Just as the sheriff opened his mouth, the voices on the other side of the door ceased, so of course Tante heard what the sheriff said. It would be repeated all through the town in minutes.
“I’ve arrested your father.”
“I want to see him.” Delphine’s voice was very calm. Wearily, she blocked herself from imagining the gloating shock that had just appeared on Tante’s face. She asked the amount of bail and Sheriff Hock told her that would be determined by the town judge, Roland Zumbrugge, brother of Chester, and that she was free to pay it and get him out, although, he also said, Roy was settling in very well.
“Oh, I’m sure he’s perfectly at home there,” said Delphine, her voice twisting with as much sarcasm as she could muster. Then her part called for sincerity, and she gazed into the cushion-cheeked but sharp-nosed face of the sheriff. “You know he didn’t do it,” she suddenly blurted. “He’s a harmless person.”
At once, the sheriff’s face became slightly more watchful. As he’d hoped, Delphine had just assumed the charge was related to the three dead in her father’s cellar, and now Sheriff Hock cautiously hedged, in case she should make some slip in her state of false assumption, some small mistake that would afford him more information. “Nobody, in my experience,” said the sheriff, “is completely harmless when drunk. It would probably be best to find a good lawyer.”
“And where,” asked Delphine, now bitter, “am I to find the money to pay a good lawyer?”
Sheriff Hock’s girlish smile pursed, then twitched, and again his eyes got that twinkle in them that Delphine thought very menacing in an officer of the law.
“Our friend Cyprian could probably raise a little extra money on his trips up north,” the sheriff suggested.
Delphine wished an immediate stroke of deafness on Tante’s flaring ears and maintained a blank expression with great difficulty. Inside, her heart surged; she turned her face aside as though mystified by Hock’s reference. “I have no idea what you’re referring to,” she coldly said. After that, there were no lines to follow, no script at all. So she quickly returned to familiar ground.
“When can I visit my father?”
“Any time.”
She kept herself from automatically saying thank you, turned on her heel, and slapped her apron on the counter in order to alert Tante and Fidelis, the eavesdroppers.
“You heard it,” she said to Tante as she passed, “shut your damn mouth.”
Tante remade her delighted indignation into a pout of false distress. Fidelis had already removed himself and followed Sheriff Hock. Maybe he can find something out, thought Delphine. Out the back door, in the cold and brilliant sun, Delphine breathed hard and went over the exchange. Her mind kept sticking on the part about the evidence. What evidence? Where did it come from? Whom? If they had enough to haul Roy in, there had to be a witness, or at least a set of circumstantial facts that would be set out before a judge. Panicked, she went to find Clarisse.
DELPHINE ENTERED the basement mortuary and Clarisse, at the sink, turned with a perfectly glowing look and said, “I’m so glad you’re here!”
When her work was successful, Clarisse was vivid with satisfaction, sparklingly fresh and alive. Her skin was satiny, pure white, not a freckle on it. Her lips were a deep unlipsticked red and her eyes transparent with delight at her friend’s visit.
“I’ve got to talk to you again,” said Delphine.
With a dancer’s flourish, Clarisse indicated her work area.
“I’ve got to show you someone!”
“Not now, Clarisse. Sometimes you get carried away,” said Delphine.
“This is the last view these parents will have of their child,” Clarisse answered, her face serious. “Is that carried away? Perhaps, well, I’ll tone down my manner, of course. I was just—”
“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m overwrought, Clarisse. Roy’s in the jailhouse.”
“It’s that damn Hock,” said Clarisse. She shook her curls a little and handed Delphine a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “Although, come to think, you must admit, it was his cellar. And he was very drunk that night, well…” She fluffed the hair out around her ears and shook her head, conveying sympathy without implicating herself. “I didn’t see a thing. I wish I had. Oh, look at you. You must get more rest! You’ve got dark circles under your eyes.” She took Delphine’s hand in her own, just the way they used to when they were girls together talking earnestly down by the river. “Don’t worry,” she said, “we’ll think of a way to get Roy out.”
Delphine nearly shook her hand away.
“You do think he did it! He’s a souse, but he wouldn’t deliberately do anything that cruel. You know he’s been strictly on the wagon—”
“But when has he ever not fallen off and disappointed you?” asked Clarisse gently.
“Never,” Delphine said.
Clarisse looked at her solemnly, put her fingers up, and pinched her lips shut.
“I know what you’re trying not to say,” said Delphine.
Clarisse nodded. Then she unpinched her lips.
“I will say this, Delphine, you should get out of here. Just leave him be and go to secretary school. Be an actress. Anything. Take a train to the Cities.”
Delphine laughed. “With what money? And by the way,” she lowered her voice, “I buried your dress in the iris patch.”
Clarisse now looked very grave and thanked her for hiding it. “You’re on my side,” she said. “You’ve always been on my side.”
“Of course I am,” Delphine said. “I just wish I knew.”
“What?”
“Who locked them down there.”
“You just have to believe it wasn’t Roy, don’t you?” said Clarisse.
Delphine nodded.
“Then it wasn’t him,” Clarisse said. Reaching over, she put her arms around Delphine and held her head to her shoulder. Delphine’s breath ballooned up in her until she sighed. She let herself sag against her friend. Clarisse smelled of formalin and bath powder. There was coffee on her breath and blood on her shoe. From time to time, Delphine thought, life fooled her into thinking there was someone on earth she would be as close to as Clarisse. Then the person was hauled away, or died, or retreated, and it was just the two of them again. Odd women out. Unique girls. Strange.
HIDING A MAN of his bulk was extremely difficult, but Sheriff Hock was used to assuming the disguises of the stage. His automobile would have been too conspicuous in the empty town streets, so he had borrowed a shabby buggy from a deputy’s barn and commandeered a tired old horse to draw it. Shortly after leaving the shop, he put on a farm hat and a torn canvas coat. He then drove the buggy to a safe distance for surveillance, pulled to the side of the road to let the horse crop grass, and put his head down on his chest. From there, it was an easy matter. Following Delphine was simple — in the strictly platted town he could easily project her destination, and with no trouble keep her in sight down the wide dusty avenues and streets. The funeral home was no surprise to him. He thought of Clarisse in the tight, red, fabulously shiny stage dress. Was there some way to bring her back into the picture? Closer, so she would see what kind of man he really was? He put his hand to his cheek as if he could still feel the lump she had raised when she slugged him at her father’s rowdy wake. She was much too fierce for anyone else in this town, he thought. He was the only man who wasn’t afraid of her. He deserved her. And he was getting tired of the way she evaded him and put him off. Her excuses and protestations. If she would only, only, surrender her hard little nut of a heart! Let the shell crack! Reveal the love! He was positive it was there. It made him so angry with her. She was stubborn, wasting precious time. Youth was fleeting. They should be walking along the weedy riverbank and planning their future. Sheriff Hock set his teeth and felt his face harden. When this wave of frustration engulfed him, he wanted to shake her until she woke up, to yell into her face until he broke her composure, to crush her until she cried out his name in a pain that sounded like passion.