Girl on the Best Seller List

by Packer, Vin

  “Do you like the book?” she had asked.

  “Why kill your hero?” he had said.

  “I couldn’t think of any other way to end it.”

  Freddy thought maybe that was the truth; maybe that was the only way she would ever be able truly to think of it as over. Even though neither of them felt anything physically any more, and even though that horrendous proof was sufficient reason for both to know that the affair was ended, probably Edwina would never accept it until hewas dead. Women never let go, unless they are married to you; then they let go too soon. Was that right.

  Another way she was getting even was with sudden dramatics. It wasn’t like Edwina ever to call him at home on a Saturday, to threaten him that way, to announce that if he did not arrange to bring Gloria Wealdon to her, she would go to Gloria Wealdon, that very evening. They had agreed, early in the game, never to abuse their code, never to make an Elbridge call anywhere except from a phone booth to a phone booth. After Edwina took over Mrs. Devrow’s, he called her there directly, but Edwina was not ever supposed to call him at home. Only in an emergency. In the past few months she had become sloppy about this. She had pretended to be someone at the box and bag factory, sometimes even speaking directly with Fern, asking for him, as she did this noon when she had called. He had stood there with Fern not a few feet away, while she said, “I’m serious, Fred. I have to see Gloria Wealdon. The only way for me is to sell my book and go and live in New York.”

  He had hurried to his office after lunch, and told her by telephone that he would send her to New York. “That’s the way to do it,” he said. “Get some place to live there. Look for a job, taking your time, of course,” he had added generously, “and send your book around to the various publishers.”

  “I can’t just go there cold. I can’t do that.”

  “I’ll come and see you tomorrow,” he had promised.

  Well, tomorrow wasn’t soon enough after all, and that was his fault too. At lunch he had told Virginia about her call. She’d known about Edwina’s threats to call on Gloria — they had even laughed a little about them together — but lately Virginia had been more and more concerned about the possibility of Fern’s ever finding out about the Edwina thing.

  “You know, we’ve both been unfaithful to her in a sense,” she had said one day. “Poor Mother. I feel quite bad about it, for my part. I should have kept out of it.”

  “I should have kept you out of it,” he said.

  “It wasn’t your fault. I was as much to blame.”

  “You grew up knowing Edwina. Virginia, in some ways you even acquired some of her mannerisms. I believe that at times you’re actually quite alike.”

  “More than mother and I are, I think.”

  “I think so too.”

  “But do you know something, Father, I not only love Mother better, I respect her more. Why is that?”

  “I guess it’s because you really think of your mother as being good, because she wasn’t an unfaithful woman, and you think of Edwina as bad.”

  “I suppose there’s something to that.”

  “Yes,” Freddy said.

  “And in a way, I suppose I’m glad that Edwina’s trying to go to New York to live.”

  Freddy said, “Yes, and so am I.”

  He was afraid now, though, of something he had never really thought about much. While everything was up in the air the way it was, with Edwina still in Elbridge and still ambitious for her novel, how might she hurt Virginia? For surely Virginia was what he loved most, and surely that would eventually dawn on Edwina Dare. He was afraid of that, and being afraid of it, he drove all the faster along Route 2. As he went racing along, he wished that he had been able to locate Milo before he had set off for Elbridge. He had driven to the high school to find him, to tell him that Gloria might need him (no sense saying more than that; the good Lord knows Mincould be wrong about Louie). But Milo wasn’t there. No one seemed to know where he was. Nearly everyone said that it was most peculiar, because he almost never missed a Saturday meet.

  When Freddy Fulton heard the police siren, he damned himself for forgetting the speed trap between Elbridge and the county line. He saw the troopers on the motorcycles behind him, and he laughed to think that both men behind the billboard where they set the trap had whipped out after him. He pulled over to the side and lit a cigarette, waiting for one of them to come back and ticket him. When they both came back, he chuckled. “Hey, fellows,” he said. “Take it easy. I’m not dangerous.”

