We'll Meet Again

19

Edna Barry was in the process of basting a chicken. It was one of Wally’s favorite dinners, especially when she made her own stuffing. The truth was she used prepared stuffing mix, but the secret was to add sautéed onions and celery and extra poultry seasoning.

The inviting fragrance filled the house, and the act of cooking calmed Edna. It reminded her of the years when her husband, Martin, was alive and Wally was a bright, normal little boy. The doctors said that Martin’s death was not what triggered the change in her son. They said that schizophrenia was a mental illness that frequently surfaced in teenage years or early adulthood.

Edna didn’t believe that was the answer. “Wally has always been lonely for his dad,” she would tell people.

Sometimes Wally talked about getting married and having a family, but she knew now that probably wasn’t going to happen. People didn’t want to be around him. He was too touchy, lost his temper too easily.

What would happen to Wally after she died was a ceaseless worry for Edna. But at least while she was around she could take care of him, this son of hers who had been so badly treated by life. She could make him take his medicine, although she knew he sometimes would spit it out.

Wally had been so responsive to Dr. Morrow-if only he were still alive.

As Edna closed the oven door, she thought of Jack Morrow, the dynamo young doctor who had been so good with people like Wally. He’d been a GP and had his office on the ground floor of his modest home only three blocks from here. He had been found shot to death just two weeks before Dr. Lasch died.

Of course the circumstances were totally different. Dr. Morrow’s medicine cabinet had been broken into and emptied. The police were sure it was a drug-related crime. They had questioned all his patients. Edna always told herself that it was a funny thing to be grateful that your son had broken his ankle shortly before that. She had made him put his walking cast back on before the police came to talk to him.

She knew after only one day that she should never have gone back to work for Molly Lasch. It was too dangerous. There was always the chance that Wally would find his way over to Molly’s house, as he had a few days before Dr. Lasch died. She’d told him to wait in the kitchen, but then he’d gone into Dr. Lasch’s study and picked up the Remington sculpture.

Was there any end to worrying? Edna wondered. Never, she told herself as she sighed and began to set the table.

“Mama, Molly’s home, isn’t she?”

Edna looked up. Wally stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, his dark hair falling forward over his forehead. “Why do you want to know, Wally?” she asked sharply.

“Because I want to see her.”

“You must not go over to her house, ever.”

“I like her, Mama.” Wally’s eyes narrowed as though trying to remember something. As he gazed over Edna’s shoulder, he said, “She wouldn’t yell at me like Dr. Lasch did, would she?”

Edna felt a chill go through her. Wally hadn’t brought up that incident in years, not since she forbade him to talk about Dr. Lasch or the house key she’d found in Wally’s pocket the day after the murder.

“Molly is very kind to everyone,” she said firmly. “Now, we’re not going to talk about Dr. Lasch ever again, are we?”

“All right, Mama. I’m glad Dr. Lasch is dead, though. He won’t yell at me anymore.” His voice was without emotion.

The phone rang. Nervously, Edna picked it up. Her hello was delivered in a voice that quivered with anxiety.

“Mrs. Barry, I hope I’m not disturbing you. This is Fran Simmons. We met yesterday at Molly Lasch’s home.”

“Yes. I remember.” Edna Barry realized suddenly how abrupt she sounded. “Of course, I remember,” she said, her voice warmer.

“I’m wondering if I could come by and spend a little time with you on Saturday.”

“Saturday?” Edna Barry frantically searched for a reason to refuse to see Fran.

“Yes. Unless Sunday or Monday would be better.”

Why bother to postpone it? she decided. Clearly there would be no putting the woman off. “Saturday will be all right,” Edna said stiffly.

“Is eleven too early?”

“No.”

“Fine, let me just be sure I have the right address.”

When Fran hung up the phone, she thought, That woman is a nervous wreck. I could hear the tension in her voice. She was on edge yesterday too, when I was at Molly’s house. What has she got to be so nervous about? she wondered.

Edna Barry was the person who had found Gary Lasch’s body. Was it possible that Molly’s decision to rehire her was tied into some vague intuition Molly had about the housekeeper’s version of events?

Interesting prospect, Fran thought as, after checking the refrigerator, she put on her coat again with the idea of walking down the block to P. J. Clarke’s to get a hamburger.

As she moved briskly along Fifty-sixth Street, she thought of the interesting possibility that perhaps Molly might not be the only one suffering from retrospective memory falsification.