The View from the Cherry Tree (5 page)

Well, the thing to do was tell his father.
He'd
know what to do about it, if anything needed to be done.

Six

Reluctantly, he made his way toward the small group beside the neighboring house. One of the officers, Riley, looked up and saw him.

“This the boy who saw it happen?”

“Yes, this is Rob. He was sitting in the tree . . . he often sits up there. He called us right away, but it was too late. By the time we got her down she was dead.”

“Wouldn't be surprised if it broke her neck,” the other officer commented, gesturing to the ambulance attendants who were hauling out their stretcher. “Kind of ironic, ain't it? I mean, she was the pest of the neighborhood with those binoculars, minding everybody else's business, and they're what killed her.”

“You get complaints about her?” Mr. ­Mallory asked.

“Oh, not officially, not very often. But you hear things, a town the size of this one.
She
was always calling
us
about something. Somebody's dog, or kid, or something. Called us yesterday, said some young fella drove over her garden hose and wrecked it.” He shook his head.

Max had overheard that. He strode toward them. “That was me. I didn't know she called the police. Her crummy hose was leaky already, and she left it in the street where I couldn't help running over it.”

“Yeah. We figured that out, from what she said.” Rob remembered the cop's name, now, the tall, skinny redhead with the big Adam's apple. Fritz. He didn't know if that was his last name or his first, but they called him Fritz. “Bit of a kook, wasn't she? Feuding with everybody all the time. I guess, living next door, you got the brunt of it?”

“Well, she wasn't an easy woman to live next to,” Mr. Mallory admitted. They were all standing so they didn't have to look at Mrs. Calloway. Rob sneaked a look at her, felt his stomach lurch, and looked quickly away. Somehow he'd thought she'd stop looking so pop-eyed after
they took her down. “She attacked Rob last night with a broom when he went over there to get our cat . . . and she enticed the cat by leaving meat scraps on the back porch.”

Riley, the shorter, dark-haired one, nodded. “She was about ready to be committed, I guess. Maybe it's just as well this way, better for her than being locked up.

Rob cleared his throat. “Dad . . .”

“Later, son. I guess they're ready to take her away. I suppose there'll have to be an inquest?”

“Oh, yes, but there won't be any problem about it,” Riley assured them. “It's perfectly clear what happened . . . and the boy saw it.”

“He won't have to testify, will he? He's only eleven.”

“I don't know for sure about that . . . it isn't up to us to decide . . . but I wouldn't worry about it, Walt. They won't make it any harder on him than they have to. What do you think, Fritz, we better get the crime lab out here? Take some pictures?”

“Well, it looks like an accident, pure and simple, but it wouldn't hurt to protect
ourselves with a few pictures. Yeah, let's call in and let somebody else decide. You guys bring a sheet or something you can put over her? Whole blasted neighborhood's out gawking.”

Rob hadn't noticed, but he did, now. People were coming out of their houses, leaning over the back fence, some of them even walking out across the lawns.

“Dad, when she fell . . .”

His father patted him on the shoulder. “Come on inside, son. The whole town's here, they don't need us. You want to use our telephone, Fritz?”

“No, I'll use the radio in the car. Go ahead inside. Be easiest if you came downtown, Walt . . . let somebody type up your statement.”

“I don't have to do it today, I hope. My daughter's getting married tomorrow, and we've got a million things to do. Monday all right?”

“Well, if it isn't, we'll let you know. Somebody'll call you.”

Rob was beginning to shake a little, he
didn't know why. He had to trot to keep up with his father. “Dad, Mrs. Calloway didn't just fall out of the window . . .”

“Rob, let's not blow it up any bigger than it was, okay? I'd rather not get you involved in it at all. You had nothing to do with it, did you?”

“No, except I was . . . was spitting cherry pits at her window, and . . . and I guess that's why she leaned out the window.”

Mr. Mallory gave him a tired grin. “Well, you ought to have known better than that, after everything else that's happened. But it didn't have anything to do with her hanging herself, you know. So try not to think about it.”

“But there was somebody in there, Dad, I heard . . .” His words were wasted, uttered at the same moment his mother called from the window.

