Even if it had been safe to do so, there was no way of precipitating the change in Evelyn Merrick, because no one knew what caused it. It could be something external, a word, a smell, a sound, a chance phrase of music, or it could be something inside, a sudden chemical change in the body itself.
“It was funny,” she said, “hearing from Douglas again. I expected to feel all sorts of resentment against him, but I didn’t. Odd, isn’t it, how people plan what they’ll do and say in a certain situation and then when the situation actually occurs they don’t do any of the things they’ve planned.”
“What did you plan?”
“To make him feel like a worm. But I knew as soon as I heard his voice that I didn’t have to say anything. He feels worse than any worm.”
“Miss Merrick, how did you spend the day?”
“Looking for a job.”
“Any particular kind of job, such as modeling, for instance?”
“Modeling. What on earth would give you that idea?”
“You’re a very pretty girl.”
“Nonsense. Thanks just the same, but it really is nonsense. I want a job with a future.”
“You haven’t been home, then, all day today?”
“No.”
“Have you seen your mother?”
“No. I tried to get her at the flower shop this afternoon, but they told me she was taking the rest of the afternoon off.”
“She went to see Mrs. Clarvoe.”
“Verna? Why on earth would she do that?”
“Douglas died this morning.”
Evelyn sat quietly, her eyes lowered, her hands folded on her lap. When she spoke finally her voice was clear and distinct: “The coffee must be ready by now. I’ll get you a cup.”
“Miss Merrick...”
“What do you expect me to say, that I’m sorry? I’m not. I’m not sorry he’s dead. He’s better off. I’m only sorry he wasn’t happier while he was alive.”
It was the kindest thing he’d heard anyone say about Douglas since his death.
She asked, “How did it happen?”
Blackshear explained the circumstances of Douglas’ death, while she sat with her head half-averted, looking contemplative, almost serene, like a child listening to a story she’d heard a dozen times before.
When he had finished, she said with a sigh, “Poor Douglas. In some ways he was the best of the bunch, of the Clarvoes, I mean. He at least had some warmth in him. Directed towards the wrong people, perhaps, but at least it was there.”
“Helen has it, too.”
“Helen is cold to the very marrow of her bones.”
A premonition of disaster struck Blackshear like a spasm of pain. He had a feeling that her remark was intended to be quite literal, that the woman was trying to tell him Helen was already dead.
“Miss Merrick, I will ask you again.”
“Yes?”
“Have you seen Helen Clarvoe today?”
“No.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“No.”
“Do you know if she’s alive?”
“No.”
“Do you remember telephoning her at her hotel last Monday night around ten o’clock?”
“I can’t remember something that never happened,” she said gently. “I wish I could help you, Mr. Blackshear, but I’m afraid I don’t know any of the answers.”
It’s useless, he thought, and turned towards the door. “Thank you for trying, anyway.”
“You’re welcome. When you find Helen, let me know.”
“Why?”
“Auld lang syne or curiosity — you name it. I’ll make a little bet with you, Mr. Blackshear.”
“Such as?”
“When you do find her, I’ll bet she has a man with her.”
Anger rose in him like an overflow of bile, leaving a green and bitter taste on his tongue and a rawness in his throat. He couldn’t trust himself to speak.
He opened the door and stepped outside. In spite of the lighted houses and the street lamps, the darkness seemed as impenetrable as a jungle.
Chapter 15
She opened her eyes and closed them again quickly because the light was so blinding, but in that instant she saw that she was in a small white room like a cubicle in a hospital and the enormous woman bending over her was dressed all in white like a nurse.
The woman said in a harsh, tired voice, “She’s coming to. Give her some more of that whiskey.”
“If she’s drunk already, what you want to give her more of the same for, Bella?”
“Shut up and do as I say. Nothing brings a drunk around faster than the smell of another drink. Hand me the bottle, Mollie.”
“O.K.”
“Now hold her head up while I pour. Ha-ha-ha, sounds like a society tea, eh? Madame Bella poured.”
Miss Clarvoe tried to protest. She did not want the whiskey; it burned like acid. She jerked her head to one side and began to scream, but a hand closed over her mouth.
“You don’t want to do that, dear,” the woman called Bella said quite softly. “Maybe you’re seeing things, eh? Maybe little animals running around, eh? Just take a nip or two of this and they’ll go away.”
“No, no! I don’t want...”
“What’s the matter, dear? You tell Bella. Everybody tells Bella their troubles. Maybe you got a monkey on your back, eh, dear?”
Miss Clarvoe shook her head. She didn’t know what the woman was talking about. There was no monkey on her back, no little animals running around.
“Tell Bella, dear.”
“I can’t tell, I don’t know,” Miss Clarvoe said, her voice muffled against the fleshy palm of the woman’s hand. “Let me go.”
“Certainly, dear, just so long as you don’t scream. I can’t have you disturbing my other customers. A man comes in after a hard day at the office, he wants a nice quiet massage, he don’t want to hear a lady screaming, it upsets him.”
Customers. Massage. It wasn’t a hospital, then, and the woman in white wasn’t a nurse.
“No more carryings-on, eh, dear? Promise Bella.”
“Yes. I promise.”
Miss Clarvoe opened her eyes. She was lying on a couch, and at the foot of the couch a very pretty blonde girl with acne was standing with a bottle of whiskey in her hand. The other woman, Bella, was enormously fat; her flesh quivered at the slightest movement and her chins hung in folds against her swarthy neck. Only her eyes looked human. They were dark, despairing eyes that had experienced too much and interpreted too little.
The mere exertion of talking made her pant, and when she removed her hand from Miss Clarvoe’s mouth, she pressed it against her own heart as if to reassure herself that it was still beating.
“That’s good material in her coat,” the blonde girl said. “Imported from Scotland, it says, see right there on the label?”
“You can get back on the job now, Mollie.”
“I don’t have any more appointments for tonight.”
“Then go home.”
“What if she starts kicking up a fuss again?”
“I can handle her,” the fat woman said. “Bella can handle her. Bella knows what the trouble is. Bella understands.”
“Yeah, sure,” the blonde girl said with a contemptuous little smile. “I’ll bet you do. Well, you can have it. I like the normal ones.”
“Shut up, dear.”
“I wonder what’s so special about material imported from Scotland.”
“Blow, dear, and close the door after you.”
The blonde girl left and closed the door behind her.
Miss Clarvoe pressed her fingertips against her eyes. She couldn’t understand what the two women had been talking about, none of it made sense to her. She felt nauseated and dizzy and her head ached just behind the left ear as if someone had struck her there.