The Kill-Off

"Well, never mind," he went on. "It kind of knocked me over for a minute, but I guess I get the picture. Ralph is playing it clean with this gal. In your book, that makes him in love with her. Suppose he does a switch, goes after what he always has, what does that make him?"

"Please," I said. "Please don't joke about it, Kossy."

"Okay," he shrugged. "Say he's in love with her. Say he's going to stay in love. And you don't like it, naturally. But it don't add up to his planning to kill you."

"But it does! I mean, it could," I said. "I-well-"

"Yeah?" He waited, frowning at me. "How does it? I seem to remember that we were all over that the other day. Ralph could get a divorce. He could just up and leave. We agreed that he could."

"Well," I said. "I guess he could-I mean, I know he could. But-but-"

"Yeah?"

He stared at me. He-and that shows what a crook he is! Honest people move their eyes around. They don't have a guilty conscience, so they don't feel they have to brazen someone down. It's only crooks who do that.

"Okay," he said. "You want to hold out something, go ahead. It ain't my neck."

"But I'm not," I said. "I-it's just that when I talked to you the other day, I didn't know he was so serious about this girl. I-"

"So now you know. And he can still walk away or get a divorce, so it still don't shape up to a murder."

"I-well, here's what I was thinking," I said. "The season will end in a couple months, and of course the girl will be leaving. So whatever… if Ralph is going to do anything, he'll have to do it by then. And-and-"

Kossy waited a moment. Then he grimaced and reached for his hat.

"Don't!" I said. "I'm trying to tell you, Kossy. After all, it isn't easy for me to discuss Ralph this way, to think of some reason why my own husband would w-want t-to- to-"

"Well, sure." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I don't suppose it is. But-"

"But there is a reason why he might, Kossy. This property isn't worth nearly what it used to be, but it would still bring five or six thousand dollars-maybe as much as ten. And if Ralph needed money, if he was so mean and selfish that he couldn't wait until I died…"

Kossy's eyes narrowed. Blinked. He nodded slowly.

"Yeah," he said. "Could be. That would seem like a world of dough to Ralph, particularly now that he's been so hard hit in the job department. I don't suppose there's any use pointing out to you that if Ralph is planning something, you're at least partly at fault."

"I am not!" I said. "I haven't said a single solitary word about anyone! Anyway, Ralph doesn't blame me in the least, he knows I haven't said half as much as I could have, and-"

"Okay. Okay," Kossy sighed. "Forget it. Ralph wants to kill you, maybe. He's got a double motive, maybe: to clear his way for the girl, and to cash in on what's left of the estate. Say that that's the situation. What do you want me to do about it?"

"Well, I…" I didn't know. How should I know what to do? That was his job. And he'd been plenty well paid for it! I hadn't ever actually caught him stealing from me, but there'd been a great deal of talk about- "You think it over," he said. "See what develops, and we'll talk again in a few days. Meanwhile, I want to say something about these lies of yours-shut up! don't interrupt me!-and I want you to take it to heart. If-"

"But I haven't said a word!" I said. "Honestly, Kossy. I-And I just hope someone does try to start something! I'll-"

"You'll damned probably get killed," he said. "I mean it, Luane. It's the law of averages. You get enough people sore enough to kill you-and you've got just about the whole damned town-one of them is almost certain to do the job. So cut it out, get me? Better still, see if you can't undo some of the damage. Try to do it. Admit you've been lying, apologize to the people you've harmed. Use that phone for something decent for a change."

Well, of course, I wasn't going to do anything like that! I'd die before-I just wasn't going to do it! In the first place, I hadn't said anything. He was just irritated by the few harmless little jokes I'd told about him. In the second place, it was all true what I'd said; and I guessed that if anyone was cowardly enough to harm someone for telling the truth, they'd have done so by now. And just what was I supposed to do all day, pray tell? Just lie here all day like a bump on a log, and never have a little harmless chat with anyone?

I tried to explain to Kossy how absolutely ridiculous it all was. But just try to tell that man anything! He looked at me, not really listening to what I was saying, and then he sighed and shook his head.

"Okay, maybe you can't help it," he said. "Take it easy, and I'll see you in a few days."

I was just a little worried after he'd gone; I mean, about someone wanting to kill me besides Ralph. Then, I just shoved it out of my mind-almost-because a person can only worry about so much and that's all, and I had more than my limit with Ralph.

Because I hadn't told Kossy everything. I hadn't told him the most important thing.

He came back the latter part of that week. He kept coming back, week after week-he was here the last time this morning-but it didn't help any. I certainly couldn't do any of the silly things he suggested.

Ralph hadn't said or done anything out of the way. He was different, but it wasn't something you could put your finger on. Outwardly he was just as nice and considerate as ever, so how could I have put him under peace bond? Obviously, I couldn't. I wouldn't have even if I had a concrete reason to, because that would have fixed things up. It would have brought everything to a showdown-killed the last bit of hope I had. And the same thing would happen if I let Kossy speak to him. Or if I had one of the county authorities do it.

Ralph wouldn't feel sorry for me any more. He wouldn't pity me. He'd just go ahead and do what he wanted to do-what he wasn't yet nerved-up to doing.

As you can see, Kossy has been absolutely no help to me. None whatsoever. Here I am, a sick old woman whom nobody loves, and I can get no help from my own attorney, a man who has stolen thousands of dollars from me.

The foolish little squirt even brought a gun here, a revolver, and wanted me to keep it! I refused even to touch it.

"Oh, no, you don't!" I said. "No, siree! People have accidents with guns. Accidentally-on-purpose accidents. As soon as Ralph or anyone found out I had that thing, they'd fix up a little accident for me."

"But, dammit, Luane," he said. "What the hell else can you do? What can I do for you? Now, you keep it-keep it where you can get to it fast. And if anyone goes for you, use it."

"Wh-aat?" I said. "You're suggesting that I should shoot someone? W-why-why, how dare you, Kossy! What kind of woman do you think I am?"

"God!" he almost shouted. "I don't know why the hell I don't kill you myself!"

He said some other very mean, nasty things, and then he slammed out of the house.

He came back for the last time this morning.

He said that he still thought I was in much more danger from others than I was from Ralph. Then, when I said he simply didn't know what he was talking about, he began to get ugly. And nosy.

"Y'know, Luane," he said, "the more I think about it, the less I can see Ralph committing murder for the few thousand bucks this estate would bring. It's hard for me to see him as a murderer, anyway, and for that kind of dough it just don't seem to figure at all."

"Well, you're absolutely wrong," I said. "For a man like Ralph, who's never really had anything-"

"Uh-huh. Because he's cautious, ultra-conservative. Ralph wouldn't bet that the sun comes up in the east unless he got a thousand-to- one odds. He'd take no chance except for something big. He-no, now, wait a minute! Let's take a good look at Ralph. He's been odd-jobbing around this town for more than twenty years. Working around people who are hip-deep in dough-who are almost disappointed if they don't get chiseled. But did Ralph ever clip one of 'em? Did he ever pad a bill, or walk off with a few tools or steal gasoline and oil, or pull any of the stunts that a guy in his place ordinarily would? Huhuh. Never. In all those years, he-"

"Oh, yes, he did!" I said. "He most certainly did! How do you think he got that car, pray tell?"

"Not by killing anyone. Not by running any real risk at all. In all those years, he pulls just one perfectly safe bit of chiseling-and he collects a high-priced car!" Kossy shook his head slowly, giving me that mean, narrow-eyed grin. "Who are you kidding, sister? You know goddamned well Ralph wouldn't kill you for this estate. If you really thought he would, you'd just sign it over to him."

"Why, I would not!" I said. "There'd be nothing to stop him then. It would be just like throwing him in that girl's arms!"

"Well?" he shrugged. "What choice you got? What choice has Ralph got? How you going to get by if he stays here?"

"Why, we'll get by just fine!" I said. "We'll-uh-"

"Yeah? How will you? Out with it, goddammit!"

"Well, we'll-You leave me alone!" I said. "You stop it! You're j-just as mean and hateful as-as-" And I broke down and began to cry. Undignified as it was, and as much as I despise weepy women.

That's probably how that girl holds onto Ralph-by crying all over him. Making him feel sorry for her. Ralph is so good-hearted, you know. He hates to see anyone unhappy, and he just won't let them be. And they just about can't be when he's around. He's so much fun, so sweet and funny at the same time, and-

At least, he was-the mean, selfish thing! Why, even this morning, he was carrying on pretty much as he used to. And it was just pretense, of course, but I almost forgot that it was, and… and it was nice.

"Come on, Luane," Kossy said. "Let's have it."

"I c-can't!" I said. "I don't know what you're talking about. You leave me alone, you mean hateful thing, you!"

"Look, Luane-" He put his hand on my shoulder, and I shook it off. "Don't you see it, honey? Don't you see that you can't hold Ralph in a trap without being in it yourself? Of course, you do. That's why you're so frightened, as you have every right to be. Let him go, Luane. Let him out of that corner you've got him in. If you don't…"

"K-Kossy," I said. "Kossy, d-darling… you don't really think he would, do you? Y-you said you didn't-couldn't see him k-killing-"

"God!" He slapped his forehead. "Oh, God! I-Look. Tell me what it is, what you're squeezing Ralph with. I have to know, don't you understand that?"

"I k-know… I mean, I can't!" I said. "There isn't anything, and-don't you dare say there is! Don't you dare tell anyone there's something-that I'm-"

He sighed and stood up. He said something about my being his client, God help him, whatever that meant: probably that it wouldn't be ethical for him to say anything. Not that that would stop him, of course. He's always talking, saying mean things about me. I haven't said anything half as mean about him as he has about me. Every time he leaves here, he goes around laughing and telling people how old and ugly I look.

Anyway, he certainly doesn't know anything. He's always contradicting himself, saying one thing one minute and something else the next.

First he tells me that Ralph won't kill me, and then he says he will. He says that Ralph won't, but that there's plenty of others who might. And if that doesn't prove he's crazy, what would? Kill me-a bunch of cowardly, lying, lowdown sneaks like they are! They don't have the nerve. They have no reason to. I've never done anything to harm them.

I've never harmed anyone, Ralph least of all, but now…

NOW! Ralph? Is it Ralph on the stairs? But why won't he answer me? What can he gain by not answering? Why is he doing it-if it is he, if he is going to-this way? To lure me out there? Maybe I shouldn't go. But if I don't… It must be someone else. It simply wouldn't make sense for Ralph to do it this way. As for someone else, why would they-he-she…? They're afraid, unsure? They haven't made up their mind? They're waiting to see what I do? They're trying to lure me out of the room-like Ralph would, is, might?

If I only knew, I might save myself. If I knew who it was-before the person becomes sure-I might save myself.

If… If I go out. If I don't go out.

Save me, I prayed. Just let me save myself. That's all I want. It's all I've ever wanted. And that's certainly not very much to ask, is it?

I went out.

I saw who it was.

9:

DANNY LEE

Although I am but of a humble station in life, I come from a proud old southern family, which was directly descended from that proud old southern warrior, Robert E. Lee, and we lived in a proud southern village which shall here be Nameless. Then, when I was but a slip of a girl, I loved unwisely and not too well, and my proud old father drove me out into the storm one bitter night. So, I went to a large city where I stumbled anew into a new pitfall. I mean, I didn't do anything wrong, really. Never again did I repeat my first and only fatal mistake. But there was this place I worked in where you could hustle drinks and where if you could sing a little or dance or something like that, you could keep whatever the customers gave you. And one night an orchestra leader entered its portals, and I innocently agreed to accompany him to his room. I didn't have the slightest idea of what evil designs he wanted. I simply went because I felt sorry for him, and I had to send some money back to my invalid mother and my two brothers, and-

Oh, I did not! I'm making all of this up.

I don't have any mother or brothers or any family except my father, and if he has anything to be proud of I don't know what it is. The last time I heard he was in jail again for bootlegging back in our home town.

He had a little two-by-four restaurant. I used to serve drinks to the customers, and two or three times when it was someone I liked real well and I simply had to have something to wear or go naked, I let them you-know. I finally picked up a dose from one of them. Pa said that as long as I got it, I could figure out how to get rid of it. So I stole ten dollars he had hidden, and went to a place near Fort Worth.

I couldn't get a restaurant job, which was the only kind of work I knew, since I couldn't get a health certificate. And I couldn't get that, of course, until I got over the dose. So practically flat broke as I was-without even money enough for a room-it looked like I was really in a pickle.

I said it looked that way. Because actually, I guess, it was lucky I didn't have room money. Otherwise, I wouldn't have gone into that cheap little burlesque house just to rest a while and try to think.

There were four chorus girls in the line. Pretty old girls, it looked like. I didn't think they could sing half as good as I could, and the dancing they did was mostly just wiggling and shaking. I watched and listened to them a while. Finally, I got up enough nerve to go to the manager and ask him for a job.

He took me into his office. I sang and wiggled for him, and he said I was okay, but he didn't have a job open right then. Then, he winked and asked me how about it-you know-and said there was a fast ten bucks in it for me. I told him, I couldn't. He offered me twenty, and I told him no again. And I told him why, because it would be a dirty trick on him. He was awfully appreciative. He said most girls in my position would have taken the money, and not given a damn whether they dosed some poor son-of-a-bitch. (Those are his own words and I'm only repeating them because I want to tell the whole truth and not leave out anything. Not a bit more than I have to. I don't use that kind of language myself.)

He appreciated my telling him so much that he gave me a job after all. He had to fire another girl to do it, and naturally I was sorry for that. But she was really too old to be working, anyway. I told her so, when she started cursing me out. And she didn't have much to say after that.

I started seeing a doctor right away-as soon as I got a paycheck. He got me cleared up fast, and things were pretty nice from then on. For quite a while. All the men who came to the show-you hardly ever saw a woman- liked me. They'd start clapping and whistling and calling for me, even while the other girls were doing their numbers. Then, when I went on stage they wouldn't let me go. They were really crazy about me, even if it doesn't sound nice for me to say so, and I couldn't begin to tell you how many of them tried to date me up. If I'd been willing to you-know for money like some of the other girls did, I could have made all kinds. I wouldn't have had to just barely skimp by like I was doing, because that manager could really squeeze a quarter until the eagle screamed. But, anyway, I didn't do it. Not even once, as much as I was tempted.

I remember one time when I just about had to have a new pair of shoes, and I saw an absolutely darling pair in a window, marked down from twenty-three ninety-nine to fourteen ninety-eight. It was such a wonderful bargain, I just didn't see how I could pass it up. I felt like I'd die if I didn't have those shoes! And while I was standing there a man who came to the show all the time came along, and offered to buy them for me. But I turned him down. I hesitated a moment first, but I did.

My real name is Agnes Tuttle, but I changed it when I went to work at the show. I was going to make it something kind of unusual, like Dolores du Bois. But the other girls had given themselves fancy names-Fanchon Rose, and Charlotte Montclair and so on-so I decided to make mine simple. It seemed best to, you know. It stood out more. And if I'd had the same sort of name as those other girls, people might have thought I was cheap and shoddy, too.

I'd been at the show about six months when the police raided it and closed it down. The manager got a big fine, and had to leave town. The girls went back to doing what they had been doing, which was you know what. I hardly knew what to do.

I felt it would be kind of a step down to take a waitress job. There's nothing wrong with being a waitress, of course. But it doesn't pay much, and it's darned hard work. And in view of my experience, I felt that I simply ought to and had to have something better. I was like that then; awfully ambitious, I mean. Willing to do almost anything to be a big-name singer or something like that. Now, I feel just about the opposite. In the first place, I know I'm not much good as a singer and never will be, like Rags McGuire says. In the second place, I just don't care. All I want now is just to be with Ralph, forever and always- and by golly, I will be!-and…

But I'll tell you about that later.

I didn't have money to travel on, and there weren't any jobs like I wanted in Fort Worth. Oh, there were a few, of course, but I couldn't get them. All the talent for them was hired through New York agencies, so I didn't stand a chance, even if I'd had the training and the presence and the clothes. I guess I was pretty awful, then. And I don't just mean my voice. I tried to wear nice things without being flashy, and I tried to be careful about makeup and using good English. But trying isn't enough when you don't have money to work with, and you're not sure of what you're trying for.

