by Marlowe Benn
“Think of something, Coates,” Chester said. “You’re supposed to have answers.”
The lawyer spoke without lifting his eyes from the table. “I believe a cemetery on Long Island offers cremation services.”
“Repulsive practice,” Chester said. “But I suppose she’s left us little choice.”
Dr. Perry raised his glass with a feeble hand and tasted the port. Smiling his appreciation of its rich flavors, he seemed unaware of the tension in the room.
“Naomi once lectured me at great length on cremation’s merits,” Nolda said. “It’s an abomination, but in this case it might solve our problem. We wouldn’t desecrate the family plot, and we’d be honoring her wishes.”
“And there’d be no questions. No one would be the least surprised for Naomi to flout all Christian decencies,” Chester said. “That’s settled, then. Thank you, Nolda. Sensible as always. Coates, make the arrangements. Frankly, I don’t give a peeled fig about Naomi’s soul. She can sort out her own troubles for once. We’ve got bigger problems.”
Nolda flinched at her husband’s candor and twitched her eyebrows in Julia’s direction. “Miss Kydd knows better than to repeat any of this,” he growled with a warning glance down the table. Julia met it with, she hoped, no betrayal of the distaste she felt. Glennis was right to be upset. Her suspicions before the service seemed more credible every minute.
“I’m sorry to be so blunt,” Chester continued, “but there’s no time for sugarcoating. We have to face the facts. If the press gets wind that Naomi killed herself, they’ll feast on it for weeks. We could be in for no end of nastiness.”
Nolda’s mouth sagged in the panic of one about to be sick. “He’s right. The newspapers will be brutal. The mockery she’s brought upon us has been awful enough, but I couldn’t bear their smug pity as well. I just couldn’t bear it.”
Winterjay reached over to comfort her. She gripped his hand and peered into his face. “It’s the family I worry about. We adults could endure it—heaven knows we’ve been through so much with her already—but think of the children. Yours are young still, Edward, but our boys are teased horribly at school about their ridiculous aunt. Young people can be so merciless. I won’t have it. I won’t. There must be something you can do.”
Coates fidgeted with his salt spoon, pinching its tiny bowl between his thumb and forefinger. “Are you absolutely certain it was suicide, Chester? The notion staggers me. It’s the last thing I’d expect from her. Could you be mistaken? What exactly happened here that night?”
Chester shrugged. “Since when was Naomi predictable? I didn’t see it coming either. But I had to go down there after Glennis telephoned late, scaring us half to death. She made God’s own fuss about seeing Naomi’s hocus-pocus spirit at Vivian’s party.”
“I was worried,” Glennis said, her first words since entering the dining room. It was a glum statement, the listless effort of one who is seldom consulted. News of Naomi’s suicide seemed to have taken all the fight out of her. “Maybe I didn’t exactly see her spirit, but something made me afraid for her.”
“It seemed such a foolish concern,” Nolda said. “I saw Naomi that morning, leaving the house. She looked miserable but no more than usual.” She gave Miss Clintock a hard look. “And there was no sign of anything amiss when we left the house that evening.”
“Fortunately we’d been at the theater with the Swetnams, and I was still dressed when Glennis telephoned, so I went straight down,” Chester said. “Imagine my shock when I saw Naomi lying there on the sofa with a compress across her forehead and that empty tube in her lap. With those pills stuck to her lip, I got the idea pretty quick of what she’d done. I called Dr. Perry and waited for him to come. That’s it.”
“That’s it? That’s it?” Glennis repeated the unfortunate phrase. “Doesn’t anyone care? First our sister is dead, and now you say she killed herself. She must have been horribly unhappy, and no one gives a good goddamn about it!”
Nolda’s palm struck the table, rattling the tiny port glasses. “This may be a terrible time for us all, but I will not have profanity in this house. Control your mouth or leave the room.”
Splotches bled across Glennis’s cheeks and throat.
“It’s not a matter of caring,” Winterjay said softly. “Naturally we care very much, Glennis. But we need to understand what happened.”
She ground her lips between her teeth.
