Albert likes is meat and potatoes and pie.”

“Don’t worry about it. And don’t tell anyone I’m home, especially Richard, if he should call again. I—I have a surprise for him.”

“Another surprise—on top of the swimming?”

“Yes,” Karen said, more sharply than she’d intended. Then she smiled at Maggie. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little—upset.”

“I can see that, ma’am. If I can help…?”

“Nobody can help,” Karen said gently, touched by the honest-concern in Maggie’s eyes. “It’s just something I must work out for myself. Is my room ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Karen took two sleeping capsules before she went to bed in the room adjoining Richard’s and slept until noon. When she awoke, she had a slight, fuzzy headache, and her body was still stiff and sore, but she felt quite rested. She tried not to think of Richard and talked with Maggie about household affairs as she drank coffee and ate toast and a soft boiled egg. Afterward she put on a bathing suit and walked over the green soft lawn to the private beach. She lay on the sand there in the sun, her face cradled in the crook of an arm, and her thoughts circled interminably, as they had circled since she’d regained consciousness in the hospital. Why had he telephoned here? As far as he knew, she could not swim. He had left her drowning, dead. And yet he had called, the worried husband. And he had lied to Maggie. She, Karen, had not been in the boat alone. Richard had been with her. He had thrown her overboard, deliberately…

Karen’s fingers dug into the warm sand.

At five o’clock she aroused herself, walked out to the end of the dock. Her dive into the clear green water was almost professional, as were her strong overhand strokes as she swam out for fifty feet and then returned. She had looked forward so eagerly to showing Richard that she had learned to swim, had counted on the pleasure and approval in his eyes. She had been about to tell him of her new accomplishment when he’d suggested the outing in the boat, and had decided to delay the surprise. On the boat, just the two of them, would be an ideal time. She’d even planned it as a prank—maybe pretend to fall overboard, and then amaze Richard with her ability. But it was gone now, all gone.

Karen walked blindly toward the house, sudden tears in her eyes. Maggie met her with a huge towel and folded it maternally over Karen’s shoulders as she asked, “Will you be home for dinner?”

“Yes. Have there—been any calls?”

“From the mister? No ma’am.”

Karen’s well-kept white teeth dug at her lower lip. A tear ran down one cheek.

“What’s wrong?” Maggie asked softly. “Would you like to tell me?”

“I—I can’t.” Karen moved swiftly away, clutching the towel. “I can’t tell anyone—not yet.” She entered the house.

Maggie shook her head sadly. Poor woman, she thought. He’s her fifth man, and she’s having trouble with
him.
Still shaking her head, she went to tell Albert to wash up for supper. They usually ate in the kitchen around five-thirty, unless Karen had guests for cocktails, but Karen and the mister did not eat until seven or after, not supper, but dinner. Maggie hoped that Karen would like the broiled lobster she planned to serve her. She’d bought it especially, knowing it was one of Karen’s favorite foods, and the poor woman, God help her, deserved some pleasure from life, even if it was only Maine lobster with melted butter.

After dinner that Monday night Karen went to Richard’s room and drank brandy which she poured from a cut glass decanter Richard always kept on his dresser. She had been tempted to talk to Maggie, ask her advice and help. She’d appealed to Maggie before, with good results. Maggie was always sympathetic and understanding. But this was different. If she told her what had happened, just how it had happened, Maggie would insist that she go to the police. But that wouldn’t help—it was just her word against Richard’s. She had no proof of anything, not even a motive for Richard’s action. This was something between just the two of them. She drank more brandy.

At eleven o’clock Maggie knocked on the door and then opened it and peeked inside. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

“Of course.” Karen was distressed at the slight slur in her voice. Maggie would not approve.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine, Maggie.”

“Then I guess Albert and I will go to bed, if it’s all right with you. Good night, ma’am.”

“Wait,” Karen cried. “Maggie, wait.” She began to sob.

Maggie crossed to her mistress quickly, took the glass from her hand, put arms around her, held her close. “There, there,” she said soothingly. “You and the mister have been having trouble. Tell me about it and you’ll feel better.”

“I can’t,” Karen sobbed. “I told you I can’t.”

“All right,” Maggie said calmly. “Shall I turn back your bed for you?”

Karen shuddered. “Don’t leave me, Maggie. You—you’re all I have.”

“I’ll stay as long as you like.” Maggie settled herself on the arm of the chair and patted Karen’s shoulder. Poor woman, Maggie thought, it must be something really bad this time.

Presently Karen’s sobbing stopped. She sighed deeply and touched Maggie’s hand. “Thank you. I—I’ll be all right now.”

“Good.” Maggie stood up. “Ring if you want me.”

“I will.” Karen gazed wanly up at the older woman. “I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Maggie moved to the door. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

The door closed. Karen poured a little more brandy, lit another cigarette and sat thinking, thinking. At one in the morning her mind was made up and she entered her own room, feeling remarkably fresh and alert, in spite of the brandy. She smoked a final cigarette as she undressed, and then slipped a pale blue lace nightgown over her head, a seductive, transparent gown her husband especially admired. She turned off the light, stretched out on the bed, pulled up the cool silken sheet and smiled upward into the darkness. “Richard,” she whispered. “I love you very much. I think I will kill you tomorrow.”

She awoke shortly before noon, rang for Maggie and began to comb her short tawny hair. When Maggie arrived, she said, “Would you like breakfast now?”

“Just juice and coffee, in the kitchen. I’m driving back to Erie Cliffs. Would you ask Albert to see that the station wagon is filled with gas? You and Albert won’t need it, will you?” Karen smiled brightly.

“No, ma’am. We can use the Buick. Will you be coming back soon?”

“I don’t know,” Karen said, still smiling. “I just don’t know.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Maggie left and quietly closed the bedroom door,

Karen bathed in a jade green sunken tub. Afterward she appraised her body in a huge wall mirror. It’s still good, she thought, maybe a little heavy in the chest, but the right bra takes care of that. Her waist was still slender, without even a suggestion of fat, and her long legs were really quite well shaped. She was proud of her legs, with their delicately swelling calves and slim ankles. Perhaps she was a little too hippy, and she hated girdles; she must resume her sessions with the masseur. But taken as a whole it was a good body, well preserved, she thought, hating the phrase, but knowing it to be true. Richard had always admired it.

She gazed at her face in the mirror with a look of horror.
I still love him. He tried to kill me and I still love him. What’s wrong with me? Am I a—a monster? Perverted?
She pressed her forehead against the smooth cool surface of the mirror and sobs shook her body.

Presently she was quiet. She gazed at her face in the mirror, inspecting the texture of her skin, wincing at the tiny lines around the eyes and mouth, at the tinge of gray which had appeared in her hair during the time at Erie Cliffs, when she could not see her regular hair dresser. She entered her bedroom and sat naked at her dressing table, skillfully applied makeup. In a few minutes the face she saw in the mirror was beautiful, almost the same face of twenty years ago. She didn’t feel old. She felt as young as Richard. Her love for him and the love she’d thought he had for her had made her young again. Richard had been the only one to make her feel that way—young, beautiful, desirable. She thought of his smile, his strong white teeth, his tanned muscular body, the clean smell of his hair and the fragrance of his shaving lotion, and she almost swooned with a surge of desire. Richard, Richard…