I guess I couldn't really blame Rags for thinking I was something that I wasn't.

I was working in a beer garden at the time I met him. It wasn't a very nice place, and it wasn't a real job. I just hung out there, like several other girls did. I got to keep any money a customer gave me for drinking with him, and I also got a commission on what he bought. Then, a few times a night I'd sing a number. And the orchestra and I divided the change that the customers tossed up on the bandstand.

Well, Rags dropped into the place one night, and a waitress tipped me off that he was a big spender. So, after I'd done a number, I went over to his table. I didn't know who he was-just about the greatest jazz musician of all time. I just thought, you know, that if he was going to throw money around, he might as well throw some my way. And I thought he looked awfully interesting, too.

Well. I guess I did just about everything wrong that I could. I just botched everything up, not only that night but the next day when he gave me a singing try-out, and offered me a contract. I-I just don't know! I still squirm inside when I think about it. But I know I didn't act that way just because of the money. I wanted to get ahead, of course, but mostly I wanted to please him. I thought I was doing what he wanted me to do, and he seemed so terribly unhappy I felt that I should. But…

He had no use for me from then on. From then on, I was just dirt to him. He wouldn't let me explain or try to straighten things out. I was just dirt, and he was going to keep it that way.

I tried to excuse him. I told myself that if I'd had a family like his, and the same terrible thing happened to mine that happened to his- though he won't admit it did-why, I might be pretty hard to get along with, too. But, well, you can't keep excusing people forever. If they're simply determined to despise you, you just have to let them. And all you can do about it is to despise them back.

Rags has just done one nice thing for me in all the months I've worked for him. That was when we came here, and he introduced me to Ralph. He didn't mean to be nice, of course. He meant it as a mean joke on me-telling me that Ralph was a very wealthy man and so on. But that was one time Mr. Rags got fooled. Ralph told me the truth about himself that very first night, and I told him the truth about myself. And instead of being mad and disappointed with each other, like Rags thought we would, we fell in love.

Ralph was so cute when he told me about himself. Just like a darling little boy. All the time he was talking I could hardly keep from taking him in my arms and squeezing him. He couldn't make a living any more in this town, it seemed, because everyone was mad at his wife. On the other hand, he'd lived here all his life, and he wouldn't know what to do anywhere else. Not by himself, I mean. And the idea he kind of had in mind in meeting me was- well, he got pretty mixed up at that point. But I understood him, the poor darling. He didn't need to put it into words for me to understand, any more than he's had to put certain other things into words.

While he was hesitating, not knowing quite how to go on, I patted him on the hand and told him to never mind. I said I was awfully glad he seemed to think so much of me because I liked him a lot, too. But maybe if he knew the truth, he'd change his opinion of me.

Well, he didn't try to shut me up like most men would have. You know, just say to forget it and that it didn't matter. He just nodded kind of grave and fatherly-like, and said, "Is that a fact? Well, maybe you better tell me about it, then."

I told him. Everything there was to tell, although I may possibly have forgotten a few little things. When I finally stopped, he waited a minute, and then he told me to go on.

"G-go on?" I said. "But that's all there is."

"But I thought you were supposed to have done something bad," he said. "Something that might change my mind about you."

Well…

My eyes misted over. I could feel my face puckering up like some big old baby's. I sat there, looking and feeling that way and not knowing what to do. And Ralph reached out and pulled my head against his chest.

"You go right ahead, honey," he said. "You just cry all you want to."

Well, I cried and I cried and I cried. It just seemed like I could never stop, and Ralph told me not to try. So I cried and I cried. And everything that was in me that wasn't really me-that didn't really belong there-was kind of washed away. And I felt all clean and nice and peaceful. And I was never as happy in my life.

Ralph…

I know I get pretty silly whenever I start talking about him, but I just can't help it. And I just don't care. Because however much I rave, I still don't do him justice. He's the handsomest thing you ever saw in your life, for one thing. A lot handsomer than most anyone in pictures-and don't think I won't make him try out for pictures when we get away from here! But that's only one thing. Along with it, he's just the nicest, kindest, understandingest-well, everything. He's mature, and yet he's awfully boyish. The most wonderful sweetheart a girl ever had, but kind of fatherly, too.

We saw each other every night after that. We talked about what we were going to do-kind of talking around the subject. Because it looked like there was just about only one thing we could do. And things like that, they're not something you can very well talk about.

Yes, that mean old hen he was married to would give him a divorce, all right. Or he could just leave, like I'd suggested, and to hell with the divorce. She'd let him know that-those things-although she hadn't said so in so many words. The trouble was she wouldn't let him take the money that belonged to him, money he'd worked for and saved dollar by dollar. She wouldn't even let him take half of it. She kept it under the mattress of her bed, and she made it clear to him that anyone who got it would have to kill her first.

Ralph was afraid to sue her. He had a record book of his savings, showing when and how much he put away. But that wouldn't necessarily prove that the money was his, would it? She might have told him to keep the record for her. And, anyway, those lawsuits drag on forever, and the only ones that get anything out of 'em are the lawyers.

At first, I told Ralph to let her keep the money, the old bag! But Ralph didn't want to do that; we'd need it ourselves to get a decent start in life. And after I thought about it a while, I wouldn't have let him if he had wanted to.

It was his money, wasn't it? His and mine. When something belongs to a person, they ought to have it and if someone tries to stop them they ought to have something.

I told Ralph that he ought to speak up to her, instead of just beating around the bush. I said that I'd be glad to talk to her myself, and if that didn't do any good I'd slap some sense into her. But Ralph didn't think that would be a very good idea. And I guess it wasn't.

She'd probably put the money in the bank, and tell the police she'd been threatened. Then, if anything happened, why you know where we'd be.

I was sorry afterwards that I'd said anything like that to Ralph. Because I was perfectly willing to do what I said I would and heck of a lot more. But it might have sounded a little shocking to say so. I mean, even if I wasn't a woman, if I was Ralph, say, and I said something like that to me, why I'd-oh, well, you know what I mean.

It was best to keep things the way they'd been, except for that once. Talking about what had to be done, but not really talking about it. Not actually admitting that we were talking about it.

By doing that, you see, we'd never really know. There'd never be anything to make us uncomfortable about each other. After all, she was a pretty old woman. Her health was bad, and everyone in town hated her guts. And, well, all sorts of things could happen to her, without us having a thing to do with them.

And neither of us would need to know that we had unless…

The weeks raced by. They went by like days, and before we knew it the season was almost over. And we were still talking, and nothing had happened.

Then, that Monday night came.

The dance hall was closed that night. Ralph was working there-not any regular hours, but just until he got through. We weren't seeing each other afterwards, because I had a sore throat.

I don't know how I got it exactly. Maybe from sleeping in a draft. Anyway, it wasn't really bad, and if I'd been anything but a singer I wouldn't have bothered to call a doctor.

I was sitting out on the stoop when he came. He painted my throat, looking kind of nervous and haggard, and then he asked me why I hadn't been in the first time he called.

"I spend thirty minutes finding the right cottage," he said, "and then when I finally locate it…"

"I'm so sorry about that, doctor," I said. "You see, I was taking a shower, and it was some time before I heard you calling and pounding at the cottage next door. I came right out as soon as I did, but-"

"W-what?" he said. "The cottage next…?"

"Uh-huh. It's unoccupied; so many of them are… But I thought you saw me, doctor. I ran out on the stoop and called to you, just as you were driving away, and I thought you called and motioned to me. I supposed you meant you had no more time right then, and you'd have to come back later."

He looked at me blankly for a moment. Then, his eyes flickered in a kind of funny way, and he snapped his fingers.

"Why, of course," he said. "Now, that I see you in the light, I can… You had a robe on, didn't you, and a-uh- did you have a bathing cap?"

"That's right," I said. "A robe and a bathing cap, because I'd just come out of the shower. I suppose I looked quite a bit different than-"

"Not a bit," he said firmly. "Not a particle. I'd have recognized you instantly, if it hadn't been so fixed in my mind that you were in the other cottage. Let's see, now-about what time was that?"

I told him I guessed it was a little after eight. Somewhere along in there. Just about the time it was getting dark.

"You're right," he said. "You're absolutely right, Miss Lee. Let me compliment you on your memory."

"Now, that's real sweet of you, doctor," I said. "But, after all, why shouldn't I remember? I mean, a girl just about couldn't forget anything connected with a distinguished looking gentleman like you."

I smiled at him, looking up from under the lids of my eyes. He beamed and harrumphed his throat, and said I was a very fine young lady.

He repeated that several times while he was repacking his medicine kit. He said he wanted me to take very good care of myself, and any time I needed him, regardless of the hour, I was to let him know.

I thought he was awfully sweet and nice. Kind of distinguished and mature, like Ralph. He asked if he might use my phone, and I said, why certainly, and he called a number.

"Hank?" he said. "Jim… Just wanted to tell you that it's-you know-all right… I remembered where-I mean, I can account positively for the time. There's a young lady who saw me, recognized my car and my voice, and… Who? Well, that one. The one we were discussing. She-What? Why-yes, I suppose that's true. I hadn't thought about it that way, but…"

I'd gone over by the door to be polite; so that it wouldn't look like I was snooping, you know. He turned around and looked at me, kind of frowning as he went on talking.

"Yes. Yes, I see. Naturally, unless I was sure that she- unless there was an observer I could hardly be observed. But… Yes, Hank. That's the way I feel. On the one hand… Absolutely. Had to be. No reason to consider it anything else… Exactly, Hank! And as long as that's the case… Fine, ha, ha, fine. See you, Hank…"

He hung up the receiver. He picked up his medicine kit, gave me a funny little nod, and started out the door. On the stoop he paused for a moment and turned around, facing me.

"Allow me to compliment you again," he said. "You're a very smart young woman, Miss Lee."

"Now, that is sweet," I said. "That's a real compliment… coming from a smart man like you."

I gave him another under-the-eyelids smile. He turned suddenly, and left.

I thought he seemed a little cranky. I wondered if he thought I hadn't really seen him that first time-because actually, I hadn't. I said I had because he'd started off being so cross, and I was afraid he might think I hadn't been at home when he called. But all I'd really seen was his car driving away. Or a car that looked like his.

Oh, well. Probably I was just imagining things. After all, he remembered seeing me perfectly, so why should he think I hadn't seen him?

I put on some make-up and went out on the beach. I sat down with my back to the ocean. After a while, I saw a light come on in Rags McGuire's cottage. I walked down to it, and knocked on the door.

He was sitting on the side of the bed, drinking out of a bottle. He's been drinking a lot lately, but on Mondays he drinks more than usual.

"Well!" he said. "If it isn't little Miss Bosoms, the girl with the tinplated tonsils! How come they let you out, baby, or ain't you been in yet?"

"I don't know what you're talking about and I don't care," I said, "and all I've got to say to you is I'm quitting, you mean hateful, dirty old-old-"

"Bastard, son-of-a-bitch, whoremonger," he said. "Now, you sit right down there, honey, and I'll think up some more for you. I'll do that, an' you tell me where you were around eight o'clock tonight."

"If it's any of your business," I said, "I was in my cottage at eight o'clock and for all the rest of the evening. I had a sore throat, and the doctor saw me about eight and again just a little while ago, if it's any possible concern of yours."

His eyes widened. He broke out laughing suddenly, slapping his knee. "Doc Ashton? Oh, brother! You two-you and Doc Ashton! Will this burn a certain little lawyer I know! Who dreamed it up, baby, you or Doc?"

"I haven't the faintest notion of what you're talking about," I said. "But since you seem to be so curious as to my whereabouts at certain times, perhaps I might inquire about yours."

His laugh went away. He put the bottle on the floor, sat staring into the neck of it as if there was something there besides the whiskey.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know where I was. But I was all alone, Danny. I was all alone."

It seemed awful silent then. The only sound was the waves, lap-lapping, whispering against the sand.

I began to get sort of a funny feeling in my throat. I was just about to say I'd work out the rest of the season-these last two weeks- but he spoke first.

"So you're quitting, huh? Well, that's something. That's at least one break you've given me."

Then he got up and came over to me, and took my face between his hands. "You didn't mean it, Danny, and I didn't mean it. Besides, I don't want you to leave, Danny. Besides, I love you, Danny."

He stooped and kissed me on the forehead.

I said, "Rags… Oh, g-gosh, Rags. I-"

"I couldn't keep you any longer," he said. "I couldn't pay you, understand? But I think you're one of the finest girls I've ever known, and I think you have one of the very finest voices I've ever heard. I wished you'd go on with it; I did wish that. But now… now, I know you mustn't. It would never do. Because the one thing is all you can have, Danny-the music is all you can have, Danny-and if it isn't enough…"

He took his hands away from my face, let them slide down my arms. Then he scowled suddenly, and gave me a shake. "Posture!" he said. "Goddammit, how many times do I have to tell you? You've got two feet, haven't you? You're not an obstetrical case, are you? Well, stand on them then, by God."

I said I was sorry. I stood like he'd told me to, like he'd taught me to.

"All right," he said. "Let's have it. Make it Stardust. Even you can't bitch that one… Well, what are you waiting for?"

"I-I c-can't!" I said. "Oh, R-Rags, I-"

He ran his hands through his hair. "Okay, go on! Get the hell-no, wait a minute. Sit down over there, right there, dammit. I'll let you hear Stardust like it ought to be sung… almost."

I sat down by his desk. He sat down in the other chair, and put in a long-distance call to his wife.

The call went through, and he held the receiver a little away from his ear.

"Hi, Janie," he said. "How's it going? How are the boys…?"

I couldn't understand what she said, because it was just kind of sounds instead of words. A sort of quack-quacking like a duck would make.

"They're asleep, eh? Well, that's fine. Don't bother to wake them up…"

The boys couldn't be waked up. Never, ever.

"Listen, Janie. I've got a kid here I want you to sing for. I-Janie! I said I wanted you to sing, understand?… Well, get with it, then. Give me Stardust, and give it loud. This kid here is pretty tone-deaf…"

She couldn't sing, of course. How can you sing when you don't have a nose and only part of a tongue, and no teeth… and hardly any place to put teeth? But there was a click and a scratch; and her voice came over the wire.

It was pretty wonderful, her singing Stardust. A platter has to be pretty wonderful to sell three million copies. But Rags had started frowning. He squirmed in his chair, and the cigarette in the corner of his mouth began a kind of nervous up-and-down moving.

He held the receiver away from him. He looked at it, frowning, and then he lowered it slowly toward the hook. And the farther down it went, the farther it was away from him, the more his frown faded. And when it was completely down, when the connection was broken, he wasn't frowning any more. He was smiling.

It was a kind of smile I'd never seen before. A dreamy, far-off smile. One of his hands moved slowly back and forth, up and down, and one of his feet tap-tapped silently against the floor.

"Do you hear it, Danny?" he said softly. "Do you hear the music?"

"Yes," I said. "Yes, I hear the music, Rags."

"The music," he said. "The music never goes away, Danny. The music never goes away…"

10:

HENRY CLAY WILLIAMS

I knew from the moment I sat down at the table that morning that I was in for trouble. I knew it before Lily had said a word. Probably most men wouldn't have, even if they had lived in the same house with a sister as long as I have with Lily, but I'm an unusually close observer. I notice little things. No matter how small it is, I'll see it and interpret it. And nine times out of ten my interpretation will be correct. I've trained myself to do it. A man has to, as I see it, if he wants to get ahead. Of course, if he doesn't, if he wants to remain a small-town lawyer all his life instead of becoming the chief legal officer of the sixteenth-largest county in the state, why that's his privilege.

I began to eat, knowing that Lily was going to land on me, and why, and trying to prepare myself for it. Finally, when she still held back, I gave her a little prod.

"I notice you're running low on pepper," I said. "Remind me to bring some home tonight."

"What? Pepper?" she said. "What makes you think I'm running low?"

"Why, I just supposed you were," I said. "You have plenty? There's still plenty in your kitchen shaker?"

She sighed, and pursed her lips together. She sat looking at me silently, her glasses twinkling and flashing in the morning sunlight.

