The Golden Goose

12

Although it was early, the lower floor of the house was dark except in the hall, where a night light burned at the foot of the stairs. There were brightly lit rooms on the upper floor, however — Prin had seen them from outdoors — indicating that the O’Shea tribe were dispersed among their various caves, for which she was glad. What she wanted more than anything else, now that she had been thoroughly kissed and comforted by Coley, was to avoid any contact with her brother or her cousins or her aunt... to get as quickly and quietly as possible to her room.

Intent upon this purpose, Prin scudded along the hall toward the stairs. Just as she passed the darkened living room, there was a sudden noise that almost lifted her from her feet and sent her heart sailing to her throat. She whirled, and there was Frankenstein’s monster, with the darkness behind him and the dim light of the hall on his face.

“God damn it, Twig,” Prin said furiously, “must you always lurk in dark places and leap out at people? This is the second time recently that you’ve scared the hell out of me. I want you to quit it!”

“Are you frightened?” Twig asked rustily. “Of your own cousin?”

“I’d be frightened of Little Bo Peep if she jumped out at me from the dark.”

“I didn’t jump. I have only been waiting for you to come home so I could talk to you.”

“No, thanks. I don’t even want to look at you. I would consider it an act of mercy if you never came near me again.”

He contorted his incongruous features in what he evidently intended as a placating smile. “I notice you don’t seem to feel any aversion to that Coley Collins.”

“Coley doesn’t make my skin creep,” said Prin wildly. “You do.”

“It’s all in your mind. You ran off to him right away, didn’t you?”

“I most certainly did.”

“What did you tell him?”

“What I told him is none of your business.”

“I think it may be. Let me warn you against trusting a stranger. As I see it, you are hardly in a position to cozy up to any outsider.”

“What is my position exactly, if you please?”

“You know what it is. There’s no use being devious with me.”

“I’m not being devious! You think you’re clever, Twig, but you’re only malicious and dull. And now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.”

She merely started for the stairs. For Twig raised a hand in a curiously commanding gesture, and Prin waited, wondering why she did so.

“Not quite yet, please,” said Twig.

“What?” said Prin. “What do you want now?”

“A good-night kiss.”

“Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” cried Prin. “I’d sooner kiss the Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

“Kiss me, Prin,” said Twig urgently. “The way you just kissed that Coley Collins on the front steps.”

“So you were spying on us again. Twig, are you a pervert or what?”

“Watch that tongue of yours,” said Twig, his voice thickening. “I’m willing to help you, but you’ve got to be nice to me.”

“Help me?” Prin laughed. “What makes you think I need help? Or, if I needed any, that I’d accept it from you?”

“You think I’m a fool? You think you can make me believe that that stupid old woman upstairs thought this through and did it all by herself? Aunt Lallie doesn’t have the brains for this kind of job. It was a clever crime, even though it’s been exposed, thanks to that meddling old ass Appleton.”

“Not that again,” said Prin wearily. “I’m the brains behind Aunt Lallie, is that it? Got her the drug, and all the rest of it?”

“Of course. And now you’re in trouble, so you need help.”

“And you’re going to give it to me.” Prin made a sudden decision. Her voice lowered, and she said, “How, Twig?”

He stood looking at her, light and shadow shifting on his tall head, which had a queer flatness, like a painting; and suddenly, after a moment, he crooked his index finger, beckoning her closer. She found herself obeying in a sort of trance.

“Aunt Lallie is weak and soft,” he whispered. “Once the police go to work on her she’ll fall apart. She’ll blab everything and try to put most of the blame on you.”

“If that’s true, nothing can be done about it.”

“Yes, it can. She’s guilty, and she knows everyone knows it, including Lieutenant Grundy. To avoid the worst, she’ll commit suicide.”

“I see,” Prin whispered back. Horrid little ice-cold fingers were scurrying up and down her spine. “A suicide you’d arrange.”

Again that dreadful imitation of a smile. “A suicide.”

“It’s one thing to brag about it, another to do it.”

“You’ve always underestimated my ability, haven’t you?”

“All right,” Prin said. “But what good would it do? I’d still be left.”

“You’re tough, and you’re smart. You gained nothing from the will. Once Aunt Lallie is past blabbing you’ll be safe. And I’ll see to it they accept her as the sole culprit.”