  “Maybe you’re not,” said one of them, “but your license plate number came over our radio a while back.”

  “Mine?”

  “You’re wanted back in Cayuta, Mr. Fulton,” the other one said, opening the door and getting in beside Freddy Fulton. “Suspicion of murder.”

  Nineteen

  “I love surprises,” Gina said. “I don’t care what it is, I love to be surprised. I hope I die surprised!”

  — FROM Population 12,360

  AT FIVE-TEN, Sergeant Carrington stood in the kitchen studying the stack of dirty dishes in the sink with an expressionless face. At the dinette, the chief of police was talking with Virginia Fulton.

  “… because it’s very serious,” he was saying, “and we have to know everything.”

  “Even her name?”

  “Everything.”

  “Edwina Dare,” she said. “She was my father’s mistress.”

  “And why didn’t you want her to speak with Mrs. Wealdon?”

  “Because she’d tell her everything!”

  “And why didn’t you want Mrs. Wealdon to know?”

  “Because Mrs. Wealdon was mean. She’d tell my mother.”

  “So why had you come here this afternoon?” “I was going to ask Mrs. Wealdon not to see her.” “Ask her? If she was mean, she wouldn’t listen to you, would she?” “N-no.”

  “Well, then! What about it?”

  “All right, I was going to threaten her.”

  “How?”

  “I didn’t have any real plan. It was an impulsive thing. I was just going to try and scare her.” “And what did you do?”

  “I hid in her closet. I got in through the cellar door, and I hid up in her bedroom closet.”

  “Why did you hide like that?” “I wanted to scare her.” “Then what?”

  “I — waited until she came home and into the bedroom. She was throwing something into the closet — a girdle and some shoes or something, it’s all very unclear — but I hadn’t expected her to whip the door open like that. I’d wanted to jump out at her, not to have her surprise me.”

  “Then what?”

  “She said, ‘Why you little brat! What do you want?’ “ “Then?”

  “She said, ‘Just what in hell are you doing in my closet, you …”

  “What?”

  “She called me a cross-eyed brat.” “And what did you do?”

  “I picked up a coat hanger. I don’t know why. I was all worked up. I picked up a coat hanger and I hit her.” “Where?”

  “Across her back. I didn’t think.” “Don’t cry any more now.” “I’ll try not to.” “What then?”

  “She tried to catch hold of the hanger and get it out of my hand. She chased me around the room. I remember I knocked over the globe there with the soap sculpture inside it. She said, ‘Now, you’ve done it. I’ve had that thing for years!’ She was yelling at me and chasing me.”

  “Had you hit her again?”

  “No.”

  “Then?”

  “Then I heard her moan. It was a funny sound she made. I turned around and she was running the other way, running toward the bathroom. I stood still and watched her. She went inside and I heard her vomiting. I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there, and then I remember that she came out. She was holding her stomach. Her face was a very funny color, nearly purple. She looked off in the distance as though she couldn’t see out of her eyes. It was as though I wasn’t there at all.”

&nbs
p; “Then?”

  “She fell on the bed. She was gasping for breath. I said, ‘Mrs. Wealdon, what’s the matter with you?’ but I don’t believe she could hear me.”

  “Then?”

  “I ran to the telephone. I was going to call Doctor Mannerheim. I had wanted to call him last week and tell him that I was afraid Edwina would tell Mrs. Wealdon, and that it would get back to my mother and just crack her up.” The girl began to cry, sobs forcing her body to heave. The sergeant walked from the kitchen to the door of the living room, while the police chief patted her hair. “There now, Virginia,” he said, “try to finish. Then you can rest.”

  “I couldn’t have done that with a hanger, could I? I’m not that strong.” She was sobbing again, uncontrollably.

  “You’ll just have to try, Virginia,” said the policeman. “What happened then? Did you call the doctor?”