"I just wondered," I said. "I noticed that you only peppered one of my eggs when you cooked them, so…

"Is there a pepper-shaker in front of you?" she said. "Well, is there or isn't there, or hadn't you noticed?"

She sounded unusually irritable for some reason. I said, why, of course, I'd noticed the shaker, and it didn't matter at all about the eggs.

"I was simply curious about them," I said. "You always pepper them, each one the same amount, so naturally I wondered why you hadn't-"

"I see," she said. "Yes, I can see how you might get pretty excited about it. It would be a pretty big thing to a big man like you."

"Now, I didn't say I was excited," I said. "I said nothing of the kind, Lily. If my memory serves me correctly-and I think you'll agree that it usually does-the words I used were 'curious' and 'wonder."

I nodded to her, and put a bite of egg in my mouth. Her lips tightened, then she spoke shaky-voiced. "So you were curious, were you? You were wondering? You were curious and wondering about why I hadn't peppered an egg! Well, I'll tell you something I'm curious and wondering about, and that's what you intend to do when you are no longer the chief legal officer of the sixteenth largest county in the state. For after the elections this fall, Mr. Henry Clay Williams, you're going to be out of a job!"

She deliberately timed that last with the moment when I was taking a swallow of coffee to wash the egg down. I coughed and choked, feeling my face turn red. The egg tried to go one way and the coffee another, and for a long moment I was certain I'd strangle.

"Now, goddammit," I said, when I was able to speak. "Why-what the hell-"

"Henry! Henry! Don't you use that language in this house!" Lily said. "But-it's-it's crazy! Outrageous! Why, I've always been-I mean I've been county attorney since-" "Very well," she said. "Very well, Henry. But don't forget that I warned you." She got up and started to clear off the table. I hadn't finished breakfast yet-although I certainly didn't feel like eating any more-but she went right ahead, regardless.

The bulge under her apron seemed larger today. I glanced quickly away from it, as her eyes shifted toward me. It was very annoying, that tumor. Having to live with it constantly, and yet never daring to look at it, let alone to discuss it. Perhaps it wouldn't have been for most men, but when you have trained yourself as I have-when you are used to observing and…

I observed that her glasses had an unusually high sparkle this morning. Obviously, then-I was immediately aware-there must be some dust on them. She couldn't keep her glasses clean, and yet she was trying to pass herself off as a prophet!

I was about to make some pointed reference to these facts. But she left for the kitchen at that moment with a load of dishes, and when she returned I decided it wasn't wise. After all, you don't cure a trouble by adding to it. That's always been my policy, at least, and it's worked out very well. If-

Out of a job! Lose the election!

She was seated at the table again. She looked at me, nodded slowly, as if I had spoken out loud.

"Yes, Henry. Yes. And if you had any brains at all, you wouldn't need me to tell you so."

"Now, see here, Lily," I said. "I-"

"Any brains at all, Henry. Or if you were even capable of listening. Hearing anything besides the sound of your own voice or your own thoughts, anything that might deflate the largest ego in the sixteenth largest county in the state. You're a fool, Henry. You're a-"

"I am, am I?" I said. "Well, I guess I know how to keep my glasses clean, anyway!"

The glasses flickered and flashed. Her eyes squeezed shut behind them for a moment. Then, she opened them again, keeping them narrowed; and her nostrils twitched and flared. And I knew the explosion was coming.

"Listen to me, Henry. What I'm saying is not for myself. I don't expect you to have any consideration for me, your own sister who has practically given up her life for you, taken care of you since you were wet behind the ears. I don't expect you to care if I'm so slandered and gossiped about that I'm almost ashamed to go out in public. I'm only concerned about you, as I've always been, and that's why I'm saying you are going to lose the election unless you get up a little spunk, and act like a man for a change instead of a fat, blind, stupid, egotistical jellyfish!"

She paused, breathing heavily, her bosom heaving up and down. I was going to say something back to her, but I decided it wasn't worthwhile. I couldn't lose the election. I-why, I just couldn't. And when a person can't do something…

"Yes," she said. "Yes, you can, Henry. You know I'm right. You know you don't have good sense. You-shut up when I'm speaking to you, Henry! Henry!"

"I'm not saying anything," I said. "All I was going to say was-"

"Nothing that would make any sense, that's what you were going to say. You were going to say that no one in this town pays any attention to Luane Devore, but they do, all right. Perhaps they don't believe what she says, but they remember it-and they wonder about it- and when a man is a spineless incompetent to begin with, it doesn't take a deal of wondering to dump him out of his sinecure. At any rate, you seem to have forgotten that it takes more than the town vote to elect you. You have to have the farm people, and they don't know that when Luane Devore says you- we-that she's lying!"

"Well, they will," I said. "After all, you've had that tumor quite a while now, and when you don't have a-I mean, when nothing happens, why-"

I swallowed back the words. I looked down at my plate, tried to keep my eyes there, but something seemed to pull them back up.

She stared at me, silently. She sat there, staring and waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting and waiting.

I threw my napkin on the table, and jumped up.

I marched to the telephone, and asked for the Devore residence. There was a lot of clicking and clattering; then the operator said that the Devore line was out of order.

"Out of order, eh?" I said. "Well-"

Lily took the phone out of my hands. She said, "Did you say the Devore line was out of order, operator? Thank you, very much."

She hung up and put the phone back on its stand. It seemed to me that she owed me an apology for doubting my word, but naturally I didn't get one. Instead she asked me what I was going to do about the line being out of order.

"Why, I'm going to fix it, of course!" I said. "I'm a telephone repair man, ain't I?"

"Please-" She put her fingers to her forehead. "Please spare me your attempts at humor, Henry."

"Well, I'll wait until it's in order. Naturally," I said. "I'll call her later on from the office."

"But suppose it isn't repaired today?" She shook her head. "I think it would be best to go and see her, Henry. Lay down the law to her in person. Tell her that if she doesn't stop her lies, and if she doesn't issue a public retraction immediately, you'll have her indicted for criminal slander."

"But-but, look," I said. "I can't do that. I mean, going out and jumping all over a sick old woman, and-and it wouldn't look right! No matter what she's done, why she's a woman, a sick old woman, and I'm a man-"

"Are you?" Lily said. "Then, why don't you act like one?"

"Anyway, it's-it's probably illegal," I said. "Might get into a lot of trouble. I'm a public official. If I use my public office in a personal matter, why-All right!" I said. "Go ahead and shake your head! You're doggone good at telling someone else what to do, but when it comes to doing it yourself that's something else again, ain't it?"

"Very well, Henry." She turned away from me. "Could I impose on you to the extent of driving me out there?"

"Why, certainly," I said. "I'm always gl-what?"

"I'll see her myself. I'll guarantee that by the time I'm through, she'll have told her last lie. And if you don't want to drive me out, I'll walk. I'll-"

Suddenly, she was crying, weeping wildly. Suddenly, all the coldness and calmness were gone, and she was a different woman.

It was like that time years ago, when we were kids out on the farm. She'd taken me down in the meadow that day to search out some hens' nests. We came to one, half-filled with eggs, and just as she reached for it, a rattlesnake reared up on the opposite side. And what happened then- my God!

She busted out bawling, but it wasn't the usual kind. Not the way people cry when they're frightened or hurt or something like that. It was, well, wild-crazy. More like real mean cussing than bawling. It scared hell out of me, a six-year-old kid, and I guess it did the same to the snake, because he tried to whip away. But she wouldn't let him. She grabbed up that deadly rattler in her bare hands, and yanked him in two! Then she threw the pieces down, and began to jump on them. Bawling in that wild, crazy way. And she didn't stop until there wasn't enough left of that snake to make a grease spot.

I've never forgotten how she acted that day. I don't think I ever will. If I'd had any idea that my harmless little remark at breakfast would have started anything like this…

"I'll take care of her! I'll fix that filthy slut! I'll t-teach her how t-to-"

"Lily!" I said. "Listen to me, Lily! I'm going to-"

"You! You don't c-care! You don't know what it means to a woman t-to-I'LL CLAW HER EYES OUT! I'LL PULL HER FILTHY TONGUE OUT OF HER THROAT! I'LL-LET GO OF ME! Y-YOU LET-"

I didn't let go. I held on tight, shaking her as hard as I could. And I didn't like doing it, you know, but I was more afraid not to.

As soon as she was quieted enough to listen, I began to talk. To tell her and keep telling her that I'd see Luane Devore myself. That I definitely and positively promised I would. I kept repeating it until it finally sank in on her, and she snapped out of her fit.

"All r-right, Henry." She shuddered and blew her nose. "I certainly hope I can depend on you. If I thought for a moment that-"

"I told you I would," I said. "I'll do it this evening. Right after I close the office."

"After? But why can't you-?"

"Because," I said, "it's a personal matter; you can't get around that. Even seeing her after office hours could put me in a pretty awkward position if someone chose to make anything out of it. But I certainly can't do it on the county's time."

She hesitated, studying me. At last, she sighed and turned away again.

"All right," she said. "But if you don't really intend to, I wish you'd say so. In fact, the more I think about it, the less I care whether you do talk to her. I'm perfectly willing to do it myself-I'd like doing it-"

"I said I'd do it," I said. "Immediately after five tonight. Now, it's all settled, so forget it."

I left before she could say anything more. I drove down to the courthouse, and went up to my office.

It was a pretty busy morning, all in all. I had a long talk with Judge Shively about the coming election. Then, Sheriff Jameson dropped in with a legal matter, and I had another long conference with him. As you may or may not know, a sheriff gets part of his income from feeding prisoners. This county pays Jameson fifty cents per meal fed, and what he wanted to know was, could he feed them one double meal a day instead of two, and still collect a dollar.

Well, it was a pretty fine legal point, you know. Something you might say was this way or that, and you could make a case out either way. I finally decided, however, that there might be just a leetle danger in the double-meal proposition. But I pointed out that the word meal could mean just about whatever he wanted to. A bowl of beans could be a meal or a plate of fried potatoes, or even a hunk of bread.

It was eleven o'clock before I got Jameson straightened out. I was hoping I'd have time to take a deep breath- maybe get out and see a few voters-but it just wasn't in the cards. Because now that I'd gotten all those other things cleared up, why Nellie Otis, my secretary, needed me.

Oh, I didn't really mind. Nellie is an attractive young woman, as well as an excellent secretary and there are twelve votes in the Otis family-and she's always so appreciative of everything I do for her.

She stood by watching, all the time I was untangling the ribbon on her typewriter. She said she just didn't know how I did it; she'd tried and tried herself, and she'd just made it worse. I said there was nothing to it, really. It was just a matter of going straight to the source of the trouble, like it would be in any other problem.

I passed it off lightly that way, but it was a pretty bad snarl. Just about the worst I'd ever untangled for her, and that's really saying something. By the time I'd finished with it, and gotten washed up, it was five minutes after twelve. The whole morning was gone, and I was already into my lunch hour.

I was turning away from the washroom sink when I happened to glance out the window. And I just stood there for a moment, staring, wondering well, what the hell next.

Now, there, I thought, that's really something. Kossmeyer and Goofy Gannder! One great man talking to another great man. Yes, sir, I thought, water really finds its level.

Mind you, I have nothing against Kossmeyer. I've never said a word against him to anyone. But I do feel-yes, and I'm justified-that if he's what's supposed to be smart, why I don't want to be.

The way I look at it, if he's so damned smart, why isn't he rich? Where's the proof that he's smart? Why, half the time he don't even use good English!

I had him figured right from the beginning. He's one of those jury jaybirds, one of those howlers and pleaders. All the law he knows you could put in your right eye. And he's just been lucky, so far. If he ever came up against a man who dealt in facts and details, I guess you know how long he would last.

I went to lunch.

The afternoon was even busier than the morning.

The way the work was piling up, it began to look like I might be so tied up I couldn't get out to see Luane Devore tonight. But, then, I thought about the way Sis had acted, and I decided I'd better, work or no work.

I was on my way out of the courthouse when Sheriff J ameson called to me and asked me to step into his office. He'd confiscated a batch of evidence, and he wanted my opinion of it before he went into court on it. I tested it. I told him I wouldn't hesitate to go before the Supreme Court with evidence like that. So he laughed, and gave me a bottle to take with me.

It was a little after five when I got in my car and headed out of town. Just before I got to the Devore place, I took a right fork in the road and drove up toward the hills. The land up there isn't much good any more. Either worn out, or eroded and gullied of its topsoil. All the farms have been abandoned, including the one where I was born and raised.

I turned into the lane that led up to our house. I stopped in the yard, all grown up to weeds now, and looked around. One side of the barn-loft was caved in. All the windows of the house were broken, and the kitchen door creaked back and forth on one hinge. And the chimneys had toppled, scattering brick across the rotting and broken shingles of the roof.

It was kind of sad. Somehow it made me think of that poem, The Deserted Village, I used to give at Friday afternoon school recitals. It was sad-but it was nice. Because everything had gone to hell now, but in my mind it hadn't. In my mind, nothing had changed; everything was as it used to be. And the way it used to be… nothing was ever nicer or finer than that.

No worries. No one fussing at you. Always knowing just what to do and what not to do, and knowing that it would be all right if you made a mistake. Not like it is now, when you mean well but you ain't real sure of yourself, and there's no one to come straight out and set you straight.

Not like it is now, when people can't understand that you're truly sorry about something-and being sorry is about all you can do-and they wouldn't give a damn if they did understand.

I took a big drink of the whiskey. I guessed I ought to be seeing Luane Devore, but it was so nice and peaceful here, and I had all evening to do it. So I got out, and went up the back walk to the kitchen.

The big old range was still there. Lily had said what was the sense of moving an old wood-burner into town, for pity sake. So we'd left it behind, and consequently, fine stove that it was, it was rusting into junk. It looked like junk. But in my mind I could see it like it had been. Like I'd used to keep it when I was a kid, and Mama and Papa were still alive.

That was my job, keeping the stove blacked and polished. I did it every Saturday morning, as soon as it was cooled off from breakfast, and no one was allowed in the kitchen while I was doing it. First, I'd take a wire brush and dry-scrub it all over. Then, I'd get busy with the blacking rags and polish. I'd rub it in good, get it wiped so clean you couldn't raise a smudge on your finger. After that, I'd take a little kindling splinter and tip it with the blacking, and get down in all the little cracks and curlycues.

We didn't do any farm work on Saturdays, except for just the milking and feeding, of course. So when I was through, I'd roll back the doors to the living room, and Mama and Papa and Lily would come in.

Mama would take a look, and kind of throw up her hands. She'd say, why, I just can't believe my eyes; if I didn't know better I'd think it was a new stove! And Papa would shake his head and say, I couldn't fool him, it was a new stove. I'd gone out and snuck one in from somewhere, and no one could tell him different. So, well, I'd have to take and show him that it was really just the same old stove, and…

Lily hardly ever said anything.

I used to wonder about it, wanting to ask her why but somehow kind of shy about doing it. And one time when I'd saved up a lot of nickels-I got a nickel every time I polished the stove-I took them all and bought her a big red hair-ribbon. I brought it home from town inside my blouse, not telling anyone about it. That night, when she was out in the kitchen alone doing dishes, I gave it to her. She looked at it, and then she looked at me smiling at her. Then she doused it down in the dishwater, and threw it into the slop pail. I watched it sink down under the scummy surface, and I didn't know quite what to do. What to say. I didn't feel much like smiling any more, but I was kind of afraid to stop. I was kind of, well, just afraid. Mama and Papa always said if you were nice to others, why they would be nice to you. But I'd done the nicest thing I knew how, I thought. So all I could think of was that Mama and Papa must be wrong, or maybe I didn't know what was nice and what wasn't. What was bad and what was good. And for a minute I felt all scared and bewildered and lost. Well, though, Lily grabbed me up in her arms suddenly, and hugged me and kissed me. She said she'd just been joking, and she was just mixed-up and absent-minded and not thinking what she was doing. So… everything turned out all right.

