The Case of the Weird Sisters (8 page)

"You did? I asked you and you said you didn't."

"What?"

"Right after the lamp fell. I asked you if you heard anything."

"But it wasn't then. It was later. After we got back here and had put Innes to bed. You were gone on that errand for the doctor. I was just coming downstairs to get the bag."

"That's funny. When I heard it was right after the lamp fell. It wasn't exactly a cough, though."

"No," Alice said, "it was a chuckle but not really a chuckle."

"A noise . . . like in the throat.''

"Yes. That's it."

"Damn funny."

"Josephine says it was a cough?"

"That's what she said."

"It must have been a funny cough," said Alice, "if she ran." The house creaked. She knew that if she heard that little sound again now, she'd scream in spite of herself.

"Be that as it may," Fred went on, "how come the lamp fell? Answer me that. It's been standing there on that table for years. Tonight it falls off. Falls off and over the railing and nearly beans Brother Innes."

"Did you see anyone?"

"Nobody. I ran up here, remember? Well, I knocked on Maud's door. She's down at the end of the hall you're on. Other side of the stairs. Nobody answered. Naturally. She can't hear knocks. So I Ihought Fd better not open the door because she might be in there in her underwear or something and I dunno if I could stand it"—Alice bit her lip—"so I came around here and knocked on Isabel's door. No answer. So I opened that one. There was nobody in there."

"Then it couldn't have been Isabel."

"Sure it could, " said Fred. "Why not? Doesn't prove anything. Not with these stairs so handy."

Alice was drawn into wondering. "Had they come upstairs? Yes, Isabel pushed Maud up when the doctor came. But it couldn't have been Gertrude."

"Why not? She could have sneaked around and up these stairs if she wanted to. Or go up the front, for that matter."

"But... I was there in the hall nearly the whole time."

"Not the whole time. You were in the sitting room with limes and the doctor and his mother. Mrs. Innes, I mean."

"Yes, that's right. She could have been listening. The curtains were drawn across the parlor. Who drew those curtains, Fred?"

"She did, I guess."

"We don't know where they were." Alice shrugged. "They might have been running up and down stairs, all three of them. But anyhow, it wasn't Susan and ii wasn't the doctor."

"Why should it be Susan?"

"I don't know."

"She's all right," said Fred. "Innes don't like her much. He's ashamed of her. And she don't get mad at him for it and that makes him more ashamed than ever. Of himself' I mean." '

Alice looked at him curiously. "Is that if?" "Sure."

Alice said. "You're quite a psychologist"

"Nuts," Fred said.

"Well, then, how are we doing? If anyone tipped over the lamp on purpose, it was one of the sisters or . . . Josephine?

"No, it wasn't either Josephine. She was out then She got back nght after it fell. She told me. You saw her didn't you?" '

"Yes, I saw her, but if you believe what everybody says..."

"That's where we are," said Fred with sudden grimness. If somebody s trying to murder the boss, we don't want to beheve what people say."

"Fred, we aren't talking about murder. Not really." 

"No? Well, say we're kidding. Anyhow, we know it wasn't you and it wasn't me." 

"I'm glad," said Alice solemnly. 

"So am I." 

They sat silent for a few minutes. It was oddly companionable.

Then Alice said, "Fred, couldn't you see in any windows? I mean, you were out at the car, just before the lamp fell. Was there a light in the rooms upstairs?"

"Sure. The whole house, I think. I did see somebody in the parlor."

"Who? One of the girls?"

"I dunno. Her face was hidden."

Alice sighed. "Another funny thing," Fred said, "they were all gone somewhere just before that, remember? When they were talking about calling the doctor. Where were they?"

"I don't know. But outdoors." 

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I think so. Isabel was. She went down to get Mrs. Innes." Alice bit her finger. "Fred, why did she have to go to get her? Mrs. Iiines has a telephone. I know, because I called her myself."

"Funny," drawled Fred.

"And Gertrude had been outdoors. I could tell. And Maud came in with her cloak on."

"Come into the garden, Maud," Fred said. "Now, where'd they all go to? Not down the road a piece to move that sawhorse, do you suppose?"

"But Fred, how could they plan such a thing? How could they know it would do us any harm?"