“I don’t get it,” Prin prodded him. “All right, so Aunt Lallie goes, and I’m safe — but, as you’ve just pointed out, I’ve gained nothing under Uncle Slater’s will. What are you going to get out of it?”

“You,” Twig said. “You, Princess! I want you. I’ve always wanted you. I want you for your body, and I want you for your spirit, and I want you because you don’t want me. You’ll be my lovely little luck-piece, too. How much we could do together that we can’t do alone!”

Prin wanted to say something appropriate to her revulsion, but she could not think of anything. Instead, she began to laugh. And she could not stop. Her laughter was like an intense and leaping spasm, and she had the wildly helpless feeling that she was about to fly apart in a thousand pieces and every direction. Pressing her knuckles against her teeth, she tried to stuff the laughter back. But it was no use, and Twig’s eyes widened and immediately narrowed to arrowhead slits.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” he snarled. “Stop that damn cackling!”

He took one step toward her, and the movement frightened her laughter to death.

She fled from him — across the hall, up the stairs. At the top of the stairs she twisted about for an instant to see if he was following. But there, at the foot of the stairs looking steadily up at her, was Cousin Twig. For a timeless moment they stared at each other, one down, one up; then Prin ran to her room and locked the door behind her with hasty, clumsy fingers. And she leaned against the door, thinking a wordless little prayer.

When finally she moved, and snapped on the light, it was with a crushing feeling that she had endured the limit of endurable experience that night. But then Prin simultaneously gave a little terrified squeak and sprang back. For there, in a chair beside her bed, sat Aunt Lallie. For a ghastly instant Prin thought that through some horrid wizardry Twig had already performed his murderous act, for Aunt Lallie sat quite rigid, looking unblinkingly at something that was not there.

But then the corpse stirred, and Aunt Lallie’s normal voice said, “Why is it that you always run away when you are needed most?”

“Why were you sitting in the dark in my room?” cried Prin.

“I’ve been waiting for you. Come here, Princess, and sit on the bed. By me.”

Prin went over to the bed and sat down near Aunt Lallie. She pressed her knees together and folded her hands on them.

“Please, Aunt Lallie, I’m very tired. What is it you wanted?”

“Just this,” said Aunt Lallie in a fluty voice. “I find myself in a most trying position, thanks to you, and I wish to know what you propose to do about it.”

“Thanks to me?”

“Don’t evade! You heard what that nasty brother of yours said. Brady practically accused me of poisoning Slater’s bourbon. Out loud, in front of everybody! Simply because Slater left me everything.”

“Brady can be nasty enough, and a lot more besides, I suppose,” said Princess wearily, “but what does that have to do with me?”

“You’re as much under suspicion as I, because you work in that drug store. I’ve told you time and again how silly it was to keep that job! Now see where it’s got us.”

“But the drug store has nothing to do with anything, Aunt Lallie. I didn’t steal the drug. And if anybody knows that you and I had no arrangement to kill Uncle Slater, you do.”

“What you and I know is not sufficient. That man Grundy is the nuisance, and I’m counting on you to convince him for my sake.”

“I’ll try to convince him, of course, since I’m absolutely innocent. But it will be for my sake, Aunt Lallie, not for yours.”

“You needn’t be discourteous.”

“I’m not. I’m factual. Please, Aunt Lallie. I’d like to go to bed.”

Aunt Lallie’s pretty little mouth thinned to an ugly little gash. “You are as boorish in your own way as Brady and your two cousins, though I must say that Twig has acted with surprising decency since Slater’s death.” She popped out of the chair and stood there like a miniature Lady Macbeth in her flowing chiffon negligee with its bloody poinsettias. “And I shall take this opportunity to remind you, Princess O’Shea, that I am mistress here, and I am planning a few changes that certain people will not care for.”

“If that’s a threat to throw me out,” Prin murmured, “it’s an empty one. I am not staying in this house one minute longer than I have to, Aunt Lallie. As soon as Uncle Slater is buried, I’m leaving.”

“Good riddance!” hissed Aunt Lallie and went to the door and unlocked it. Trailing chiffon and blood, she swept out of the room.

Prin continued to sit on the edge of the bed. She was so exhausted that she thought she would never move again. And it was, in fact, a long time before she did.