I never said anything to Mama or Papa about it. I even lied to Mama and said I'd lost all my nickels when she asked me what had happened to them. That was about the only time I can ever remember her scolding me, or Papa saying anything real sharp to me-because she felt he had to be told about it. But I still didn't tell about the ribbon. I knew they'd be terribly upset and sad if they knew what Lily had done, and I'd've cut off my tongue before I told them. It's funny how-

Dammit, it's not funny! There's nothing funny about it. And why the hell does it have to be that way?

Why is it when you feel so much one way, you have to act just the opposite? So much the opposite?

Why can't people leave you alone, why can't you leave them alone, why can't you just all live together and be the way you are? Knowing that it's all right with the others however you are, because however they are is all right with you.

I wandered through the house, drinking and thinking. Feeling happy and sad. I went up the stairs, and into my little room under the eaves. Dusk was coming on, filling the room with shadows. I could see things like they had been, almost without closing my eyes. It all came back to me…

The checked calico curtains at the windows. The circular rag rug. The bookcase made out of a fruitbox. The high, quilted bed. The picture above it-a picture of a boy and his mother, titled His Best Girl. The little rocking chair…

The chair was still there. Lily hadn't mentioned moving it, and I kind of didn't like to. I hesitated, and then I tried to sit down in it.

I was a lot too big for it, of course, because San- because Mama and Papa had given it to me the Christmas I was seven. I kept squeezing and pushing, though, and finally the arms cracked and split off, and I went down on the seat. That was pretty small for me too, but I could sit on it all right. I could even rock a little if I was careful. So I sat there, rocking back and forth, my knees almost touching my chin. And for a while I was back to the days that had been, and I was what I had been in those days.

Then some rats scurried across the attic, and I started and sighed and stood up. I stood staring blankly out the window, wondering what the hell I'd better do.

Dammit all, what was I going to say to Luane? She'd just start screaming and crying the minute I opened my mouth, and I'd wind up making a fool of myself like Lily says I always do. It wouldn't do any good to ask her for a retraction, because I wouldn't be able to make myself heard in the first place and in the second place she'd know there wasn't a damned thing 1 could do. She'd know I wouldn't take her into court. Trials cost money, and voters don't want money spent unless it has to be. And they sure wouldn't see it as having to be in this case. They might be sore at her. They might want her to catch it in the neck. But using county money to do it just wouldn't go down with them. Besides that-besides, dammit, I couldn't bring her to trial. I didn't dare do it.

She was Kossmeyer's client. He'd fight for her to the last ditch, regardless of what he thought of her personally. He'd fight-one of the best trial lawyers in the country would be fighting me-he'd put me on the witness stand and mimic me and get everyone to laughing, and shoot questions faster than I could think. And-

I took a drink. I took a couple more right behind it. My shoulders sort of braced up, and I thought, well who the hell is Kossmeyer, anyway? He ain't so goddamned much.

I took another drink, and another one. I let out a belch.

He-Kossmeyer-he didn't really know anything. He was just a fast talker. More of an actor, a clown, than he was a lawyer. No good outside of a courtroom where he couldn't pull any of his tricks.

Outside of a courtroom, where he had to deal strictly in facts, he'd be no good at all. I could make a fool out of him-with the right kind of facts. It would be all over the county, all over the state, how Hank Williams had shown Kossmeyer what was what.

Maybe…

Oh, hell. I just couldn't talk to Luane. She wouldn't listen to me, and-damn her, she ought to be made to! To listen or else. And what, by God, could she do about it if she was? What could Kossmeyer do about it? You'd have your facts all ready, you know. So you'd just smile very sweetly, and say, why there must be some mistake. The poor woman must have gone completely out of her mind. Why, I've been right here at home with my sister all evening. And Lily would swear that I had been, and-

God Almighty! What was I thinking about? I couldn't do anything like-like that! I wouldn't any more think of-of-hurting anyone than I would of flying. So…

But they kept hurting me, didn't they? They wouldn't leave me alone, would they?

And if I didn't do something, what would I tell Lily?

Could I get away with lying to her again? If I could- give her a real good story and make it sound convincing- why, that would give me some time, and maybe I could think of something to do. Or maybe I wouldn't have to do anything at all. You know how it is. Lots of times if you can put something off long enough, it just kind of takes care of itself.

But I sure hated to try lying to Lily. Remembering the way she acted this morning, it almost made me shiver to think about lying to her.

And why should I have to, anyway? Why not do the other as long as it was perfectly safe?

God, I didn't know what to do! I knew what I ought and wanted to do, but actually doing it was something else.

I looked at the whiskey bottle. It was only a third full. I lifted it to my mouth, and started gulping. I took three long gulps, stopped a second for breath, and took three more gulps. I coughed, swayed a little on my feet, and let the bottle drop from my fingers.

It was empty. My eyelids fluttered and popped open, and I shuddered all over. Then, my shoulders reared way back, and I seemed to have a ramrod where my spine had been.

I gave the bottle a hard kick. I laughed and made a pass in the air with my fist.

I went down the stairs, and drove away.

It was about a quarter of nine when I got home. Lily met me in the hall-all ready, it looked like, to open up on me, so I opened up first.

"Now, just one minute, please!" I said. "You listen for a change, and then if you've got any questions you can ask 'em. Now, you'll recall that-"

"H-Henry. Henry!" she said. "I-I'm-"

"You'll recall-" I raised my voice. "You'll recall that I was against seeing Luane. I told you it was highly inadvisable, occupying the position that I do, but you insisted. So-"

"H-Henry…" she said shakily. "You-you did see her?"

"Naturally. Where do you think I've been all evening?" I said. "Now, it didn't turn out at all well-much worse even than I expected. So whatever you do, don't let on to anyone that I-What's the matter with you?"

She took a step back from me. Her hand fluttered to her mouth.

"Y-you've been drinking," she said. "You d-don't- didn't know what you were-"

"I've had a drink," I said. "Just a swallow or two, and I don't want to hear anything about it. I-"

"Shut up!" Her voice cracked out suddenly like a whip. "Listen to me, Henry! The sheriff called here a few minutes ago. I was positive you were up to something foolish, staying away like this, so I didn't tell him you weren't here. I said you were taking a bath, and you'd have to call him back. Now-"

"B-but why?" My stomach was sinking; it was oozing right down into my shoes. "W-what d-does-"

"You know why, what! Going out there so drunk you- you- You killed her, understand! Luane's dead!"

Doctor Jim Ashton arrived at the Devore place right behind me, and we went in the house together. Jim looked pretty drawn, sickish. Surprisingly-or maybe it wasn't surprising-I'd never felt better or more self-confident in my life. I'd been kind of set back on my heels for a second, but I snapped right out of it. The fogginess washed out of my mind, taking all of the old foggy unsureness with it. I had a keyed-up, coiled-tight feeling, and yet I was perfectly at ease.

Sheriff Jameson and a couple of his deputies were inside. I talked to Jameson, and then I went into the living room and talked to Ralph Devore. He appeared a little stunned, but not greatly upset. He answered all my questions promptly and lucidly. And-I should add- most satisfactorily. I clapped him on the back, offered him my condolences and told him not to worry about a thing. Then, I went back out into the hall.

Luane Devore lay at the foot of the stairs in her nightgown. Although she was sprawled on her stomach, her legs back up on the steps, her head was twisted completely around so that her face was turned upward. Her lips were bruised and swollen, smeared with drying blood. There were several other bad bruises on her face and, of course, her neck was broken.

Jim finished his examination, and we stepped into the dining room to confer. I told him about Ralph, why Ralph had to be completely above any suspicion. He was pretty startled, naturally-I had been myself when I saw the proof of Ralph's innocence. But, then, he shrugged and nodded.

"I'd call it an accident myself," he said. "That's a long fall from the top of those stairs. A fall like that could easily have bruised her up much more than she is. Of course, when someone has lived in hot water all her life, you hardly expect her to die of chilblains, but…"

I laughed. I said it was odd that an accident should get her when so many people had motives for doing so. But there it was, wasn't it? He said it was an accident. I said it was. So did the sheriff. That made it an accident, and anyone would have a hell of a time proving that it wasn't.

I laughed again. He gave me an odd, searching look. I hesitated-my laugh had sounded pretty loud, I guess- and then I asked him what was on his mind.

"Well-uh-nothing." He frowned uncomfortably. "You were… the sheriff reached you at home tonight?"

"Why, yes," I said. "What of it?"

"Nothing. Lily was there with you, I suppose? Well-" He shook his head. "That's good. I'm glad to hear it. And Bobbie's out with the Pavlov girl-and I'm glad of that, for once. But…"

"Oh," I said slowly, as if I was just beginning to see what he meant. "Look, Jim. Don't take this the wrong way, but where were you- "

"Quiet!" he said sharply. "I don't want to talk about it here."

"But, look," I said. "The time of death can't be fixed absolutely. So whether you-"

"I said I didn't want to talk about it here!" he snapped. "Can you meet me down in front of the courthouse in about fifteen minutes?"

"Why, sure," I said. "Even sooner. But-"

"Good! Do it, then."

He left. I went back out into the hall.

The nearest undertaking service was thirty miles away, so it would be some time before Luane's body could be removed. Sheriff Jameson agreed to stick around until the job was over; also to see that Ralph was taken care of comfortably for the night. He had one of his deputies put a couple of things of Ralph's into my car-things I was taking custody of temporarily-and then I left for town.

Jim Ashton was parked in front of the courthouse. He got out of his car as I drove up, started talking while I was still climbing out of mine.

"You asked me a question about fixing the time of death, Hank. Here's the answer. When a fatality is discovered as quickly as this one was, you can come damned close to fixing the time it occurred. Oh, you can't pin it down to a matter of minutes and seconds, but you can place it within a very narrow period. And, Hank, I can't account for my time during that period in this case!"

"But it was an accident," I said. "Anyway, you're not the only one who-"

"Who else is there? My son is in the clear. You and Lily are. Ralph is. There's that girl he's been chasing around with, of course, but if he's out of the picture she just about has to be, too. Anyway, she's in a lot better spot than I am. And, damn her, it's her fault that I'm-but, let it go. The time of Luane's death can be placed within a certain period, and everyone but me can-"

"Just a minute." I put a hand on his arm. "Calm down, Jim. You were the one who examined Luane. What's to stop you from saying she died during a period that you can account for?"

He looked at me blankly. Jim's supposed to be a very intelligent man-and I'm sure he is-but he certainly couldn't keep up with me tonight. No one could have.

"Oh," he said, at last. "Why, yes, I guess I could, couldn't I?"

"Why not?" I winked and nudged him. "What's to stop you?"

A relieved smile spread over his face. Then he glanced over my shoulder, and the smile went away.

"There," he nodded grimly, and I turned around and looked. "That's what's to stop me!"

I'd expected Kossmeyer to be tipped off, and I knew he'd move fast as soon as he was. But I hadn't thought he would move this fast. And I hadn't planned on his doing what he had done-or, rather, what he was preparing to do.

His convertible was just about in the middle of the block, opposite us. Just passing under a streetlight. We could see him plain as day, and the man he had with him. The doctor who sometimes came here from out of town.

They passed on by, took the road that led toward the Devore place. Jim sighed and said, well, that was that, he guessed.

I told him I was sure everything would work out all right, but it didn't seem to help much. He drove away, still looking mighty sickish, and I took the stuff out of my car and carried it up to my office.

I was feeling a mite let-down myself. Kind of, you know, like someone had given me a little punch in the stomach. And it wasn't because I was worried about Jim. Jim hadn't killed Luane, I was positive of it. So unless he confessed- and I doubted if even Kossmeyer could break Jim Ashton down-he couldn't be convicted. He could be put to plenty of grief, of course; so much that he might just about as well be guilty as innocent. But-

Dammit, he almost deserved to be. If he hadn't been so careless or unlucky or dumb or something, I'd have had Kossmeyer against a stone wall. I could have put that little louse in his place, and made him like it.

I cussed, and took a kick at my wastebasket. I got busy on the telephone, trying to make the best of the situation. About thirty minutes passed. I'd just hung up after a call when the phone rang.

It was Jim. He had an alibi for the time of Luane's death, after all. Not only that, but the Lee girl also had one! They were each other's alibi!

I almost let out a war whoop when he told me the news. I think I would have if I hadn't glanced out the window and seen Kossmeyer coming up the walk.

I hung up the phone, thinking by God that this made everything perfect-hell, better than perfect!

I listened, grinning, as Kossmeyer came up the steps and down the hall. As he neared the door, I wiped off my grin and stood up.

I was very polite to him. Oh, extremely. I said it was a great honor to have such a distinguished visitor, and that I would feel privileged to assist him in any poor way that I could.

He looked a little startled, then embarrassed. Then, as he sat down across from me, he laughed sort of shyly. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just supposed that since we knew each other so well, and since it's pretty common practice to call in an outside doctor-"

"I'm delighted that you did," I said. "Nothing could have pleased me more. Now, as long as you're taking such an extraordinary interest in the case-"

"Extraordinary? It's extraordinary to be interested in the death of a client?"

"If you please," I said. "Perhaps if you will not interrupt we can conclude our business quickly. Now, I have here a canvas sack containing approximately fifty-seven thousand dollars. It belongs to Ralph Devore, and here is conclusive proof in the form of a ledger. I think you'll agree with me that-"

"Sure, I will," he nodded. "I'd sure as hell agree anyway that the guy could never be convicted. Luane couldn't have kept him from leaving her. He had no monetary motive for killing her. He was on the scene right about the time of her death, but-Yeah, counselor? Go right ahead."

Go right ahead? Hell, there was hardly anything to go ahead with! I'd been all set to surprise him; I'd had it all planned. Just how he'd look and what he'd say, and what I'd say and-and everything. And then that damned stupid Jameson or one of his deputies had had to spoil it all.

"Well," I said, "as long as you've already been told…"

"Ought to have known without being told." He shook his head. "Ought to have been able to guess how things stood. On the other hand, who'd've ever thought that a guy like Devore would have that kind of dough? Or any considerable sum?"

"What's the difference?" I said. "It was his money. He certainly wouldn't have had to kill her to get his own money, would he?"

"You're quite right," he said gravely. "He would not have had to. I have no grounds for thinking that he did kill her-or, for that matter, that anyone did."

"You-" I paused. "You don't think that anyone did? You mean, you think it was an accident?"

"Well," he shrugged, "why not? There's that broken telephone line, of course, but you can't make anything out of that. Yeah, I'd be willing to let it go as an accident."

He looked at me, frowning a little. I looked down at my desk, feeling my face turn red, hardly knowing what to do or say next. He'd spoiled everything. Everything I'd planned to say, why-why, now I couldn't. All I could do was just sit there, like a bump on a log. Looking like a damned fool, and knowing that he thought I was one.

He cleared his throat. He murmured something about not envying me my job, and a prosecutor's really having a hard row to hoe.

"Used to be on that side of the desk myself, y'know," he added. "Guess a lot of trial lawyers start off as prosecutors. Gives 'em all around experience, and the longer they stick to it the better they get. You know what I always say, Mr. County Attorney? I say, you show me an experienced prosecutor, and I'll show you a topflight lawyer!"

I didn't say anything. I couldn't even make myself look up at him. He cleared his throat again.

"I'm afraid I've interrupted you so much that I've broken your chain of thought. Were you going to-uh-May I see that list?"

I shoved it toward him, the list of people who had a good reason for wanting Luane dead and who they had been with at the time of her death. He went down the double-column of names, murmuring aloud, kind of talking to himself but also speaking to me:

"Bobbie Ashton and Myra Pavlov… Lily and Henry C. Will-Oh, now, really. I hope you don't think that was necessary on my account… Doctor Ashton and Danny Lee. Hmm, hmm. Well, what the hell, though?"

He laid the list back on my desk. He murmured that I had certainly done a first-rate job of investigation; then, after a long awkward pause, he suddenly laughed.

My head came up. It was such a warm-sounding, friendly laugh that it was hard for me to keep from joining in.

"Y'know, Mr. County Attorney," he chuckled, "sometimes I feel like one of those characters in a Western movie. The guy that gets such an exaggerated reputation for toughness that he can't hardly tip his hat without someone thinking he's going for a gun. Sure, I try to take care of my clients, and maybe I'm overly conscientious about it. But I certainly don't go hunting for trouble. I don't like trouble, y'know? There's too damned much of it already without creating any."