"Well, for one thing, I asked Mr. Johnson which route to take right in front of all three of them," Fred said. "And that pit road's not the main road. The main road out of Ogaunee is number ten, that goes by along the railroad tracks. Traffic light's over the pit. Also, probably everybody else around here knows the place where the pit road goes off better than I do. The sawhorse wasn't right across the right road, you know. A driver who was familiar with it would go by without thinking, if he were going from this end, keeping to the right. Only a guy like me, who isn't too sure of his way, especially at night . . . That pit sure yawned," said Fred.

"You must have felt something wrong, or we'd have gone right over."

"Maybe I did," said Fred, without any false modesty. "I can't tell now. But we sure weren't going very fast, or I couldn't have stopped her."

Alice thought a moment. "There's only one thing wrong with the idea that they aU knew which road we'd take."

"What's that?"

"Maud's deaf."

"By gosh, that's right. Could she read our lips?"

"I don't know. But look, Fred, another thing: If she were up here, waiting to push over the lamp, how did she know when to push? It must have been done by sound. And she couldn't have heard Innes come out of the bathroom under the stairs. Not if she's deaf."

"And she couldn't have seen him. That's right," Fred said. "Say, there's more in this than you'd think. Listen, Gertrude's blind. Well, could she read a detour sign? Would she know what it was or what it means, even? How

did she know there was one there? She lost her sight years ago, before there were many cars on the roads around here. I bet she never heard of a detour sign. Or knows how traffic works or the rules of the road. All that is new since she last saw. How could she even guess you could be fooled in the dark? No, Gertrude couldn't have moved that sawhorse."

"Could Isabel, with only one arm?"

''It was dragged," said Fred. "I'd say she could if she wanted to bad enough.''

"Then it was Isabel," said Alice.

"Look"—Fred turned a wrinkled brow—"suppose old Maud thought it was the doctor coming out of the bathroom. Maybe she's got it in for the doctor."

"How could she think that? She couldn't hear hhn any better than she could have heard Innes. She wouldn't know anyone was coming."

"But Gertrude could have dumped the lamp."

"Could have ain't did," Alice said wryly. "You know, we're making this up."

"Well, it's been fun," Fred said, grinning.

Alice looked down at his feet. "Where did you play football, Fred?"

"University of Michigan."

"What's your last name?"

"Bitoski."

|'Oh," said Alice, "so that's who you are."

"Football's a great game," Fred said, stretching. "Got me two gold teeth and a college education. Better get some sleep, eh?" He helped her up.

Alice lay a long time on the hard bed in the little guest room with her eyes open in the dark. In Ogaunee night was untroubled by the lights of man. It came down dark and tight around the house, and for aU Alice kept telling herself there was no menace in it, she was a lone time going to sleep.

In the morning she dragged herself up early. After all, she was a nurse now. She had to look after Innes. "It

looks," she said to her cross and sleepy face in the mirror, "as if I'm damned well going to earn my million dollars."

She found Innes awake and fretful, and Fred with him.

Fred said, "Good morning. Miss Brennan."

"Alice, my dear," said Innes. He held his brow up to be kissed, and Alice kissed it, feeling like a fool. Innes was full of agitation. His face was busy and sly with worries. "Alice, Fred has been pointing out something I hadn't considered. Is the door tight? See, will you? Josephine's gone for my breakfast. I don't want her to overhear."

•The door's tight. What's the matter?"

"Fred says they're upset because of our engagement."

"Oh, dear," said Alice. "Fred, you shouldn't have talked about that. Innes, I don't think you ought to brood, really I don't We had an accident. That's aU."

"Maybe." Innes began to speak rapidly, spilling out his words. "But you don't realize what happened last night You don't see the significance. But my sisters do. Lx>ok, dear, when my father died he divided his money, which was rather a lot, evenly among the four of us. Witfi a little to my mother, of course. Anyway, the girls elected to stay here and maintain the house just as it had always been, and I went off with mine to Chicago. I was twenty-one then and anxious to get away. After all, there was nothing for me to do here. I did ... pretty well in Chicago. But the girls, of cotirse, just used the money they had. Gertrude lets the bank manage hers. She scrapes along on the income. It's not bad, you know. But of course she never increases her capital. Never has.