“Wally! Can you come to the phone? It's Jim French, and I told him you were awfully busy, but he said it's important. He sounds upset.”

Mr. Mallory strode up the front steps and into the house, not hearing Rob's final words. Frustrated, Rob followed him, but his father was already on the telephone and his mother
was saying, “Tell him to wait until Monday if it's business, honey. We've got too much to do to worry about anything else now.”

Mr. Mallory made shushing gestures at her, speaking into the phone. “Yes, Jim, this is Walt.”

It seemed to Rob that his father's face grew grim as he listened, although his mother didn't seem to notice anything. The doorbell rang, and she turned away to answer it.

Ellen Anderson stood there, a too-thin girl with long brown hair caught back in a ponytail with a rubber band.

“Hello, Mrs. Mallory. Darcy said I'd be doing her a big favor if I could take Nancy's place in the wedding . . .”

“Yes, you will, if you can get into her dress.”

“I think I can, but she's taller than I am, so it would have to be shortened.”

“Maybe you could do that this afternoon.”

“I don't know how to shorten anything, Mrs. Mallory. I flunked freshman sewing, and my mother just gave up on me.”

“Maybe your mother . . .”

“My mother's gone to Kansas City for a week. My grandmother's sick.”

Mrs. Mallory sighed. “Well, all right. Go up and try it on . . . it's in Darcy's room. I'll be up in a minute to pin it up.”

Rob stood between his parents, feeling an urgent need to say something to one of them. They ought to know Mrs. Calloway was pushed out that window; surely it was important to let someone know that?

“Mom . . . I need to tell somebody . . .”

“Robbie, for heaven's sake, don't bother me now. I'm going to have to shorten that dress myself, obviously, unless I can get Aunt Grace to do it. Is she still here?”

“She's upstairs,” Teddi volunteered, coming through the back of the house with a loaded tray.

“Where are you going with the refreshments?”

“For Darcy and Aunt Grace and me. Darcy says we won't have time to sit down for lunch.”

The doorbell rang.

“Robbie, see who . . . Wally, where are you going?”

“I have to go see French. It's important, Marge; it can't wait until Monday. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

“What about the champagne? It has to be iced down . . .”

“Maybe you can find someone else to do it. Otherwise, I'll do it when I get back. Don't worry, I can pick it up any time up to midnight, honey. Rob, stay out of trouble and help your mother a little bit, will you?”

The doorbell rang again.

Mr. Mallory opened the door. “Oh, hi, Derek. Go on in, I'm just leaving. See you later.”

Derek stood uncertainly just inside the doorway. “Mrs. Mallory?”

“Hello, Derek.” Rob could see it when she remembered that his aunt had just died; the expression that crossed her face was a mixture of sympathy and reluctance to be the one to break the news.

“I thought maybe there was something I could do to help . . . run errands, or something.”

“Derek . . . I appreciate the offer, and there are things . . . but maybe you'd ought to go home. The police . . . I mean, I think they'll have notified your mother by now, and . . .”

Derek stared at her. “The police? What are you talking about?”

“You haven't heard about your aunt, then. I'm sorry, I don't want to be the one to . . .”

Teddi, coming back down the stairs, paused on the bottom step. “I forgot the salt. Derek, haven't you had the radio on or anything? They just announced it on the radio.”

“Announced what?” Derek's eyes swept across all their faces, evaluating what he saw there. “Something's happened to Aunt Bea?”

“She's dead, Derek.” Teddi descended the final step. “She fell out the window, and she's dead.”

“From falling out her own window?” Derek asked.

“She was wearing those binoculars, and the strap caught on the limb of the cherry tree.”

Derek swallowed. “She . . . hanged herself?”

“I guess so. Anyway, she's dead. The police and the ambulance took her away. Won't your mother need you at home, then? Will she be terribly upset?”

“She'll be in hysterics,” Derek allowed. “Which means it's no place for me to be. Dad's home, he's not working today. Let him handle
mother. I'd rather run errands than cope with that, if there's something I can do to make myself useful.”

“Well, if you think it won't upset your family more . . .” Mrs. Mallory hesitated.

“I'd rather run errands,” Derek repeated firmly.