He laughed again, giving me a sidewise glance, trying to draw me into his laughter. I looked back at him coldly- letting him squirm for a change, letting him feel as foolish as I had.

"Well-" He stood up awkwardly. "I guess-uh-I guess I'd better be going. See you around, huh? And my compliments on your thoroughness in handling this investigation."

He nodded, and started for the door. I let him get halfway there before I spoke.

"Just a moment, Mr. Kossmeyer…"

"Yeah?" He turned around.

"Come back here," I said. "I haven't told you you could leave yet."

"Wh-aat?" He laughed, kind of frowning. "What the hell is this?"

I stared at him silently. He came slowly back and again sat down across from me.

"You complimented me on my thoroughness," I said. "It suddenly occurred to me that I haven't been thorough enough. Where were you at the time of Luane Devore's death?"

"Where was-? Aw, now-"

"Luane said a great many ugly things about you. Whether they were true or not I don't know, but-"

"Then maybe we'd better stick to your question," he said quietly. "I was with my wife at the time."

"Oh? Your wife, eh?" I shook my head, kind of grinning down my nose. "Just your wife? You have no one else to support your story?"

"No one. There's only the one person. I'm in the same boat with those other people on your list-with you, for example."

"Well," I shrugged. "I suppose I'll have to accept that, then. I can't say that I'm completely satisfied, but-uh-"

His face had gone white. The pale had pushed up, spread over the summer's tan; and all his color seemed concentrated in his burning black eyes.

"Why ain't you satisfied?" he said. "What's there about me or my wife that makes our word less reliable than that of these other people?"

His voice was kind of a low, quivering purr. A kind of wound-up, coiled-tight undertone. He spoke again, repeating his question, and the quiver became stronger. The tenseness, the coiling seemed to extend to his body.

I began to get a little nervous, but I couldn't stop now. Not the way he was looking at me, the way he sounded: the way, in so many words, he was threatening me. If he'd just laughed again or even smiled a little; given me an opening to say, oh, hell, of course I was just joking…

"You've been kicking me in the teeth all evening," he said, "and I took it. But I ain't taking that last. When you tell me that my wife's word is no good-that she and I ain't as decent and upright as other people-then you throw the door wide open. You got a hell of a lot more tellin' to do then, buster, and by God you'd better not clown around when you do it. Because if you do-"

"Now, w-wait a minute," I said. "I-I-"

"What are you trying to cover up, Williams? Why did you go to such lengths to prove that this was an accident? You felt you had to, right? You had a guilty conscience, right? You knew-you sit there now, knowing that it was not an accident but murder. And knowing full well who the murderer is. That's right, isn't it, Williams? Answer me! You know who killed Luane Devore, and by God, I think I do, too! You've as good as admitted it. You've put the finger right on yourself! You've-"

"N-no! NO!" I said. "I w-was with my sister! I-"

"Suppose I told you I'd talked with your sister? Suppose I told you she's admitted that you weren't with her? Suppose I told you I've only been playing with you all evening-getting you out on a limb with this one-person alibi deal? Suppose…"

His voice had uncoiled; he had uncoiled. He was in front of me, leaning toward me, pounding on the desk. He was there, but he was also behind me, to the side of me, above me. He seemed to surround me like his voice, closing in, shutting out everything else. Chasing me further and further into a black, bewildering labyrinth where only he and the voice could follow. I couldn't think. I-I-

I thought, Isn't it funny? How, when you feel so much one way, you act just the opposite?

I thought, She never said nothin'. Mama and Papa said I did real good… and she hated it. She hated me. All her life she's-

"She did it!" It was me, screaming. "S-she said she was going to! S-she-she-she says I wasn't to home, why she wasn't either! S-she- -she-"

"Then she can't alibi for you, can she? You can't prove you were at home. And you weren't, were you, Williams? You were at the Devore house, weren't you, Williams? You were killing Luane, weren't you, Williams? Killing her and then faking-"

"N-N-NO! NO! Don't you s-see? I couldn't I-I couldn't hurt no one! H-honest, Mr. Kossmeyer! I-I ain't that way. I k-know it 1- looks like-like-but that ain't me! I couldn't do it. I didn't, d-didn't, didn't, didn't..

He was making little motions with his hands, motioning for me to stop. The whiteness was gone from his face, giving way to a deep flush. He looked ashamed and embarrassed, and kind of sick.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't really think you killed Luane. I just got sore, and-"

"He didn't kill her," said a voice from the doorway. "I did."

11:

MYRA PAVLOV

Papa just about scared me to death when he came home for lunch. He didn't act much different or say anything much more out of the way than he usually does-I guess he really didn't actually. But I kept feeling like he knew about Bobbie and me, and that that was why he was acting and talking the way he was. And finally I just got so nervous and scared that I jumped up from the table, and ran up to my room.

Afterwards, sitting up on the edge of my bed, I was scared even more. I thought, Oh, golly, now I have done it. Now, he will know there's something wrong, if he doesn't already. I shivered and shook. I began to get sick to my stomach; kind of a morning sickness like I've had a lot lately. But I didn't dare go to the bathroom. He might hear me, and come upstairs. He might start asking Mama questions, and that would be just as bad, because she's even scareder of him than I am.

It's funny how we feel about him; I mean, the way we're always so scared of him. Because there's actually no real reason to be. He's never hit Mama or me. He's never threatened us or cussed us out. He's never done anything of the things that mean men are supposed to do to their families, and yet we've always been scared of him. Almost as far back as I can remember, anyway.

Well, after a moment or so, Mama left the table too, and came upstairs, stopped in the doorway of my room. I held my hand over my mouth and pointed. She pointed to my shoes. I slipped them off, and followed her down the hall to the bathroom. And, golly, was it a relief to get in there.

I used the sink to vomit in, and Mama kept running the water to cover up the noise. It was sure a relief.

We went back to my room, she in her shoes and me in my stocking feet. We sat down on my bed, and she put her arms around me and held me. She was kind of stiff and awkward about it, since we've never done much kissing and hugging or anything like that in our family. But it was nice, just the same.

It wasn't much later, but it seemed like hours before Papa left. Mama's arms slid away from me, and we both heaved a big sigh. And then we laughed, kind of weakly, because it was sort of funny, you know.

"How are you feeling, girl?" Mama said. "Girl" is about as close as she ever comes to calling me a pet name. I said I was feeling pretty good now.

"Stand up and let me take a look at you," Mama said.

I stood up. I pulled my dress up above my waist, and Mama looked at me. Then, she motioned for me to sit down again.

"It doesn't show none at all," she said. "You couldn't tell there's a thing wrong by looking at you. Of course, it wouldn't need to show if he's-he's-"

"Do you think he has, Mama?" I started to tremble a little. "Y-you don't think he has heard anything, do you, Mama?"

"Well, sure, now," Mama said quickly. "Of course, he hasn't. I reckon he'd sure let us know if he had."

"But-but what makes him act so funny then?"

"Mean, you mean," Mama said. "When did he ever act any other way?"

She sat, turning her hands in her lap, looking down at the big blue veins in the rough red flesh. Her legs were bare, and they were red and rough, too; bruised-looking where the varicose veins were broken. She was just kind of a mass of redness and roughness, from her face to her feet. And all at once I began to cry.

"There, there, girl," she said, giving me an awkward pat. "Want me to get you something to eat?"

"N-no." I shook my head.

She said I'd better eat; I'd hardly touched my lunch. She said she could bake me up something real quick-some puff bread or something else real tasty.

"Oh, Mama." I wiped my eyes, suddenly smiling a little. "That's all you ever think of! I'll bet if a person had a broken leg you'd try to feed them!"

"Well…" She smiled, kind of embarrassed. "I guess I would probably, at that."

"Well," I said. "I guess I could probably eat a couple of those fresh crullers you made this morning. Maybe a couple of cups of good strong coffee, too. All at once, I'm actually really pretty hungry, Mama."

"You know, I kind of am myself, girl," Mama said. "You just stay here and rest, and I'll bring us up a bite."

She brought up some coffee and a half-dozen crullers, and a couple of big thick pot roast sandwiches. We were both pretty full when we finished-at least, I couldn't have eaten anything more. And I felt kind of peaceful, dull peaceful, you know, like you do when you're full.

A fly buzzed against the screen. A nice little breeze drifted through the window, bringing the smell of alfalfa blossoms. I guess nothing smells quite as good as alfalfa, unless it's fresh-baked bread. I wondered why Mama wasn't baking today, because she almost always puts dough to set on Sunday night, and bakes bread on Monday.

"Guess I just didn't have the will for it," she said, when I asked her about it. "You bake all day in this weather, and it takes the house a week to cool off."

"It wouldn't if you cooked with gas," I said. "You ought to make him put in gas, Mama!"

Mama made a sort of sour-funny face. She asked me if I'd ever known of anyone to make Papa do anything. "Anyway," she added, slowly. "I don't think he could do it now, even if he wanted to. I don't think he's burning coal any more just to bother the neighbors."

I said that, well, I thought so. I knew so. "Why did you ever marry him anyway, Mama? You must have known what he was like. There certainly must have been some signs of it."

"Well…" She brushed a wisp of hair back from her forehead. "I told you the why of it about a hundred times already, girl. He was older than me, so he got out of the orphanage first. And then he started dropping back to visit, after he was making money, so…"

"But you just didn't marry him to get away from the place?" I said. "That wasn't the only reason, was it?"

"No, of course not," Mama said.

"He was different then, Mama? You were in love with him?"

She looked down in her lap again, twisting her hands. Words like "love" always embarrass Mama, and her face was a little flushed.

"It wasn't the only reason I married him," she said. "Just to get away from the orphanage. But maybe… I kind of think maybe he thought it was. We shouldn't talk about him like we do, girl. Shouldn't even think things like we do. He's pretty sensitive, you know, quick to catch on to what someone else is thinkin', and-"

"Well, it's his own fault," I said. "What else can he expect, anyway?"

Mama shook her head. She didn't say anything.

"Mama," I said. "What did you mean a minute ago when you said Papa probably couldn't have the house piped for gas, even if he wanted to? You didn't mean he didn't have the money, did you?"

"No, of course, not. I didn't mean anything-just thinking nonsense and I said it out loud," Mama said quickly. "Don't you ever breathe a word around about your Papa not having money, girl."

I said I wouldn't. In the first place it would be silly and a lie; and then it would make Papa awfully mad. "He's got all kinds of money," I said, "and, Mama, I just g-got to-"

I started crying again. Right out of a clear blue sky without any warning.

"I can't stand it any longer!" I said. "I'm getting so scared, and-could you get some money from him, Mama? Make him give you enough for me and Bobbie to-"

I didn't finish the question. It was too foolish. I wouldn't even have started to ask it if I hadn't been half-scared to death.

"I don't know why he has to be so hateful!" I said. "If he wants to-to- Why doesn't he do something to that dirty old Luane Devore? She's the one that's causing all the trouble!"

"There, there, girl," Mama mumbled. "No use in getting yourself-"

"Well, why doesn't he?" I said. "Why doesn't he do something to her?"

"He wouldn't see no call to," Mama said. "As long as it was the truth, why Papa wouldn't…"

She frowned, her voice trailing off into silence. I spoke to her a couple times, saying that it wasn't fair and that I just couldn't go on any longer. But she didn't say anything back to me.

Finally, when I was about ready to yell, I was getting so nervous, she sighed and shook her head.

"I… I guess not, girl. I thought I had a notion about some place I might get some money for you, but I guess I can't."

"But maybe I could!" I said. "Bobbie and me! Who-"

"You keep out of it," Mama said sharply. "You couldn't get it, even if it could be got. I thought for a moment I might get it, part of it anyway, because I'm your Papa's wife. But-"

"But I could try!" I said. "Please, Mama! Just tell me who it is, and-"

"I told you you couldn't get it," Mama said, "and trying wouldn't get you anything but trouble. This party would tell Papa about it, and you know what would happen then."

"Well…" I hesitated. "I guess you're probably right, Mama. If you couldn't get it, why, I don't see how I could. Is it an old debt someone owes Papa?"

Mama said it was kind of a debt. It was and it wasn't. And there was no way that the party could be forced to pay it.

"For one thing," she added, "the party's got no money to pay with that I know of. Papa thinks different-I kind of got the notion he does from some things he's let slip- but you know him. Someone says something is white, why he'll say it's black, just to be contrary."

"I just can't imagine," I said. "I just can't see Papa letting someone get away without paying him what they owe."

"I told you," Mama said. "They-this party don't really owe it. I mean, they do and they ought to pay, but-"

"Tell me who it is, Mama," I said. "Please, please, Mama. I-I've got to do something. I c-can't be any worse off than I am now. If you won't see the party, do anything to help me, at least-"

"I can't girl." Mama bit her lip. "You know I would if-"

"Can't what?" I said. "You can't help me, or you can't let me help myself?"

"I-I just…" She pushed herself to her feet, started loading dishes back onto the tray. "I'll tell you how you can help yourself," she said, looking hurt and sullen. "You can just stay away from that Bobbie Ashton until he's ready to marry you."

I started crying again, burying my face in my hands. I said, what good would that do, for heaven's sake. Bobbie might get mad or interested in someone else. Anyway, even if I did stop seeing him, it wouldn't change anything when Papa found out about us.

"You k-know I'm right, Mama," I sobbed. "H-he'd still-he'll kill us, Mama! H-he's going to kill me, and- and I've got no one to turn to. You won't h-help me, a-and you w-won't let me do anything. All you can do is just fuss around and mumble, a-and ask m-me if I want something to eat, a-and-"

The dishes rattled on the tray. One of the cups toppled over into its saucer. Then, I heard her turn and shuffle toward the door.

"All right, girl," she said, dully. "I'll do it tonight."

"M-Mama-" I took my hands away from my face. "You know I didn't mean what I said, Mama."

"It's all right," Mama said. "You didn't say anything that wasn't true."

"But I didn't-you'll do what, Mama?"

"I'll see that party tonight. It won't do no good, I'm pretty sure, but I'll do it."

She went on out of the room, and down the stairs. I sat forward on the bed, studying myself in the dresser mirror. I certainly looked a fright. My eyes were all red and my face blotched, and my nose swollen up like a sweet potato. I hadn't put up my hair last night either. And now, what with the heat and my nervous sweating, it was as limp and drab-looking as a dishrag.

I went to the bathroom, soaked my face in cold water and dabbed it with astringent. Then, I took a nice long lukewarm bath, putting up my hair as I sat in the tub.

I tried to tell myself that I hadn't said anything out of the way to Mama, that she'd certainly never done much of anything else for me, and that it was no more than right that she should do this. I told myself that-those things- and I guess there was a lot of truth to it. But still I began to feel awful bad-awful ashamed of myself. She'd always done as much for me as she could, I guessed. It wasn't her fault that Papa had just about taken everything out of her that she had to do with.

There was last spring, for example, when I graduated from high school; she'd gone way out on a limb to help me then. To try to help me, I should say. I'd told her that she simply couldn't let Papa come to the graduation exercises. I'd simply die if he did, I told her, because none of the other kids had any use for me now, and if he came it would be ten times worse.

"You know how it'll be, Mama," I said, kind of crying and storming. "He won't be dressed right, and he'll go around snorting and sneering and being sarcastic to the other parents, and-and just acting as awful as he knows how! I just won't go if he goes, Mama! I'd be so embarrassed I'd sink right through the floor!"

Well, Mama mumbled and massaged her hands together and looked bewildered. She said it really wasn't right for me to feel that way about Papa; and maybe she could drop him a few hints so that he'd look nice and behave himself.

"I don't hardly know what else I can do," she said. "He means to go, and I don't see how-"

"I told you how, Mama!" I said. "You can pretend like you're sick, and you don't want to be left alone. You can do it just as well as not, and you know it!"

Mama mumbled and massaged her hands some more. She said she guessed she could do what I was asking, but she'd sure hate to. "He'd be awfully disappointed, girl. He'd try to cover it up, but he would be."

