John liked to tease his wife about these occasions. “Afraid of the dark, at your age and weight.”
“I can’t help it.”
“What did you do before you were married?”
“Before I was married, I lived in an apartment house with people below me, above me, and on both sides of me. The walls were so thin you could hear a pin drop, so there wasn’t much chance of being murdered in your bed. It’s quite different living in a house, like this. You’re cut off from people.”
“By a driveway and two flowerbeds.”
“No, you know what I mean.”
He knew exactly what she meant. She’d been brought up in a large family and lived in dormitories at school. There had always been people around, brothers and sisters, and friends and cousins and cousins of cousins. Being left in a house by herself made Claire feel insecure, and John was grateful to Evelyn for keeping her company in his absence. He had long since lost his original distrust of Evelyn and he believed now that, in her quiet way, she was just about the nicest girl in the world.
On Wednesday morning John took some of his freshmen students on a field trip to Los Padres National Forest and in the late afternoon Evelyn came over to the house to have dinner with Claire and spend the night. The two women had planned on going to see a play at the Biltmore Bowl, but the arrangements were canceled when Claire arrived home with a severe cold. She went to bed at eight, drugged with anti-histamines and codeine, and slept around the clock.
She woke up the next morning to the sound of dishes rattling and the smell of burning bacon. Slipping on her husband’s old Paisley bathrobe, she went out into the kitchen and found Evelyn making breakfast.
Claire said, yawning, “I could eat a horse.”
“You may have to. I just ruined the last of the bacon.”
“I like it well done.”
“It isn’t well done, it’s charred.”
“Well, Johnny says everybody should eat a certain amount of carbon. It acts as a purifying agent.”
“You’re making that up.”
“It sounds rather plausible, though, doesn’t it?”
“I can tell you’re feeling better this morning.”
“Oh, I am. How about you?”
Evelyn turned, her face white and aloof. “Me? There was never anything wrong with me.”
“You’re looking rocky. If I didn’t know you better I’d say you’d been out on a binge.”
“Binges aren’t much in my line.”
“I was just kidding. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I’m afraid I offend easily, these days.”
“I know you do. John and I... well, we’ve noticed, and we couldn’t help wondering.”
“Wondering what?”
“If you shouldn’t get married.”
Evelyn was silent.
“I mean,” Claire said with awkward earnestness, “marriage is a wonderful thing for a woman.”
“Oh?”
“It really is. I don’t know why you’re looking amused. What’s funny?”
“I’m afraid,” Evelyn said, smiling, “you wouldn’t understand.”
On Thursday afternoon Claire arrived home from her classes a little earlier than usual, around four-thirty. It was already getting dark and she didn’t notice the car parked at the curb until she let the cocker spaniel out. The dog streaked across the lawn towards the car and began pawing at the door.
A man wearing a gray felt hat leaned out of the window and said, “That’s not doing the finish of my car much good.”
“So I see.” She picked up the squirming spaniel.
“You’re Mrs. Laurence?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m Paul Blackshear. I called you at the University this afternoon.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Is Miss Merrick here?”
“Not yet. She will be though. If you’d like to come inside and wait...”
“Thanks, I would.”
She led the way across the lawn, feeling apprehensive about letting the stranger into the house and yet unable to think of an adequate reason or a polite way to get rid of him.
In the living room she turned on all four of the lamps and left the drapes open, and when Blackshear had settled himself on the davenport she sat down in a straight-backed chair at the opposite end of the room.
“My husband,” she lied firmly, “will be home at any minute.”
Blackshear gave her a quizzical look. “Good. I’ll need all the help I can get.”
“Help with what?”
“I am trying to find a woman. I have reason to believe that Evelyn Merrick knows where this woman is.”
“You mean you think Evelyn helped her to disappear?”
“I mean that, yes, but not in exactly the same sense that you do.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The woman’s disappearance was involuntary.”
Claire stared at him, her face pale and astonished, her clenched fists pressed against her thighs. “What are you — implying?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it, Mrs. Laurence?”
“No, it’s not obvious. Nothing is obvious. I’m confused. I don’t understand.”
“I don’t understand either, but I’m trying to. That’s why I’m here. The woman who disappeared is Helen Clarvoe, a friend of mine. She was also, at one time, a friend of Evelyn Merrick’s.”
“At one time. Does that mean they quarreled?”
“Let’s say they lost touch. Until last Monday night. At that time Miss Merrick telephoned Helen Clarvoe at her hotel. I won’t go into detail, but I assure you it wasn’t an ordinary call from one old friend to another. As a result of it, Miss Clarvoe asked me to try and find Evelyn Merrick.”
“Why?”
“She was disturbed and frightened by Miss Merrick’s remarks. During the course of the week I’ve discovered that unusual telephone calls are Evelyn Merrick’s specialty. Some people, when they have a grievance, blow their top, some brood, some write crank letters. Evelyn Merrick telephones.”
“Nonsense,” Claire said sharply. “I don’t believe it. Ev hates to talk on the phone. I should know; I’m her best friend.”
“Look, Mrs. Laurence, there may be some things about this woman that even her best friend doesn’t know because Miss Merrick herself may not know them.”
“That’s not possible. Unless she’s — are you trying to tell me she’s insane?”
“It’s a form of insanity.”
“What is?”
“Multiple personality.”
Claire rose abruptly and began to pace the room. “Ev is my best friend. You’re a stranger. You come here and tell me some monstrous things about her and expect me to believe them. Well, I can’t. I won’t. What right have you got to go around diagnosing people as multiple personalities?”
“The theory isn’t mine. It was advanced as a possibility by Miss Merrick’s own doctor. I talked to him this afternoon. Miss Merrick has already suffered two emotional disturbances, one after her parents were divorced and her father went east to live, and the other after the break-up of her own marriage last year.”
“Marriage,” Claire repeated. “Ev’s never been married.”
“It’s a matter of record.”
“She’s never said a word to me about it. I... why, just this morning we were talking and I said something about marriage being good for a woman and she — well, it doesn’t matter now.”
“Go on, Mrs. Laurence. She what?”
“Nothing. She just smiled, as if I’d said something unintentionally funny.”
“You did.”
“It wasn’t a happy marriage, then?”
“No.”
“Who is the man?”
“Helen Clarvoe’s brother, Douglas.” Blackshear hesitated, feeling a sudden and acute distaste for the job he had to do. “The young man died this morning.”