“Was the door locked?” Coates asked.
“It was,” Chester said. “I used the stairwell key. The outside door was locked too, but not chained. Miss Clintock used her key to let herself in later.”
Everyone turned toward Alice Clintock. She refolded the napkin in her lap.
“I’m sorry, Chester,” the lawyer persisted, “but I must ask. Did you touch anything?”
“Only the empty morphine tube. And I don’t appreciate your tone, Coates. Dr. Perry can confirm everything I’ve told you.”
Dr. Perry maneuvered his bulk away from the table edge. “Oh yes. Chester was naturally shocked and troubled, but all in all, he behaved sensibly. Once I confirmed what was sadly obvious, we had a brief discussion about how to proceed, and he convinced me about that too. It was only reasonable.”
“About how to proceed?”
Julia could only admire the steadiness of Coates’s voice.
“We had to think,” Chester said. “Make some decisions right away. I knew we’d be swarming with newspapermen as soon as word got out.”
“That’s what I don’t understand,” Glennis said. “If she killed herself, why haven’t the police and newspapers already been here?”
Chester grimaced.
“It’s the obvious question,” Coates said. “We’d all like to know.”
“And I’m getting there, if you’ll stop interrupting me.” Chester flicked his wife’s hand from his coat sleeve. “While I was waiting for Dr. Perry, I began to think maybe the situation wasn’t so straightforward after all. For one thing, there was no note.”
Several people started at this news, and Alice Clintock brushed at fresh tears. Glennis shot Julia a quick look down the table. I knew it! her glower said. He’s up to something.
Julia kept her face still and looked away. Glennis’s galloping imagination would only make things worse. Chester Rankin did seem to be a nasty man, but Naomi’s death clearly caused great problems for him. Why would he do anything to invite the disaster he now lamented?
“Odd,” said Coates.
“Well, it’s true. I looked everywhere but didn’t see one.”
Glennis squirmed. Dr. Perry’s wavery voice anticipated her objection. “I may be old, Glennis dear, but I know a narcotic overdose when I see one.”
“Yet a suicide requires—” Coates began.
“Not only was there no note,” Chester said, “but she was stretched out on the sofa like she was ill. I remembered all those abominable headaches she’s complained about for years and got to thinking maybe that’s what happened. Maybe her old brain finally had enough and just blew a fuse. She’d been looking peaky of late. Nolda remarked on it the other day, and Naomi’s friend here confirmed she’d gone off her feed. Isn’t that right, Miss Clintock?”
The brusque demand clarified why the poor woman was present.
“She suffered from digestive trouble,” Alice Clintock said, “in times of stress.”
Chester barked out a derisive laugh. “I’d say she thrived on stress. Certainly served us a steady diet of it. Just tell them what you told me, Miss Clintock.”
The woman dabbed her nose. “I came home that afternoon to find Naomi resting. She said she felt ill, and her head was pounding. We both knew it was from the worry. She struggled terribly, you see, with the strain of trying to manage our work with so little money.” She sent Chester a look that blistered with reproach but was unable to deliver it higher than his vest buttons.
“I expected her to pull herself together, as she always did, but instead she begged
me to go.” At the rustle of confusion, Miss Clintock explained. “There was an important meeting that night, you see, at the Union—our office. We’d scheduled it months ago with the state leadership of the NWP. The National Woman’s Party? It was imperative we attend, only she said she didn’t feel well enough. She insisted I go alone, without her.”
She lifted her eyes. “I’d give anything to have borne her misery for her. You must understand that. Naomi was everything. She was the one who belonged at that meeting, not me. Had I known what she intended—forgive me—”
Her pain was excruciating to hear. Julia swallowed. Vivian wrapped both hands around her husband’s forearm. Glennis gave a single dry sob.
“So you see,” Chester said, “things were not so clear cut.”
Coates turned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I don’t think she intended to kill herself. I think it was an accident—unfortunate, certainly, but not necessarily, in the strict legal sense, suicide. Tell them, Doctor.”