"I just bet he would!" I said. "Naturally, he'd be disappointed missing a chance to make me feel nervous and cheap. I just can't stand it if he goes, Mama!"

"But it means so much to him, girl," Mama said. "You see, he hardly had any education himself, not even as much as I did. Now, to have his own daughter graduating from high school, why-"

"Oh, pooh!" I said. "I won't go if he goes, Mama! I'll run away from home! I'll-I'll k-kill myself! I'll…"

I really ranted and raved on. I'd been feeling awfully upset and nervous anyway, because I'd just started going with Bobbie Ashton at the time, and he wasn't nice to me like he is now, and-but never mind that. That was a long time ago, and I don't like to think it ever even happened. Anyway, to get back to the subject, I kept insisting that Papa just couldn't go to the graduation exercises. I ranted and raved and cried until finally Mama gave in.

She agreed to play sick, and keep Papa at home.

She was upstairs in bed that evening when he came in. I was out in the kitchen, getting dinner ready. I heard him come through the living room and dining room. I could feel those eyes of his boring into the back of my neck as he stood in the kitchen doorway. He didn't say anything. Just stood there staring at me. I dropped a spoon to the floor, I was so nervous and scared, and when I picked it up I had to turn away from the stove. Facing him.

I really didn't recognize him for a second, actually. I really didn't. He'd changed clothes down at the pavilion, and the way he was dressed now, well, I just didn't think he could be. I'd never seen him look like this before… and I never did again.

He was wearing a brand new blue suit, a real stylish one. He had on a new hat, too-a gray Homburg-and new black dress shoes-the first he'd ever worn, I guess- and a new white shirt, and a tie that matched his suit. He looked so smart and kind of distinguished that I actually didn't know him for a second. I was so surprised that I almost forgot to be scared.

"W-why-why, Papa," I stammered. "Why-where-" He grinned, looking embarrassed. "Stopped by a rummage sale," he said gruffly. "Picked this up while I was there, too."

He pushed a little package at me. I fumbled it open, and there was a velvet box inside. And inside the box was a wristwatch. A platinum wristwatch with diamonds in it.

I stared at it; I told him thank you, I guess. But if I'd had the nerve I'd've told him something else. I might have even thrown the watch at him.

You see, I'd been hinting for a watch for months-hinting as much as a person dares to with Papa. And all he'd ever do was just laugh or grunt and laugh at me. He'd say things like, well, what the hell do you want a watch for? Or, what you need is a good alarm clock. Or, them damned wristwatches ain't nothing but junk.

That's the way he talked, acted, and all the time he was planning to buy me a watch.

All the time he was planning on buying these new clothes, dressing himself up so people would hardly know him.

"Here's something else," he said, tossing a glassine-topped box on the table. A box with an orchid in it. "Stole it out at the graveyard."

I said thank you again-I guess. I was so mixed up, mad and not mad-kind of ashamed-and nervous and scared, that I don't know what I said. Or whether I actually said anything, really.

"Where's your mother?" he said. "Didn't throw herself out with the trash, did she?"

"S-she's upstairs," I said. "She-she's 1-lying-"

"Lyin' about what?" He laughed; broke off suddenly. "What's the matter? Spit it out! She ain't sick, is she?"

I nodded, said, yes, that she was sick. I'd been working myself up to saying it all day, and now it just popped out before I could stop it.

Anyway, what else could I have said? Mama wouldn't know that I didn't want her to play sick now-that I'd just as soon she didn't. If I tried to change our story, it might get her into trouble with Papa. Get us both in trouble.

Well, naturally I looked awfully pale and dragged-out. And, of course, he thought I looked that way on account of Mama. He cursed, turning a little pale himself.

"What's the matter with her?" he said. "When'd she take sick? Why didn't you call me? What'd the Doc say about her?"

"N-nothing," I stammered. "I-I d-don't think she's very sick, Papa."

"Think?" he said. "You mean you ain't called the doctor? Your mother's sick in bed, and-For God's sake!"

He ran to the hall telephone, and called Doctor Ashton. Told him to get over to the house as fast as he could. Then he started upstairs, hurrying but kind of dragging his feet, too.

The doctor arrived. Papa came back downstairs, and out into the kitchen where I was. He paced back and forth, nervously, cursing and grumbling and asking questions.

"Goddammit," he said, "you ought to have called me. You ought to've called the doctor right away. I don't know why the hell you-"

"P-papa," I said. "I d-don't think-I mean, I'm sure she's not very sick."

"How the hell would you know?" He cursed again. Then he said, "What the hell does she have to go and get sick for? She ain't had a sick day in twenty years, so why does she got to do it now?"

"Papa…"

"She better cut it out, by God," he said. "She gets sick on me, I'll put her in a hospital. Make her stay there until I say she can leave. Get some real doctors to look after her, and-Yeah? Dammit, if you got something to say, say it!"

I tried to say it, to tell him the truth. But I didn't get very far. He broke in, cursing, when I said Mama wasn't really sick; then he stopped scolding and cursing and said, well, maybe I was right: sure, she wasn't really sick.

"Probably just over-et," he said. "Probably just been workin' too hard… That's about the size of it, don't you think so, Myra? Couldn't be nothin' serious, could it?"

"No, Papa," I said. "P-papa, I keep trying to tell you-"

"Why, sure, sure," he said. "We're-you're getting all upset over nothing. You just calm down now, and everything will be fine. There's not a thing in the world to worry about. Doc will get Mama up on her feet, and we'll all go to the graduation together, and-Now cut out that goddamn bawling, will you? You sound like a calf in a hailstorm."

"P-papa," I sobbed. "Oh, Papa, I j-just feel so bad that-"

"Well, you just cut it out," he said, "because there ain't a damned lick of sense to it. Mama's going to be just dandy, and-an'-"

Doctor Ashton was coming down the stairs. Papa kind of swallowed, and then went out to the foot of the staircase to meet him.

"How-how is she, Doc?" I heard him say. "Is she-?"

"Your wife," Doctor Ashton said, "is in excellent physical condition for a woman her age. She is as healthy as the proverbial horse."

Papa let out a grunt. I could almost see his eyes clouding over like they do when he's angry. "What the hell you talkin' about, anyway? What kind of a doctor are you? My wife's-"

"Your wife is not sick. She has not been sick," said Doctor Ashton, and, ooh, did he sound mean! He had everything pretty well figured out, I guess, and the way he dislikes Papa it tickled him to death. "That's a very hand- some outfit you're wearing, Pavlov. I take it that you planned on attending the graduation exercises tonight."

"Well, sure. Naturally," Papa said. "Now, what do you mean-"

"It must have come as quite a surprise to your family." The screen door opened, and Doctor Ashton stepped out on the porch. "Yes, quite a surprise. The apparel, that is, not your plans for attending the exercises."

Papa said, "Now, listen, goddammit. What-" Then he said, "Oh." Just the one word, slowly, dully.

"Yes," the doctor said. "Well, there's no reason at all why you can't attend, Pavlov. None at all. That is, of course, if you still want to."

He laughed softly. He went on out to his car, and drove away. And minutes later it seemed like I could still hear that laugh of his.

I waited in the kitchen, stood right where I had been standing. Not moving, except for the trembling. Hardly even breathing.

And Papa stayed out in the hallway. Not moving either, it seemed. Just standing and waiting, like I was standing and waiting.

I was sure he was just working up to an explosion. Putting all the mean ugly things together in his mind, so he could cloud up and rain all over me and Mama. That was what he was going to do, I was sure, because he'd done the same thing before. Made us wait, you know. Wait and wait, knowing that he was going to do something and getting so jumpy we were about to fall apart. And then suddenly cutting loose on us.

I wished that he'd cut loose now, and get it over with. I wished he'd just do it, you know; not because it was so hard to go on waiting, but because it would kind of even things up. And maybe he'd stop feeling the way he must be feeling now.

It sounds funny-or, no, I guess it doesn't-but I'd never really cared about how he felt before. I mean, I'd never actually thought about his having any feelings-about being able to hurt his feelings. Because you'd never have thought it from the way he'd always acted. He'd always gone out of his way to show that he didn't care how anyone felt about him or acted toward him, so…

Maybe Mama is right. She was an awfully pretty girl back when she married Papa, and Papa was kind of short and stocky like he is now, and about as homely as a mud fence. So, since she never could express herself very well and she's always been so kind of frozen-faced and shy- just embarrassed all to pieces just by the mention of love or anything like that-why, maybe Papa did think she married him just to get away from the orphanage. And maybe that's the reason, partly the reason, anyway-

Oh, I don't know. And the way things are now, I couldn't care less. Because he certainly doesn't care anything about me, even if he might have at one time.

How could he-a father that would actually kill his own daughter if he found out a certain thing about her?

Bobbie says I have things all wrong; Papa would do it because he cares so much. But that just doesn't make any sense, does it, and as sweet and smart as Bobbie is, he can say some awfully foolish things.

Well, anyway, getting back to that night:

Papa didn't do what I expected him to. He started for the kitchen once, but he stopped after a step or two. Then he took a couple of steps toward the stairs, and stopped again. Finally, he went to the screen door and pushed it open, paused with one foot inside the house and the other on the porch.

"Got to go back to the office," he called. "Won't want any supper. Won't be able to go to the graduation. You and Mama have a good-you two watch out for the squirrels."

I called, "P-papa-wait!" But the screen door slammed, drowning out the words.

By the time I got to the door, he was a block up the street.

He never wore those clothes again. I saw Goofy Gannder in the Homburg one day, so I guess Papa probably gave him the whole outfit, and Goofy traded the other things for booze.

Well, as I was saying, Mama really had tried to help me that one time, at least, and it wasn't fair to say that she hadn't. Also, as I was about to say, it wasn't very nice of me to get her to try anything again. She'd have to face Papa afterwards. He'd take out on her what he couldn't take out on me, and an old woman like that-she was forty-six her last birthday-she just wouldn't be able to take it.

Aside from that, it probably wouldn't do any good; I mean, she probably wouldn't get away with whatever she was thinking about doing. She'd be so scared and unsure of herself that she'd make a botch of it, get herself into a lot of trouble without making me any better off than I was now.

So… so I finished putting up my hair, and went back to my bedroom. I put on a robe, went downstairs and told Mama I was sorry about the way I talked to her.

She didn't answer me; just turned away looking hurt, sullen-hurt. I put my arms around her and kissed her, and tried to pet her a little. That got her all red-faced and embarrassed, and kind of broke the ice.

"It's all right, girl," she said. "I don't blame you for being upset, and I'll do what I said I would."

"No, Mama," I said. "I don't want you to. Honestly, I don't. After all, you said you were sure it wouldn't do any good, so why take chances for nothing?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure that it wouldn't-that I couldn't get any money from this party. But…" She paused, relieved that I was letting her off, but a little suspicious along with it. "Look, girl. You're not planning on-on-"

"On what?" I laughed. "Now, what in the world could I do, Mama? Hold up a bank?"

Actually, I wasn't planning on doing anything. The idea didn't come to me until later, when I went back upstairs. It seems kind of funny that I hadn't thought of it before- under the circumstances, I mean-but I guess it actually really wasn't so strange. I just hadn't been desperate enough until now.

"So you just forget all about it, Mama," I said. "Don't do anything tonight, anyway. If something else doesn't turn up in a few days, why-"

"But I'll have to do it tonight, girl! Have to if I'm goin' to at all."

"Why do you?" I said. "If it's waited all these years, why can't it wait a little longer?"

"Because it can't! This party's telephone will-will-"

She broke off abruptly, turning to stir something on the stove. "My heavens, girl! I get to jabbering with you, and I'll burn up everything in the house."

"What about the telephone, Mama?" I said. "What were you going to say?"

"Nothing. How do I know, anyway?" Mama said. "Lord, what a day! I'm getting so rattled I don't know what I'm saying."

I laughed, and said I wouldn't worry again. I told her I really didn't want her to see the party she'd mentioned- that I'd really be very angry if she did. And she nodded and mumbled, so that took care of that.

I went back up to my room. I took off my robe, put on some fresh underthings and stretched out on the bed. It was nice and cool. I'd left the bedroom door open, and the draft sucked the alfalfa-smelling breeze through the window.

I closed my eyes, really relaxing for about the first time all day. My mind seemed to go completely empty for a moment-just cleared out of everything. And then all sorts of things, images, began to drift through it:

Mama… Papa… Bobbie… the pavilion… Me… Me going into the pavilion. Unlocking the ticket booth. Going into Daddy's office, and opening the safe. Taking out the change box, and-

My eyes popped open, and I sat up suddenly. Then, I remembered that this was Monday, that there wouldn't be any dance tonight so I wouldn't have to work.

I sighed, and started to lay back down again.

I sat back up, slowly, feeling my eyes get wider and wider. Feeling my stomach sort of squeeze together inside, then gradually unsqueeze.

I got my purse off the dresser. I took out my key ring, stared at it for a moment and dropped it back in the purse.

It was almost four o'clock. I undid my hair, even though it had only been up a little while, and then I began to dress.

Mama came upstairs while I was putting my face on. She started to go on by to her own room, but she saw me dressed and fixing my face, so she turned back and came in. She asked me where in the world I thought I was going at this time of day.

"Oh, I thought I'd meet Bobbie in town tonight," I said. "I think it might be better than having him come here to the house, if people are doing any talking."

"But it ain't tonight yet," Mama said. "You haven't even had your supper yet. What-"

"I don't want any supper, Mama," I said. "Heavens, I just got through stuffing myself just a little while ago, didn't I? Anyway, the real reason I want to leave early is so I won't have to see Papa. I just can't face him again so soon, after the way he acted at lunch."

Mama started getting nervous. She said Papa would be sure to wonder about my being away at supper time, and what was she going to tell him?

I turned around from the mirror, looking pretty exasperated, I guess, because I certainly felt that way.

"Why, for heaven's sake, just tell him the truth, Mama," I said. "I mean, tell him I ate late and I didn't want any supper-dinner-so I just went on into town. I'll just walk around or drink a malted or something until it's time to meet Bobbie. Good grief, there's nothing wrong with that, is there? Can't I even go down town without explaining and arguing and arguing and explaining until-"

"What you getting so excited about, girl?" Mama looked at me suspiciously. "You up to something?"

I drew in my breath real deep, giving her a good hard stare. And then I turned back to the mirror again.

"Look, girl," Mama mumbled, apologetically. "I'm just worried about you. If you've got some notion of-well, I don't know what you might be thinking about doing. But-"

"Mama," I said. "I'm going to get awfully mad in a minute."

"But, girl. You just can't-"

"All right, Mama," I said. "All right! I've argued and explained just as much as I'm going to, and now I'm not going to say another word. Not another word, Mama! I told you why I was leaving early. I told you I couldn't bear to face Papa tonight, and I can't. I simply can't, Mama, and there's no reason why I should, and I haven't the slightest intention of making the slightest effort to do so, and-and I'm not going to say another word about it, and I don't want to hear another word about it!"

She twitched, and rubbed her hands together. I'll bet they wouldn't be so red and big-veined if she wasn't always rubbing them together. She started to argue again, but I told her I'd cry if she did. So that stopped her right at the start.

"Well," she mumbled, "you're going to drink a cup of coffee first, anyway. I'm not going to let you leave this house without at least something hot on your stomach."

"Oh, Mama," I sighed. "Well, hurry up and get it, if you're going to! I can't drink it after I put my lipstick on."

She hurried downstairs, and brought me up some coffee. I drank it, and started fixing my mouth.

She watched me, twitching and massaging her hands. I caught her eye in the mirror, gave her a good hard look, believe me, and she shifted her eyes quickly. She didn't look at me again until I was all through.

"Well," I said, "I guess I'd better run along, now, if I want to miss Papa."

"All right, girl." She got up from the bed where she'd been sitting. "Take care of yourself, now, and don't stay out too late."

She started to kiss me good-bye; and that was kind of funny, you know, because she doesn't go in much for kissing. I pretended I didn't know what she meant to do, turning my head so as not to get my face smeared.

After all, I didn't have time to fix it again, did I? And if she wanted to kiss someone, why did she have to wait until they were in a hurry and all ready to go somewhere?

