Bruno Fischer

by J. Max Gilbert

  “I want it, Adam. I’ve gone through too much not to get it now. I’ve lost Jasper. I’ve lost other things. The bag is all that’s left.”

  As if from a distance, I heard Esther’s voice thin with terror. “Oh, God, Adam, give it to her! Why don’t you give it to her?”

  The gun was thrust out from Molly’s side. The sleeve of her coat was pulled back and on her wrist I saw a thin gold charm bracelet. It was close enough to me so that I could distinguish individual charms — tiny hearts and boxing gloves and horns and arrows and watches and books.

  “Damn you, Adam, are you going to make me shoot you?”

  “You won’t shoot,” I said. “Not after the room under the barn and the reservoir.”

  The eyes faltered. A sob shook the tall body. “Damn you!” The gun dipped. She turned a shoulder to me and stood like that for a moment and then moved slowly away.

  I went to Esther. She had sunk into the club chair and sat crouched against one arm. I placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t stir.

  Molly had stopped at the door. Her handbag was open. She had substituted her huge plastic compact for the gun and was dabbing powder on her face. Within seconds she had become completely relaxed — another of her lightning changes of mood. She snapped the compact, snapped the handbag, and brought her deluxe smile to her face.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Breen,” she said. “I should have known that Adam would be too much for me. I envy you. I envy you Adam and Carol and the two other children you’re going to have.”

  Molly took a step through the door and turned. “Good-bye, Adam. It was nice knowing you.”

  We listened to her walk up the hall and . . . out through the front door.

  I went to one of the two front windows.

  “Adam, are you going to tell the police?”

  “She didn’t take the bag.”

  Esther fumbled at the buttons of her dress. “She admitted she murdered a man.”

  “Only to us,” I said. “She will deny it to the police. And there is absolutely no proof. There never will be.”

  “You don’t want her arrested.” She made that sound like an accusation. I realized then that Esther had guessed much of what had happened to Molly and me during those three days and nights we had spent together.

  “For having done what I twice thought of doing myself?” I said. “No, I don’t want her arrested for that.”

  Carol and Susan Levy squatted on the sidewalk in front of the house. Between them lay, as if on display, Carol’s purchases from the corner stationery store — a ball on a rubber cord, a plastic fife, a toy jeep, a cellophane bag full of brightly colored hard candies. The girls’ heads were cocked, their eyes fixed gravely on Molly who stood over them. Molly said something that caused Carol to jump to her feet and open her mouth wide as if in a soundless exclamation that had frozen.

  I heard Esther come to my side. She reached for my hand. Together we stood looking out to the street.

  Molly was removing the charm bracelet from her wrist. She stopped to fasten it around Carol’s skinny wrist while Carol and Susan watched in awe. Then Molly straightened up and patted Carol’s head and moved on to her coupe at the curb.

  “She loves you, Adam,” Esther said in a small, tight voice.

  “She could never love anybody but herself,” I murmured because that was the best thing to say.

  Molly opened the car door and looked back at the house and saw us at the window. She waved to us. I lifted my hand and dropped it. A, breeze plucked at the fringe of her long bob as she got into the car. After she had driven away, the street felt empty.

  “You care very much for her,” Esther said quietly.

  “I love you,” I said fiercely and turned to her.

  THE END