Dr. Perry stared at Chester. “Didn’t I say? Oh yes. It’s not uncommon. She died by her own hand but accidentally. It happens when patients are confused or distracted, usually by pain. Severe headaches can be excruciating, you know. They don’t realize how many tablets they’ve taken. Unfortunately, doctors see it more than we like to say. Oh my, yes . . .”
“Dr. Perry agreed,” Chester said loudly, over the old man’s fading mumble, “the overdose could have been an accident. And since there was no proof she’d planned it—we both looked for a note but found nothing—that’s what he put on the death certificate.”
Good Lord, Julia thought. Glennis might be simpleminded and prone to wild fancies, but that was better than this sly sophistry.
“Is this something different?” Vivian asked slowly. “Are you saying it’s not suicide?”
Chester gave a smug nod. “Let’s just say when someone’s already ill, an overdose doesn’t necessarily have to be declared a suicide. At least not in the sense that involves the police. Of course, she may have known exactly what she was doing, but no one beyond this room ever need know that. What’s important is that Dr. Perry saw fit to file the paperwork in a most discreet manner. The medical examiner’s office was satisfied, and the business was filed away this morning.”
“That’s wonderful!” Nolda could not smother her joy.
Miss Clintock fingered her collar.
“Can she be buried, then?” Coates asked.
“Oh dear,” Vivian murmured when no one else spoke. “I’m not sure God would put such a fine distinction on the particular”—she moistened her lips—“degree of her sin.”
Chester nodded. “Quite right. If she preferred cremation, who are we to say otherwise?”
Nolda draped her napkin over her smile. “Brilliant. Simply brilliant.”
“We still have to tell people she’s dead,” Vivian said. “We must put something in the papers.”
“Do we have to say anything at all?”
“She was too well known, Nolda,” Chester said. “People will ask. Reporters will hound us for details. We have to know exactly what to tell them.”
“You have something in mind?” Winterjay asked. Of course he did. Men like Chester would have a story all planned out.
“This is how I see it. Naomi neglected her health. We all know she never rested in normal ways. When and what she ate I have no idea, but she was such a scarecrow it couldn’t have been much. Plus you heard Miss Clintock mention those headaches. She let herself get run down. I think we could simply say—accurately enough—that she died after a brief illness.”
Chester pushed his stubby palm in the air to stay the first words of disbelief. “Who knows? The way she was going, an early grave was inevitable. Maybe she was more ill than anyone knew. Maybe she was about to die anyway, and those tablets just got to her first. In which case, what can it hurt to rearrange the timeline a little? You read about this sort of thing all the time, especially with unnatural spinsters who eat like birds. Dr. Perry says it’s possible.”
The old doctor nodded. “Possible,” he echoed.
“Perfect,” Nolda said. “Solves everything.”
Everything, Julia thought, that might inconvenience or embarrass the Rankin family.
“But we have to agree,” Chester persisted. “Everyone here must swear to it.”
“A brief—and sudden—illness,” Vivian said, trying on the phrase. So benign. So discreet. The euphemism hung in the air as artfully as a string of pearls lifted from its velvet box.
Alice Clintock fingered her cuff. Glennis’s mouth puckered. The course of the conversation clearly did not suit her, but before she could object, Winterjay spoke again.
“Call it what you will, you’re asking us to lie, Chester. That’s no light matter. But I suppose there are times when the full truth is neither necessary nor kind. As long as the family knows what happened, what the public is told is of minor consequence. And your scheme leaves attention focused on Naomi’s life, not her death, which is important here. I won’t knowingly deceive others without just cause, but this does seem a wise solution, in the end.”
“Beautifully put, Edward,” said Nolda. She reached again for his hand.
“So do we all agree?” Chester asked.
Did they have a choice? A trickle of murmurs loosed his first smile of the day.
“No!” Glennis’s fist landed on the table. “I don’t. You make me sick. First you worm things around so maybe it wasn’t real suicide. Then you cook up some bilge that she was going to die anyway. Our sister dies—she kills herself!—and all you care about is how it might look in the papers. Naomi was too smart, too serious, to make a mistake like that. I think she knew exactly what she was doing, which means she had a reason. A reason! And the most obvious reason is right here in this room.” She swiveled toward her brother. “You did everything to make her life hell, Chester. Admit it. You hated her! Now you can’t wait to burn her up and throw away the ashes.”