"Girl," she said, nervously. "I don't want you getting upset again, but-promise me, girl! Promise you won't-"

"Now, Mama, I have promised," I said. "I've told you and told you, and I'm not going to tell you again. Now, will you please stop harping on the subject?"

"You don't have to do anything, girl! I'll go-I'll think of something. Something's bound to turn up."

"Well, all right!" I said. "All right, for heaven's sake!"

And I snatched up my purse, and left.

She called after me, but I kept right on going, down the stairs and out the door. Then, as I was going out the gate, she called to me again-waved to me from the bedroom window. So, well, I gave her a smile and waved back.

I honestly wasn't mad, you know, and naturally I didn't mean to do anything that would make her feel bad. It was just that I had so much on my mind, that I simply couldn't stand any more.

It was a little after five when I got downtown, about five-fifteen. I wanted Papa to get clear home before I went to his office, so that meant I had almost forty-five minutes to kill. Well, thirty-five minutes, anyway, figuring that it would take ten minutes to walk down to the pavilion.

I sauntered around the courthouse square a couple of times, looking in the store windows. I stopped in front of the jewelry store, pretending like I was interested in the jewelry display, but actually looking at myself in the big panel-mirrors behind it.

I thought I looked pretty good tonight, considering all I'd been through. I honestly looked especially good in spite of everything.

I had on a white Cashmere sweater I'd bought two weeks before-I guessed it wasn't rushing the season too much to wear it. I had on a new blue flannel skirt, and extra-sheer stockings and my practically new handmade suede shoes.

I studied myself in the mirror, thinking that whatever else you could say about him, you certainly couldn't say he was stingy. Mama and I could buy just about anything we wanted to, and he'd never say a word. All he ever insisted on was that we pay cash.

Mama always kept a hundred dollars cash on hand. As far back as I could remember, she did. Whenever she or I bought anything, why, she'd tell him, and he'd give her enough to bring her back up to a hundred dollars.

Actually, she-or I should say, I-hadn't spent much until this summer. I was actually scared to death of going in a store; afraid, you know, that the clerks might be laughing at me or talking about me behind my back. And Mama was even worse than I was. We never bought anything until we just had to. When we couldn't put it off any longer, we'd just take the first thing that was showed to us and practically run out of the place.

Papa just talked awful about us. I never will forget some of the mean things he said. He said he'd rent Mama out as a scarecrow, if it wouldn't've been so hard on the crows. And he said I looked like a leaky sack of bran that was about to fall over.

Well, he certainly hasn't had any cause to talk that way since I started going with Bobbie. Not about me, anyhow. I simply couldn't look dowdy around Bobbie, so I just made myself shop like a person should. And after I'd done it a few times, I didn't mind it at all. I mean, I actually really liked it, and I really did do some shopping from then on.

Nowadays, I hardly ever go into town without buying something.

Why not, anyway? Papa has plenty of money. If he can't treat me decent, why at least he can let me look decent.

I glanced at my wristwatch, saw that it was getting close to six. I started for the pavilion, walking fast. Wondering how much money there'd be in his strongbox.

I never touched the strongbox ordinarily. I had no reason to, in my ticket-selling job, so I didn't know how much was in it. But I knew there'd be a lot. Papa didn't do any business with the banks that he didn't absolutely have to. He'd always paid "cash on the barrelhead," as he says, for practically everything. And when you have as many interests as Papa, that takes a lot of cash.

Of course, the dance business had fallen off quite a bit, and some of his other things weren't doing so well. But, goodness, what of it? Look at all the property he owned! Look at all the money he'd made when business was good! Papa could lose money for years, and he'd still be rich. Everyone in town said so. Maybe there wouldn't be as much in the strongbox as there used to be, but there'd still be plenty. Two or three thousand dollars, at least.

I was about a half block from the pavilion when I saw Ralph Devore come out of the rear exit, and climb up into the air-conditioner shed.

I stopped dead in my tracks. I thought, Oh, golly, how could I have forgot about him? Why does he have to be working all the time? I was actually sick for a moment, I was so disappointed. Then, I just tossed my head and kept right on going. Because it suddenly dawned on me that it didn't make a bit of difference whether Ralph was there or not. Even if he saw me, which wasn't likely, it wouldn't matter.

Ralph wouldn't think anything of my going into Papa's office. After all, I was the owner's daughter, and it just wouldn't occur to him to try to stop me or ask me what I was doing. Of course, he'd talk later when Papa missed the money, but I didn't care about that. Bobbie and I would be gone by that time, and we'd never come back.

I went through the door of the pavilion. I started across the floor, my knees just a little shaky. Ralph was pounding on something back in the air-conditioner shed-hammering on something. The noise came out through the ballroom air-vents, thud-bang, thud-bang, and I kind of walked- marched-in time to it.

My feet began to drag. That crazy pounding, it was just awful; it made me feel like I was in a funeral procession or something. And it kept right on going on, after it wasn't going on. I mean, I realized suddenly that Ralph wasn't pounding any more, and all that noise was coming from my heart.

I took a deep breath. I told myself to stop acting so silly, because there just wasn't any sense to it.

Bobbie and I would be a long way from here in another hour. Papa would know I'd taken his money-I wanted him to know it! But he wouldn't be able to catch up with us himself, and he'd never call on the police. He'd have too much pride to let anyone know that his own daughter had stolen from him.

I was at the door of his office. I opened my purse and took out my keys, fumbled through them until I found the right one.

I unlocked the door. I stepped inside, closed it behind me, and flicked on the light. And screamed.

Because Papa was there.

He was sitting at his desk, his face buried in his arms. There was a half-full bottle of whiskey in front of him.

He sat up with a start when I screamed. He jumped up, cursing, asking me what the hell was the idea, and so on. And then when I just stood staring at him, my mouth hanging open, he slowly sat down again. And stared at me.

Ralph came running across the ballroom floor. He stopped in the doorway of the office, and asked if something was wrong. Papa didn't say anything, even look at him. Ralph said, "Oh, uh, excuse me," and went away again.

Papa and I went on staring at each other.

He didn't need to ask why I was here. He knew. I'd've bet a million dollars that he did. He'd been scheming and planning all along, figuring out ways to get me so scared and desperate that I'd finally try this. And then, when I did try, when he'd let me get my hopes all up, thinking that I'd found a way out…

Oh, he knew all right! He'd planned it this way. What else would he be doing there if he hadn't? Why hadn't he gone on home to supper like he always did?

I backed toward the door. I thought, Oh, how I hate you! HOW I HATE YOU! I hate you so much that- that-! I hate you, hate you, hate you!

Papa nodded. "Figured you probably did," he said. "Well, you got a lot of company."

I turned and ran.

It didn't occur to me until later that I must have said what I was thinking. That I'd actually yelled it at him.

12:

PETE PAVLOV

I'd gotten the letter from Doc Ashton the week before. I didn't answer it, so that Monday he phoned me. I told him to go to hell and hung up.

Only thing to do, as I saw it. And wrong or right, a man's got to go by what he sees. He's got a chance that way. It's a lot handier for him. Any time a butt needs kicking, he knows whose it is.

I punched out a few letters on my old three-row typewriter. I carried them down to the post-office, thinking that they didn't make typewriters like they used to. Thinking that they didn't make nothing like they used to, from bread to chewing tobacco. Then, kind of snorting to myself and thinking, Well, by God, look who's talking! Maybe they don't make nothing like they used to because there's no one to do the making. Nothing but a lot of whining old guys with weep-bags in place of guts.

I guessed I must be slipping. If I'd been like this back at the time I built the post-office building… Well, maybe it would've been a hell of a lot better, I thought. I wouldn't be in the spot I'm in now, and there'd be quite a few less bastards around town to give me trouble.

Yeah, the post-office job was mine. Built it under contract for old Commodore Stuyvesant, Luane Devore's father. It's still the biggest building in town-four stories- and it was a pretty fancy one for those days. The upper three floors were offices, each with its own toilet and lavatory. All the plumbing, the water and drain pipes, was concealed.

Well, we were about through with the job, except for the interior decorating, when I discovered a hell of a thing. I'll never forget the day that it happened. I was up on the fourth floor at the time. I'd taken the chaw out of my mouth and tossed it in the toilet. Then I'd flushed it down and drawn myself a drink from the lavatory. And I was just about to toss it down when I noticed something in the water. A few little brown specks, so tiny you could hardly see them.

I cussed, and dumped out the water. I got myself a can of stain, and went through the building from top to bottom, flushing toilets and turning on faucets. They all turned out the same as the first. They were all cross-connected, to use the plumbing term. You had to be looking for the stain in the water, and looking damned hard, but it was there. Some of the waste water was coming out through the lavatory taps.

You see… Well, you know what the inside of a toilet bowl looks like. It has a water inlet built into it; it has to have to flush; and it also has a sewage outlet. It has the two right together, flowing together. If the plumbing ain't exactly right, some of the sewage can get into the water inlet. Into the water you drink and wash with.

Well, the first thing I did was to cut off the water at the main. Shut off every drop in the building. I told the workmen they'd been screwing around too much on the job, that they could do their washing and drinking on their own time from now on. And they didn't exactly love me for that, naturally. But it was the way it had to be. I couldn't tell them the truth. If I had, it would have got all over town. People would always have been leery of the building. You could fix the trouble, and take an oath on it, but they'd never really believe that you had.

I spent the rest of the day checking the blueprints on the job, tracing out the miles of piping foot by foot. Finally, I spotted what was wrong. It was in the blueprints, the drawings, themselves. Not something that was my fault.

I took the drawings, and went to see the Commodore. Luane was right in the living room with him. And they sure were two damned sick people. I told 'em I didn't see what they had to feel bad about.

"It's the architects' fault," I said. "You've got something pretty new here, in this concealed plumbing, but you ain't got a new-style building to put it in. The architects should have known that with all this angling and turning the water pipes were just about bound to get a vacuum in 'em-Yeah, Commodore?"

"I said," he said, kind of dead-voiced, "that the architects aren't responsible. The blueprints were drawn up from a rough design I made myself. I insisted on having my own way, despite their objections, and they've got a waiver in writing."

I asked him why the hell he'd done it-why pay for expert advice and then not listen to it?

He grimaced, almost crying. "I thought they were trying to run up their bill on me, Pete," he said. "The architect gets six percent of the cost of a job, you know, and since I'm not exactly a trusting person…" He broke off, grimacing again. "Not that I've had much reason to trust people. Offhand, I'd say that you were the only completely honest man I've ever met, Pete."

"Well-well, thanks, Commodore," I said. "I-"

"Have you told anyone about this difficulty, Pete? None of the workmen know? Well, do you suppose that if it wasn't corrected-uh- do you suppose the result might be, uh, very serious?"

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe some of the tenants wouldn't be hurt at all. Maybe it might be quite a while before the others came down with anything. I don't know how many might get sick or how many might die, but there's one thing I do know, Commodore. I know I ain't drinking no sewer water myself, and I ain't letting anyone else do it. So-"

I broke off. He was looking so shocked and hurt that I apologized for what I said. Yeah, by God, I apologized to him!

"Quite all right, Pete," he said. "Your concern for the public welfare is wholly commendable. Now, getting back to our problem, just what if anything can be done about it?"

I told him. The whole building would have to be repiped. Of course, we could use the same piping but it would have to come out of the walls and be put on the outside. What it actually added up to was ripping out the interior of the building, and doing it over again.

"I see." He bit his lip. "What about your men, Pete? How will you explain to them?"

"Well-" I shrugged. "I'll tell 'em I pulled a boner, and I'm making good on it. That won't hurt me none, and they'll be glad to believe it."

"I see," he said again. "Pete-Pete, I have no right to ask it, but everything I have is tied up in that building. Everything! I've exhausted my credit. If I attempt to get any more the building will be plastered with liens from basement to roof. Once it's finished, I'll be in fine shape. The government will lease the ground floor, and I have tenants signed up for most of the offices. But I can't finish it, Pete, unless- and I have no right at all to ask you-"

Luane was sniffling. He put his arm around her, looking at me apologetically, and after a moment she turned and put her arms around him. It seemed pretty pitiful, you know. I took out my notebook and did some figuring.

I didn't have hardly any ready cash, myself, but my credit was first-class. By stretching it right to the limit, I could finance the rework that had to be done, which would probably tot up to about eight thousand dollars.

Well, the Commodore practically wrung my hand off when I told him I'd do it. And I thought for a minute that Luane was going to kiss me. Then the Commodore gave me his note for ten thousand-ten thousand instead of eight. Because I'd literally saved his and Luane's lives, he said, and even with the two thousand bonus they'd still be eternally in my debt.

Well, I guess I probably don't need to tell you the rest of it, but I'll do it anyway. Just in case you're as dumb as I was.

The Commodore denied that he owed me a red cent for the rework. He said it was due to my own errors, as I'd publicly stated, and that he was contemplating suit against me for failing to follow the architects' specifications.

"Naturally, I'd hate to do it," he said smoothly, sort of smiling down his nose. "I imagine you have quite enough problems, as it is."

I told him that wasn't the only thing I had. I had his note for ten thousand, and I'd collect every penny of it. He shook his head, chuckling.

"I'm afraid not, Pavlov. You see I have no assets; I've transferred everything I owned to my daughter, Luane."

Luane didn't seem too happy about the deal. I looked at her, and she dropped her eyes; and then she turned suddenly to the Commodore.

"Let's not do this, Father," she said. "I know you mean it for my benefit, but-"

"Yes," the Commodore nodded. "So the choice is yours. My feeling is that a woman untrained for any work-an unemployable, unmarriageable spinster, to state the case succinctly-is going to need every dollar she can get. But if you feel differently..

He spread his hands, giving her that down-the-nose smile.

Luane got up and left the room.

I left, too, and I never went back. Because what the hell was the use? I couldn't get anything from her. He didn't have anything to get. He even had me staved off on giving him a beating, him being as old as he was.

So that was that. That was how I made out dealing with an "old-school gentleman," and a "true aristocrat" and the town's "first citizen" and so on.

It took me five years, working night and day, to get out of debt.

Ralph was sweeping up the dance floor when I got back to the pavilion. I kidded around with him a few minutes, and then I went for a walk down the beach. It was a good walk, sort of-looking at all the things I'd built, and knowing that no one had ever built better. In another way, it wasn't so good: the looking gave me a royal pain. Because I could have collected just as much on cheaper buildings. And if I'd built cheaper, I wouldn't have been in the spot I was in.

I wondered what the hell I'd been thinking about to sink so much dough into seasonal structures. I guessed I hadn't been thinking at all. I'd just done it automatically-building in the only way I knew how to build.

I ran into Mac's singer, Danny Lee, on the beach. She was in a bathing suit, sunning herself, and I sat down by her and talked a while. But not as long as I wanted to. It couldn't do me any good, you know; not just chatting about things in general. And I was afraid if I hung around very long, I might do more than that. Because that little girl, she was the kind that comes few and far between. She was my kind of woman.

That Danny-if she went for you, she'd go all the way. She'd kill for you, even if she knew it might get her killed. You could see it in her. Anyways, I could see it. And it was all wrapped up in such a pretty package.

Well, though, maybe she was my kind of woman, but I wasn't her kind of man. She wouldn't have wanted no part of an old pot- bellied bastard like me, even if she hadn't had Ralph Devore on the string. So I shoved off before I said or did something to make a damned fool of myself.

I circled back toward the pavilion. Rags called to me from his cottage, so I went in and had coffee with him.

He asked me how the money situation was with me, and I said that it was just about like it had been. He said he was in just about the worst shape he'd ever been in himself.

"Don't know what the hell I'm going to do, Pete. I won't have no band after we close here, and I don't feel like going out single any more. I would, if there was a decent living in it. But it's hard to break even with me on the road and Janie and the boys in New York."

"Yeah," I said, looking down at the floor. Feeling kind of awkward like I always did when he mentioned those boys. "Yeah-uh-I mean, what about recordings, Rags? Can't you get some of them to do?"

He snorted and let out a string of cuss words. He said he wasn't making any more recordings until he was allowed to do the job right. Which would be just about never, unless he owned his own record company.

