Not I, thought Carol, I didn’t even see him. That’s all that stopped me. Okay. But I didn’t see him. No skin off my nose who did. It gives me the creeps, though, not to know for sure.
The old lady’s not the sweet little featherbrain she’s cracked up to be. A whim of iron, if I ever saw one.
Mary Ethel would get my vote except I know good and well he’d head straight for her, the rat, the minute he hit town. Before he called me, that’s for sure. So she couldn’t have — wait a minute, they could have made a date for later.
Same thing goes for Tenny, I suppose. For all I know, that’s why he stayed away from the office today. He hated Byron enough. And now he hates me. I get the message, I know when I’m getting the old heave-ho. Well, I can take it. Damn, just when I thought I had it made.
Not I, thought Mary Ethel, I only tried and failed. As at least one of them must know, because one of them must have tried and succeeded. Don’t tell me he wouldn’t be here otherwise — he’d have been in his glory, watching everybody wriggle — and don’t tell me they didn’t have as much reason as I to want him dead. So who are they to be sneaking looks at me?
It could just as easily have been one of them. Any of them. Or... or all of them. Is that it? They’ve always hated me — they’d dearly love to hang it on me if they could. No one of them alone would have the nerve, but all of them together — a solid block of three against one, all telling the same story and sticking to it, backing each other up, planting evidence against me—
He must have told them I tried. That would give them the idea, the ready-made frame. And I’ve been away from my apartment since noon. Plenty of time and opportunity. They’re waiting now for me to go back there and find — whatever it is.
I won’t go back. I can’t. But if I don’t go back it will look even worse. No way out? There has to be, because I’m not guilty! I failed, I failed! I only tried and failed!
Once across the bridge and on the thruway, the big bus settled down to a steady, purposeful purr. Very soothing. Byron stretched his legs and leaned back comfortably, at peace with the world — the ex-Byron Hawley, traveling light and liking it.
He had fully intended to show up at his mother’s party, had in fact been on his way to it when all at once there was the bus station, the bus waiting for him, the space available, the irresistible urge to do everybody a favor and get rid of the old Byron Hawley once and for all.
No doubt about its being a favor to all of them — he had found that out for sure. There hadn’t been time for a telephone call before the bus left. And maybe that too was just as well, though of course some day he would probably, some day he might...
He yawned hugely. Then again he might not. The bus purred, lulling him to sleep.