"Maud is a fool with money. She simply spends it. And Isabel manages to lose a great deal because she always hangs onto everything she buys, and she will not take her losses. She never gives up. Anybody with a business mind knows there's no use hanging on when the investment goes bad. But Isabel hangs on. And because she doesn't Imow how to cut her losses, she gets into trouble. Well, what happens is that sooner or later they are all living on Gertrude's income. And I have to step in and straighten them out again.

"I've done it and done it And I've threatened to stop. I mean it, too. There's no reason for the same thing to happen again and again. It's ridiculous." Alice sensed a cold,

thin thread of shrewdness in Innes when he spoke about money. "I have no more patience with it. I intend to stop stepping in and taking all their losses myself. If they are incompetent to manage, I must manage for them. You heard me speak of it. But you don't realize that they know I meant it."

Innes raised his silly chin. 'Tve made threats before. This time I think they sensed my determination."

"What of it?" murmured Alice, with baUoon-pricking impulses.

"What of it! Don't you see? I'm not a source of income to them, aUve, any more."

"Innes, that's horrible!" she said. "You shouldn't think of your sisters so . .. why should you?"

"I can't help it. I do," he said childishly. Then his voice went an octave down. "I think of Gertrude. If it isn't the money, then she's . . . she's determined I shan't be happy. Why should I pretend, Alice? Their mother was odd. They're odd. I'm afraid."

ffis hand reached out, but Alice folded her arms. "All right. You're afraid. We'll go on from there."

His eyes fell. "You despise me," he murmured.

Alice said clearly, "Not necessarily. If we're not going to pretend, I'm afraid of them myself. I don't hke your sisters, Innes."

He looked merely grateful. "Neither do I," he whispered.

Fred moved away.

"Well, what shall we do about it?" Alice said.

"I want you to wire Killeen."

Blood rushed into her face. She could feel it. She was startled and dismayed.

"I want you to take the car while Fred stays here and run down to the telegraph office. It's in the railroad station. Wire Killeen. I'll give you his address."

"I know his address," said Alice with stiff lips.

"Tell him to hop a train and come right up here. Right away."

"But, Innes, why?" He mustn't come, she was thmking.

"I want to change my wiQ," Innes said, pursing his lips stubbornly. "I want to leave my money to you, Alice."

"But—"

"So I can live long enough to marry you," he said savagely.

"Very well," she said. "Just as you wish, Innes." She marched out of the bedroom.

Fred was after her. "Here are the keys," he said. "She's got no gear shift, you know."

"I know," Alice said. Her eyes were full of angry tears. She felt abused and sorry for herself.

"Fd go," Fred said, "but he wants me to stay here. I guess I'm promoted to bodyguard." Alice took the keys. "Look," Fred said.

"You better go back to your bodyguarding."

She wanted to strike out and hurt somebody. Fred would do. Fred and his sympathy.

A little later she drove the big car down the hill, handling it delicately," because she was unused to it. The town of Ogaunee was depressing—shiftless, she thought; shabby and patched and peeling. A broken trestle to the east spoke of its past. There wasn't much to be said for its present. She drove the length of the main street and foxmd the drab little depot with its old-fashioned eaves, and the telegraph station tucked inside.

"Mr. Arthur Killeen," she printed. Art Killeen. Oh, God, why did he have to come up here? She didn't want to see him. Or him to see her in this mess. Or him to draw the document that would guarantee her wages for this time and trouble. He must hear about her engagement, of course, but not the way it was going to be if he came up here. Not seeing her like a rat in a trap, playing nurse, being a phony tower of strength, being Innes's beloved. Oh, Art, don't come, because I can't stand all this and seeing you, too.

The man reached for the blank, and she let it go out of her fingers despairingly. A train pulled in. She wished she had the nerve to drop everything and climb on board. It was headed south. Maybe it went back to Chicago. What difference where it went? But she hadn't enough money. Trapped, she thought

She paid the man less than a dollar. The word would go out over the wires and reach Art Killeen, and he would come running. Of course he would. Wasn't Innes Whitiock

his pet client? His wealthy patron? Wasn't there percentage in coming when Innes called? Now he'd know the bargain she'd made and see the short end of it. See Innes trembling and making this cowardly will and whimng about murder.