  “Almost, but then I remembered that he wasn’t a real doctor, that he wouldn’t be able to help her. She was really too sick; she needed a real doctor, maybe even the hospital. I was going to call to the operator that it was an emergency. I should have done that, I know that.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “The doorbell began ringing. I was deathly afraid. Mrs. Wealdon was just barely making breathing sounds there on the bed, and she was sick again, but she couldn’t move. I was too afraid to do anything but get away. I ran to the back stairs that go to the basement. I was going to run out the door and down through the fields, but when I looked out the door I saw Stanley Secora coming in the back way. I shut the door and stayed in the basement. I was numb by then, I was so scared.”

  “Were you afraid of being blamed for her death?”

  “I was afraid of death, that’s all.”

  “What do you mean, Virginia?”

  “I mean, I’d never seen anything like that. Just nothing. I was never in such a situation in all my life, don’t you understand?”

  “I think so.”

  “It was like a nightmare. I knew Stanley Secora was breaking into the Wealdons’, and I knew Gloria Wealdon was dying up in the bedroom, and I’d hit her, and I was in the basement — but none of this seemed logical or real to me. I just began to shake, and I felt as though I were perhaps dead myself, or dreaming. I don’t know — ”

  “Then?”

  “Always then! Oh, listen, I didn’t mean to hit her! I never even planned to hit her!” “Virginia, be calm.”

  • • •

  The sergeant wandered into the living room. Fern Fulton sat in the deep chair, staring out at the twilight, biting her knuckles. In the corner opposite, Min Stewart was speaking with Secora, and Jay Mannerheim was resting his head by holding his hand to it, covering his eyes, his elbow balanced on his knee.

  At the sound of the telephone, everyone became alert.

  The sergeant answered it.

  He seemed to say little else than “Yes. Yes. Okay. Right. Yes.”

  Then he hung up.

  “Anything?” said the voice of the chief of police from the other room.

  The sergeant went inside and they spoke in hushed voices together. When he returned to the living room, he said, “I got three news flashes.”

  “Well?” said Min Stewart.

  “Well,” said the sergeant, “number one is she was poisoned. That’s how she got it.”

  “And the rest?” said Min Stewart.

  “Number two is we picked up Mr. Fulton. He’ll be along here soon.”

  Mrs. Fulton didn’t answer. She just put the handkerchief to her eyes again.

  “And now comes number three,” the sergeant said. “Number three is we picked up Louis Stewart, Jr. He was in the five-and-ten,” said the sergeant, “stealing.”

  “He was what?” said Min Stewart.

  “He was at the dinnerware counter, m’am, stealing spoons.”

  Twenty

  Someday, Gina thought, Will will be a man to contend with.

  — FROM Population 12,360

  THE POLICE SURGEON said, “It all checks out, Dave.”

  “In your mind maybe,” said the chief of police, “but I don’t get it.”

  “You want to explain it, Jay?” said the police surgeon. “I can take the Stewart kid along to the Retreat.”

  “Just tell me one thing,” said the chief of police, “what the devil was he stealing spoons for? What’s that got to do with all of this?”

  “That,” said the police surgeon, “hasn’t gotanything to do with this. That’s the beauty of the catatonic mind — it just isn’t predictable. One might decide to throw popcorn at a bus, and another might decide to axe his great aunt.Louie stole spoons. Simple.”

  Louie Stewart sat on the bench in the detention room, head hanging, eyes glassy, looking at nothing, hands limp.

  The chief of police shook his head. “Okay, Jay,” he said. “You might as well take over.”

  “Before I do, I think someone ought to stop by at the Fultons’ later. It was a shock for the little girl.”

  “Her mother, too,” said the chief of police. “I wouldn’t like to be Freddy Fulton tonight.”

  “It’s not my business,” said the police surgeon. “Maybe their family doctor … maybe they’re just better left alone.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” said Jay. “Anyway, I’ll give them a call before I leave here.”

  The police surgeon went over to Louie Stewart and reached down to take his arm. “C’mon, fellow.”

  Louie didn’t even look up.