"I wished you did," I said. "If I was in a little bit better shape, I'd-"

"Yeah, yeah-" He cut me off. "Forget it, Pete. It's really the only damned thing I want to do, but I know it's impossible."

He drained the coffee from his cup, and filled it up with whiskey. He took a sip, smacked his lips and shuddered. After a minute or two, he asked me what I thought about the setup between Danny and Ralph Devore.

"I mean, what can come of it, Pete? How do you think it will wind up?"

I shrugged. I said I guessed I hadn't done much thinking about it.

"I've been wondering," he frowned. "It looks like the real thing between 'em. But that pair-Ralph, in particular-well, they ain't just a couple of lovesick kids. They wouldn't go way out on a limb unless they saw some way off of it."

"No," I said. "I don't figure they would."

"I wonder," he said. "I've been thinking. Y'know, when I first introduced them, I told her he was a rich man. And lately I've been thinking, wouldn't it be a hell of a joke if…"

"Yeah?"

"Nothing. What the hell?" he laughed. "Just a crazy notion I had."

"Well, I guess I better be going," I said. "Getting to be about my lunch time."

I headed back into town, and across to the far side. I started to pass by the neighborhood church, and then I slowed down and went back a few steps. I stopped in front of the vacant lot, between the church and the parsonage.

I stood there and stared at it, making myself look thoughtful and interested. Finally, I took a rule out of my pocket, and did a little measuring.

The curtain moved at one of the parsonage windows. I took out a notebook and jotted a few figures into it. Pretended to make some calculations.

I've had a lot of sport with that vacant lot. Once I made out like I'd found some marijuana growing on it, and another time I pretended I was going to buy it for a shooting gallery. What with one stunt and another, I've kept the preacher of that church worried for years. I knew he was peeking through the curtains at me now. Watching and wondering, and working up to another worry-spell.

He came out of the parsonage, finally. He didn't want to, but he just couldn't help it.

I went on with my measuring and figuring, acting like I didn't see him. He hesitated in the yard, and then he came over to the corner of the fence.

"Yes?" he said. "Yes, Mr. Pavlov?"

"Yes," I said. "Yes, sir, I think this will do just fine."

"Fine?" He looked at me water-eyed, his lips starting to tremble. "Mr. Pavlov, what-what do you want of me? I'm an old man, and-"

"Remember when you wasn't," I said. "Remember real well. But talking about this lot here, I was just wondering if it wouldn't be a good spot for a laundry. Thought maybe you could throw some business my way."

He knew what I was driving at, all right. No wonder either, after all these years. He looked at me, his eyes watering, his mouth opening and closing. And I told him what I had in mind was the bedsheet business.

"Tell you what I'll do," I said. "You tip off your pals to send their sheets to me, and any patching they need- like buckshot holes, you know-I'll do it for nothing. Probably no more than fair, anyways, since I maybe put 'em there."

"Mr. P-Pavlov," he said. "Can't you ever-?"

"Guess you didn't need many seats in your church for a while, did you?" I said. "Guess most of the fellows didn't feel like settin' down. Not much more like it, maybe, than some of the folks they visited with bullwhips."

I grinned and winked at him. He stood leaning against the fence, his mouth quivering, his hands gripping and ungripping the pickets.

"Mr. Pavlov," he said. "It-that was such a long time ago, Mr. Pavlov."

"Don't seem long to me," I said. "But me, I got a long memory."

"If you know how sorry I was, how often I've begged God's forgiveness…"

"Yeah?" I said. "Well, I guess I better be going. I stand around here much longer, I might lose my appetite."

My house was in the next block, a big two-story job with plenty of yard space. It was probably the best-built house in town, but it sure didn't look like much. What it looked like was hell.

I'd been pretty busy at the time I finished it, fifteen years ago. Had four or five contract jobs running-jobs I'd taken money on. Figured I had to take care of them, and do it right, before I prettied up my own place.

So I did that. And while I was doing it, my neighbors hit me with a petition. I tore it up, and threw it at 'em. They took me into court, and I fought 'em to a standstill. If they'd just left me alone, stopped to consider that they didn't have no monopoly on wanting things nice-but they just wouldn't do that. They tried to make me do something. No one makes me do anything.

The house has never been painted. The yard has never been cleaned up. It's littered with odds and ends of lumber, sawhorses, left- over brick and so on. There's a couple of old wheelbarrows, almost rusted and rotted to bits, and a big mixing trough, caked with cement. There's-

But I already said it.

It looks like hell. It ain't ever going to look any other way-at least, it ain't going to look any better-as long as I'm alive.

It was a couple of minutes after twelve when I went in. So lunch was already on the table, and Myra and my wife, Gretchen, were standing by their chairs waiting for me.

I said hello. They mumbled and ducked their heads. I said, well, let's sit; and we all sat down.

I filled their plates and mine. I took a couple bites-it was beef and potato dumplings-and then I mentioned the matter of Doc Ashton.

"Dug up a big building job for me over in Atlantic Center," I said. "How'd you feel about us all going there to live for four or five months?"

Gretchen didn't look up, but I saw her eyes slant toward Myra. A kind of red flush spread over Myra's face, and her hand shook as she raised her fork.

Half way to her mouth, the fork slipped out of her fingers, landed with a clatter on her plate. She and Gretchen jumped. I laughed.

"Don't worry," I said. "We ain't going. I never had no notion of going. Just thought I'd tell you about it."

I took a big bite of grub, staring at them while I chewed it. Myra's face got redder and redder. And then she jumped up suddenly, and ran out of the room.

I laughed. I didn't feel much like it, but I did. Gretchen looked up at last.

"Why don't you leave her alone?" she said, not mumbling or whining like she usually does. "Ain't you done enough, taking all the spirit out of her? Beatin' her down until she goes around like a whipped dog? Do you have to go on and on, seeing how miserable-"

"Huh-uh," I said. "That's something I ain't going to do. I sure ain't going on and on."

"What-" She hesitated. "What do you mean by that?"

I shrugged. After a moment or so, she turned and left, headed up the stairs toward Myra's room.

I finished eating, wiping my plate clean with a piece of bread. Afterwards, I dug my teeth a little with a toothpick, and after that I took a big chaw of tobacco. I looked at my watch, then-saw that it was two minutes to one o'clock. I went on looking until the hands pointed to one sharp. Then, I got my hat off the hallrack and started back toward town.

I did everything just like always, you know. Seemed like I hadn't ought to, but I'd never had but one way of doing things, and I stuck to it now. Right or wrong, it was my way. And to me, it seemed right.

Take the spirit out of 'em? Why, hell, I tried to put spirit into 'em! I gave 'em something to be proud of-something to hold their heads high about. I built something out of nothing, just my head and my two bare hands. And I never bent my back to no man while I was doing it. I never let no one take the spirit out of me. And believe me, there was plenty of them that tried. Why, those two-Gretchen and Myra-if they'd taken just half of what I took-

I got back to my office. I finished my chaw, and took a big drink of whiskey. And I kind of laughed to myself and thought, Well, hell. What you got to show for it all, Pieter Pavlovski? A wife? Gretchen's a wife? A daughter? Myra- that sheep-eyed slut-is your daughter? Well, what then, besides the buildings? Aside from your buildings. Because them buildings ain't yours no more. You've held onto them as long as you can, and…

I took another big drink. I tried to laugh again, because it was a hell of a joke on me, you know. But I just wasn't up to laughing. Not when it was about losing this pavilion and the hotels and the restaurants and the cottages and- and everything I had. All the things that took the place of what I didn't have.

I couldn't hardly think about it, let alone laugh.

I took the gun out of my desk. I checked it over, and put it back in the drawer again.

I thought, her fault, his fault, theirs, mine, the whole goddamned world's-what the hell's the difference? It's a bad job. It's got your name on it. So there's just one thing to do about it.

It was about nine-thirty when Bobbie Ashton showed up at my office. I'd been drinking quite a bit, and it gave me a pretty bad jar when I looked up and saw him in the doorway. I didn't cuss him out, though-just grunted a "How are you, Bobbie?" and he smiled and sat down.

I said I thought him and Myra were out on a date tonight.

"We were," he nodded. "I mean, we still are. I just drove by to see you for a minute."

"Yeah?" I said. "Wasn't going to ask me if it was all right for you to go with her, was you?"

"No," he said. "I was going to ask if-had you heard that Mrs. Devore was dead?"

"Well, yeah." I sat up a little in my chair. "Ralph called and told me. What about it, anyway?"

"Perhaps nothing," he said. "On the other hand…"

He took a long white envelope out of his pocket, and laid it on my desk. He stood up again, smiling a cool, funny little smile.

"I want you to read that," he said. "If it becomes necessary-that is, to protect an innocent person-and you may interpret the word liberally-I want you to use it."

"Use it? What the hell is it?" I said. "Why not use it yourself?"

His smile widened. He shook his head gently. And then, before I could say anything more, he was gone.

I opened the envelope, and began to read.

It was a confession, written in his own handwriting, to the murder of Luane Devore. It told how he'd figured out that Ralph must have had a pile of money saved, and how he needed a pile himself. And it went on to say just how the murder had come about.

He'd had a handkerchief tied over his face. He'd kept quiet-not saying anything, I mean-so she couldn't recognize his voice. He'd slipped upstairs, not intending to really hurt her; just to give her a shove or maybe a sock, so's he could grab the money. And it wasn't his intention to steal it outright. He was going to send it back anonymously as soon as he could. But-well, everything went wrong, and nothing worked out like he'd planned.

Luane was waiting for him at the head of the stairs. She piled into him, and he tried to fight her off. And the next thing he knew, she was lying at the foot of the stairs, dead.

He forgot all about the money, and beat it. He was too scared to do anything else…

I finished reading the confession. I glanced back over it again, kind of marveling over it-wondering how the thing could sound so true unless it was. There was just one hole in it that I could see. That part about him being scared. If it was possible to scare that kid, I didn't know how the hell it would be.

I took another drink. I struck a match to the confession, and tossed it into the spittoon. Because nothing had changed. Killing Luane was one crime he'd never be punished for. And probably he knew it, too.

That was why he'd written the confession-probably. He knew he was going to die anyway, so the confession couldn't hurt him and it might help someone else a lot.

I got my gun out, and slid it into my hip pocket. I turned off the lights and went out to my car.

It was no trouble finding them, Bobbie and Myra. Just a matter of driving a while, and then getting out and walking a while, creeping along a winding trail. All I had to do was think of where I'd go if I was in his place. And the place I'd've gone to was the place he'd taken her.

They were stretched out on a patch of sand in a little clearing, and they were locked together. I couldn't really see her, just him. And that made it pretty hard, because him-he-was all I really cared about.

I didn't know how he'd got to her. Or why. I was afraid to even think about it, for fear I might try to excuse him. And it couldn't be that way. I was pretty sure he wouldn't want it that way. But it was damned hard, just the same.

Me and him-we were so much alike. We thought so much alike. That was how he'd been able to confess to a killing I'd done-yeah, I killed Luane-and have his facts almost completely straight.

I had planned on sticking Luane up for the money. I had worn a handkerchief over my face, and I hadn't answered when she called downstairs, so that she couldn't recognize my voice.

Then, right at the last minute, I changed my mind; I couldn't go through with the stunt. I'd never pulled anything sneaky in my life, and I couldn't do it now. And, by God, there was no reason why I should.

She owed me money. Ten thousand dollars with almost twenty-five years' interest. I jerked the handkerchief down off my face and put the gun in my pocket, and told her I was there to collect.

"And don't tell me you ain't got it," I said, when she started jabbering and squawking ninety to the minute. "Ralph's made it, and he ain't spent it-and he ain't got it either. You're keeping it to keep him. If Ralph had it, he'd've jumped town with that singer long ago."

I went on up the stairs, walking slowly and keeping a sharp eye on her. She begged, and then she began yelling threats. I'd never get away with it, she yelled. She'd have me arrested. I wouldn't get to keep the money, and I'd go to prison besides.

"Maybe," I said, "but I figure not. Everyone thinks I got plenty of money, and even my worst enemy wouldn't never accuse me of stealing. So I figure I'll get away with it. It'll be as easy as it was for you and your Pa to cheat me."

Well, I thought for a minute that she was going to give up. Because she stopped yelling and stood back against the wall, as if to let me pass. Then, just as I took the last step, she screamed and lunged at me.

I flung my arm out, trying to ward her off. It caught her a sweeping blow, and being off balance like she was, she went down the stairs head-first.

I went down and took a quick look at her. I got out of there. I didn't need money no more… I kind of sighed. I took the gun out of my pocket, staring across to the patch of sand where Bobbie and Myra were. I hesitated, wondering if I ought to toss a rock at them. Give 'em a chance, you know, like you do when you're out hunting and you see a setting rabbit.

But they weren't rabbits. He wasn't, anyway. And if I didn't get them now, I'd just have to do the job later. And there wasn't going to be any later for me. I wouldn't be roaming around after tonight. So I raised the gun and took aim.

I waited a second. Two or three seconds. He turned his head suddenly, and kissed her. And, then, right at that moment, I started shooting.

I figure they died happy.

I blew the smoke out of my gun, went back to my car and headed for town. I drove to the courthouse and turned myself in for the three killings.

Kossy was my lawyer at the trial. But there wasn't nothing a lawyer could do for me. There wasn't nothing I'd've let him do. So now it's all over-or it damned soon will be-and now that it is, I kind of wonder.

I wonder if I really did kill Luane Devore.

She was a pretty tough old bag. Could be that the fall downstairs just knocked her out, and someone else came along and finished the job. Could be that someone was hiding in the house right at the time I was there.

It would be just about a perfect murder, you know. They, this party, could do the killing and I'd take the blame for it. Anyone who knew me knew that I would.

Who do I think did it-that is, if I didn't?

Well, I don't figure it was anyone you might ordinarily suspect, the people who seemed to have the best motives. The very fact that they had good reasons for wanting Luane dead-and that everyone knew it-would be the thing that would keep them from killing her. They'd be too afraid, you know, that the job might be pinned on them.

Aside from that, and maybe excepting Danny Lee, all the prime suspects were too fond of living to commit murder. They'd proved it over and over, through the years; proved it by the way they lived. They'd give up their principles, their good name-everything they had; just as long as they could go on living. Living any damned old way. And people like that, they ain't going to take the risk of killing.

Me, now, I'm not that way-just in case you haven't discovered it. I have to live a certain way or I'd rather be dead, which I'm just about to be. Putting it in a nutshell, I never had but one thing to live for. And if I thought I was going to lose that, like I did lose it, why…

I guess you see what I'm driving at. Whoever killed Luane was a one-reason-for-living person. Whoever killed Luane was someone who didn't seem to have a motive- who could do it with a good chance of never being suspected. And there's only one person I can think of who fits that description.

She was smart and efficient, but she'd stuck to the same cheap dull job for years. She was pretty as a picture and a damned nice girl to boot, but she'd never gotten married.

She stuck to her job and she'd never gotten married for the same reason-because she was in love with her boss. She never showed it in any of the usual ways. She never made any passes at him-she wasn't that kind. And she never stepped out with him. There wasn't a thing she did that could cause gossip about her. But, hell, it was plain as day how she felt. It was clear to me, anyway. I'd seen the way she kowtowed to him, and made over him, and it kind of made me squirm. I'd think: Now, why the hell does she do it-a gal that could have her pick of jobs and men? And of course there couldn't be but one reason why she did it.

She must have known that he was nothing but a fat-mouthed dunce. She must have known he wasn't ever going to marry her-that he was too self-centered to marry anyone, and that his sister probably wouldn't let him if he wanted to. But that didn't change anything. Maybe, women being like they are, it might have made her love him all the more. Anyway, she was crazy about him-she had to be, you know-crazy enough to kill anyone who hurt him. And someone was hurting him. It was getting to the point where he might lose his job-the only one he could hold-and if he did they'd be separated, and-

Yeah, that's right. I'm talking about Nellie Otis, the county attorney's secretary.

I figure that Nellie killed Luane-if I didn't do it. I guess I ain't ever likely to know for sure, and I don't know as I give a damn.

I was just wondering, you know, thinking. And now that I've thought it through, to hell with it.