“Well, Wally was supposed to pick up the champagne this afternoon. From Bullocks. There's room for part of it in the refrigerator at the Country Club, but the rest will have to be iced. We've got the cans, but someone has to pick up the ice, too.”

“I'll be glad to do that for you, Mrs. Mallory.” There were sounds overhead and Derek glanced up, no doubt hoping for a look at Darcy, but it was only Aunt Grace.

“Marge, that dress will have to be taken up about three inches to fit this girl. You want me to do it?” Aunt Grace asked, leaning over the railing.

“Yes, would you? That would be a tremendous help. Here, Derek, I have the check written out to pay for the champagne, and I'll find some cash for the ice . . . oh, here's the key to
get into the reception hall . . . it's for the back door.”

Derek looked at Rob. “You want to come along and help, sport?”

Rob licked his lips. “I need to talk to Mom for a minute, first.”

“Robbie, I don't have time to talk to you. Go on, you can help Derek handle the champagne. And while I think of it, did you get those spiders out of the living room?”

“No, not yet. I'll put them on the back porch.”

His mother's voice was firm. “You get them completely out of the house, the way I told you. I don't want anyone coming across a jar full of spiders and being startled into a fit or something.”

“But somebody might take them if I leave them around outside,” Rob pointed out reasonably.

“I think that is most unlikely. Go on, help Derek or do something to make yourself useful.”

He felt a slight stirring of resentment at the lack of sympathy in her tone. He didn't want to go with Derek. Derek was perfectly capable of hauling champagne by himself, Rob thought. He wanted to talk to someone . . .
maybe Teddi would listen. Teddi usually listened, better than the rest of them.

“Oh. Well, all right, whatever you say.” Derek hesitated, as if reluctant to leave. “What happened, exactly, about Aunt Bea? How did she come to fall out the window?”

“She was pushed,” Rob said, and saw no change of expression in Derek's face.

“Oh, come on, Rob, that's not a thing to joke about.”

“I'm not joking. I saw her.”

“You saw someone push her out the window?” Derek was juggling keys, money, and the check, unbelieving. “Who did it?”

“I don't know. All I saw was his hands.”

“A man? You saw a man's hands? What did they look like?”

With a growing sense of urgency, Rob tried to remember exactly how the hands had looked.

“I don't know. I only saw them for a minute . . . more like seconds, really, I guess. They were just . . . a man's hands!” He looked at Derek helplessly, shrugging.

“How did you know they were a man's hands? As opposed to a woman's?”

Derek wasn't the one he would have chosen to tell, but at least he was listening, more than anyone had done so far. Encouraged, Rob tried to be specific. “They were . . . too big to be a woman's. They were big, way bigger than mine.” He spread his own fingers and stared at them for a minute, trying to see those other hands.

“Did they have hair all over them, or what? Dark hair, maybe?”

Rob searched his mind. “Not that I remember. No more than anybody's . . . Dad's, or yours, or . . .” A shadow loomed on the other side of the screen, and he looked that way. “. . . or Max's. Just hands.”

Max saw him looking and opened the door for himself. “It's all right if I just walk in, isn't it? Your mother looks like she's ready to scream every time the doorbell or the phone rings, so I hate to use them. Hello, Derek.”

“Rob's been telling me something interesting. He says somebody pushed Aunt Bea out her window.”

Max shook his head. “Honest to God, Rob, you've got a macabre sense of humor. You really have, kid. Where's Teddi?”

“Upstairs. What's macabre?”

“He means you aren't funny,” Derek told him. “Listen, you coming with me after the champagne, or not?”

“No. You go on.”

“I don't suppose you'd be interested, Max? In hauling the champagne over to the Country Club and icing it down? Mr. Mallory had to go somewhere.”

Max shook his head. “No thanks, man. I'm hoping Teddi can cut loose from this madhouse sometime so we can get out for a few hours before the rehearsal. Is it safe to go up there, Rob?”

“I hate to guess, these days,” Rob said. It was no use trying to tell anything to these two jerks. Maybe it wasn't really their fault, because he
had
told them some whoppers in the past. For the first time he could see the point to that stupid story about the boy who cried wolf. He'd never told them he'd seen anybody murdered before, though.