  “C’mon,” said the police surgeon. He pulled him up, and Louie did not resist. The pair left the room, Louie shuffling along with a dazed expression to his face while the police surgeon propelled him.

  “I guess we have Louie’s mother to thank for solving this thing,” said Mannerheim.

  “Do you want to start from the beginning?” said the police chief.

  Mannerheim nodded. “The name of the poison is cantharidin,” he began. “The doctor explained that it’s derived from a species of beetle. In its crystallized form, it’s a very violent irritant. It causes blisters if you handle it.”

  “Is that how she spotted it?”

  “Yes. Min Stewart probably knows as much about pharmaceuticals as her husband did. You know how sharp she is.”

  “A hawk.”

  “Yes. Well, she was sitting beside Secora at the Wealdons’. His hands were bandaged, but one of the bandages was coming undone. She saw the blisters and she began to put two and two together.”

  “When I got there,” said the police chief, “she thought her son did it.”

  “I know. I guess she sensed Louie was cracking up, and she was afraid the kid would kill. I never thought he was a killer.”

  “I wish I knew why everyone always calls him a kid.”

  “He’s not a kid,” said Mannerheim, “that’s true. But you couldn’t call him a man. Anyway — ” “Yes, let’s get it over with.”

  “Min noticed Secora’s hands. This was just after the phone call came about Louie being found. Min got me off in a corner and told me she was suspicious about Stanley’s burns. I didn’t pay much attention. He’d told me himself, earlier, that he’d burned his hands, and he’s so clumsy I just didn’t think there was much basis for her suspicions. Besides, she’d been telling me over and over that Louie poisoned Gloria Wealdon. So when she told me Stanley did it, I just figured Min was getting a little hysterical.”

  “But you talked to Stanley then?”

  “Yes. You were still questioning Virginia Fulton in the kitchen, and Sergeant Carrington, well — ”

  “He wasn’t very happy,” said the chief of police. “He was supposed to have the afternoon off.”

  “Yes,” Mannerheim nodded. “So I just casually got into conversation with Stanley. I went over and sat by him, and we just began talking. When I asked him how he hurt his hands, he began to blush. He said he’d burned them making candy for Mrs. Wealdon. ThenI began to get suspicious, particularly when he told me
he made only two pieces of candy for her.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Oh, yes. There were only two.” Jay said. “One of them had only the very slightest amount of cantharidin. The medical examiner says Stanley told him there was no more than one two-hundredths of a grain in that piece. And that’s borne out by the vial he produced, and the emergency autopsy. Mrs. Wealdon got the second piece, the one Stanley really slugged. About three grains’ worth was in that piece.”

  “Then the first piece is still missing?”

  “She may or may not have eaten that one, too. That’s not important. It wouldn’t do any damage to anyone, not concrete damage. Stanley had intended to eat that piece himself.”

  “But I still don’t get it!” said the chief of police. “What did Secora have against Gloria Wealdon?He wasn’t in her book, was he?”

  “That’s the peculiar part,” Jay Mannerheim answered. “I didn’t read the book carefully, so I can’t say. But Secora claimed there was an odd-jobs character in the novel, one to whom the heroine was very attracted. He was a character named Will, I think. Secora used to help Milo around their place — cut lawns, plant things — you know what a jack-of-all-trades he is. Secora got the idea he was Will in her novel, and he reasoned that she must be attracted to him. Apparently the heroine was afraid to ‘let herself go’ with this Will character, but she was always day-dreaming about him. Well,” Jay shrugged and smiled sadly, “that’s who Secora thought he was: Will. He figured Gloria Wealdon was the heroine and he was Will.”

  “That’s a reason tokill?” said the police officer.

  “Stanley didn’t want to kill her, Dave. You see, he had an appointment with her. He thought he was going to spend the afternoon with her alone. Milo would be at the track meet, he thought, and he’d be alone with Mrs. Wealdon. Stanley wanted to make love to her.”