She lurched away but too late. Chester caught her arm.
“Let me go!” she screamed, and Chester slapped her hard across the face. Julia pinched her wrist to stop a gasp.
Glennis stilled instantly. Her eyes found Julia’s. Do you see? Do you see?
Oh yes.
“Let her go.” It was Winterjay. “This is not the time for tempers.”
Chester neither released his sister’s arm nor eased his grip. “You will not leave the table until you agree. This is no game, Glennis. You know I mean it.”
Glennis froze, her shoulder twisted awkwardly by the hand clamped above her elbow. “I hate it,” she conceded in a fierce whisper, “but I agree.”
The fingers edged apart, and she pulled free. She’d won the earlier skirmish of wills, but on this Chester’s greater strength would not be denied.
Nolda released a deep breath. “All right, then. I’ll take care of getting something into the papers. If I wait until tomorrow afternoon, there’ll be nothing until Tuesday morning, which gives us another day of privacy and peace. I don’t think it’s necessary to send for the boys, as we’ve already had a service, and there’ll be no burial. You’ll see about that cremation business, Russell?”
Coates nodded.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to carry on with the Children’s Aid charity gala next Saturday,” Nolda continued, glancing at Vivian, “as invitations went out under our name. We’re in mourning now, of course, but it’s too late to cancel or reschedule. I’m sure Clara Swetnam can take over greeting duties, and I’ll ask—”
“Are you sure there wasn’t a note?” Glennis’s voice spiraled.
“For pity’s sake!” Chester banged down his elbow. “I told you, no.”
He looked straight at Miss Clintock. “At least not when I got there. We have only Miss Clintock’s word for what happened before.”
The woman twisted her napkin in her lap, but otherwise she met his scrutiny with admirable composure. “Naomi was alive when I
left her,” she said. “But I too wonder that very question. I really would have expected . . .” She pressed the mangled cloth against her mouth.
Chester made two distinct sounds. “No. Note.”
Glennis erupted. “I don’t believe you.”
Her chair fell over as she jumped out of his reach. She threw down her napkin and ran toward the other end of the table. “I bet it said how you drove her to it.”
Almost as brutally as Chester had seized her, Glennis pulled Julia from her chair. Julia’s napkin went flying, and her shoe caught the side of Miss Clintock’s calf.
“That’s practically murder!” Glennis shouted.
The maid, Deborah, stumbled to catch her balance as Glennis flung open the door to the hall. Julia heard only the shatter of dropped crystal before it slammed shut behind them.
CHAPTER 5
Their heels echoed up a broad flight of curving stairs. Glennis did not release her hold on Julia until they were locked inside a large, violet-scented bedroom. “Glennis, really,” was all Julia could say. Her wrist was reddened and painful, and she rubbed it with dismay. Never in her life had she been so tugged, pulled, twisted, dragged, pinched, prodded. She would have bruises upon bruises if she stayed within range of Glennis’s grip much longer.
“I’m sorry, but you see how they are. I’d scream if I had to stand it another minute.”
“You did scream.”
Glennis smiled. “Maybe I did. Chester makes my blood boil.”
“You virtually accused him of murder.”
“Oh, who knows? I’m positive he drove her to it. Isn’t that about the same thing?” She kicked off her shoes and flopped onto her bed.
After the dark paneling of the windowless hallway, the room dazzled Julia’s eyes. White satin covered a large bed mounded high with glossy pillows and scattered with lingerie. Tall windows on either side were draped with stiff white damask, gathered with gold-braid loops: meringue soldiers standing at attention. The carpet was littered with shoes. A gilt-framed Boucher reproduction hung above a white French provincial vanity and triptych mirror. Incongruously, it was flanked by colorful posters of Léon Bakst’s costumes for the Diaghilev Ballets Russes. An empty martini glass and the current Vogue lay on the floor by the bed, beside a filled ashtray.