The Girl at the End of the Line

by Charles Mathes

  Sixteen

  “Please pass the ketchup,” said Mrs. McCormick, rubbing her hands in front of her.

  The ketchup bottle was sitting in a pierced silver holder that its English Victorian silversmith had undoubtedly meant to hold a bottle of claret. Molly pushed it to Nell who passed it along to McCormick who opened the bottle and drizzled the stuff over her hamburger with evident satisfaction.

  “What a treat,” declared Dora, cutting her burger into neat little quarters. Molly had cut her own into halves. Nell hadn’t bothered to cut hers at all and was already halfway through it.

  The last guest had finally gone home. The telephone had fallen silent. Mrs. Prin and the hired girls had cleaned up and left hours ago. Dora, Molly and Nell, and Mrs. McCormick were alone in the house for the night.

  People in Vermont were as neighborly in the wake of death as they had been in North Carolina, and the refrigerator was full of cookies and homemade casseroles. Mrs. Prin had dutifully been serving up cookies and homemade casseroles every night, along with everything else she considered suitable for mourning: overcooked vegetables, dry biscuits, gray sauces. After four days of such treatment, Mrs. McCormick’s hamburgers were a welcome change. The shoestring french fries she had engineered in the kitchen were practically a revelation.

  “I hope Russell got back to Washington all right,” said Dora, staring at a neat little wedge of hamburger, a worried expression on her face. “Planes make me so nervous since … since what happened.”

  Molly chewed fast in order not to reply with her mouth full. Gale Castle’s elegant dining room and the gravity of events did wonders for one’s table manners.

  “I’m sure Russell’s okay,” she said at last.

  “He promised to call when he got in.”

  Dora might be ninety-three, but she was clearly still a concerned mother. She had made George call, too. He had arrived at his New Hampshire hospital an hour ago.

  “Den of iniquity, if you ask me,” said McCormick, licking a finger. “I wouldn’t give you a dollar for all the senators and congressmen in Washington. Less if you throw in the wives. You really have to wonder about gals like that. What woman in her right mind would intentionally marry a politician?”

  They ate in silence. Dora looked tired after the long day. Nell didn’t seem to be paying much attention to anybody, off in a world of her own. Mrs. McCormick chewed noisily as though she didn’t have a care in the world.

  What was going on between the surly nurse and the perpetually indignant attorney? Molly wondered again, as she had been doing ever since she had seen them together in the garden. Why were McCormick and Troutwig keeping their relationship a secret? Molly was bursting to know but couldn’t figure out how to broach the subject. Finally she couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “I actually saw Mr. Troutwig smile this afternoon,” said Molly, taking the indirect approach. “I didn’t know he could do that. You know, he’s not altogether a bad-looking man, don’t you think, Mrs. McCormick?”

  “Henry Troutwig? I’ve seen better faces on grandfather clocks.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Dora. “Henry isn’t exactly a movie star, but he has a certain presence. He carries himself very confidently. He was quite handsome when he was younger.”

  “That old lunch pail?” snorted McCormick. “I’ve got bunions more attractive than him. And the man is as dim as grass. He’s stubborn, opinionated, egotistical, intransigent, and an all-around pain-in-the-petunia.”

  “Why, Mrs. McCormick,” said Dora with a smile, her wirerim glasses magnifying her pale blue eyes into saucers. “If I didn’t know better, I might think you were actually sweet on Henry.”

  McCormick’s face turned nearly as red as the ketchup on her plate.

  “Sweet on Troutwig? Sweet on that insufferable … that detestable … Why I’d sooner be hung up by my dainties above a boy scout campfire, or trapped in an elevator with a toothache and an insurance agent, or thrown into the Nile while a marine band—”

  A loud telephone bell rang far off in the direction of the kitchen.

  “Maybe that’s Russell,” said Dora hopefully, rising from the table and placing her napkin on her chair. “I’ll get it. Please excuse me, ladies. I’ll be right back.”

  She quickly disappeared through the archway to the kitchen.

  Molly exchanged glances with Nell, who looked pensive. McCormick took a huge bite of her hamburger, her eyes as bright as two nickels in a wishing well. If she didn’t want to talk about Troutwig it didn’t seem right to invade her privacy, Molly decided, but perhaps she could fill in some of the blanks about Atherton Gale.

  “You took care of Atherton Gale during his final illness, didn’t you?” Molly asked.

  “Yep,” said the grizzled housekeeper, her mouth still full.

  “What kind of man was he?”

  McCormick chewed for a while and swallowed before answering.

  “He was a maniac,” she announced unceremoniously. “He liked to tear off his clothes and make me chase him naked around the upstairs to give him his bath. Said he’d leave me a million dollars if I’d have sex with him. Doctor said it was probably the cancer going to his brain, but the man was serious as oatmeal, believe me.”

  Molly almost choked on the food in her mouth, remembering David’s story of the murderous maid. She knew she was probably more than a little paranoid after all that had been happening, but could McCormick have been going around, murdering people, because Atherton Gale had left her some money? Molly drank half a glass of water before she was able to speak.

  “Did Atherton end up mentioning you in any of his wills?” she asked conversationally. “I understand he changed them a lot.”

  “Well, I didn’t sleep with him if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “No, of course not,” said Molly. “I certainly wasn’t trying to suggest—”

  “I have my standards,” said McCormick, raising her nose into the air and making a little sniff. “Besides, you couldn’t trust the old bastard to keep his word or I might have been tempted. A million bucks was real money back then, even to Atherton Gale. He haunts the place, you know.”

  Nell had finished the food on her plate a while back and had been staring off into space. Now she turned to Molly, her eyes wide.

  “She’s just kidding,” Molly assured her. “Aren’t you, Mrs. McCormick?”

  “I’ve seen him plenty of times,” said McCormick, pokerfaced.

  “No, she hasn’t, Nellie,” said Molly, placing her hand on her sister’s. Nell had turned dead white.

  “Have, too,” McCormick pressed on. “I think he’s still panting after yours truly.”

  “I thought you were already spoken for,” snapped Molly.

  McCormick’s gray eyes narrowed into slits.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she said angrily.

  “I saw you and Henry Troutwig in the garden this afternoon,” Molly replied. To hell with McCormick’s privacy if she was going to frighten Nell like this.

  “What was there to see?”

  “You were holding hands.”

  “No, we weren’t.”

  “I saw you.”

  McCormick looked for a moment like she might explode. Then she relaxed, a sickly smile crossing her face.

  “Oh, yeah,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Now I remember. I was feeling a little light-headed and went into the garden for some air. Old Troutwig came out at one point and took my pulse. That’s what you saw.”

  “Oh, really?”

  Molly didn’t say anything, just stared.

  “Oh, all right. The old idiot and I are involved. So what?”

  “Why are you keeping your relationship with Mr. Troutwig a secret?”

  “Because I want to keep him, damn it,” barked McCormick. Then her face softened. “Look, you don’t know how it is for a woman like me. I was never a basket of looks, and I’m not young anymore. Even up here a man like Henry could do a lot better
for himself. If word ever got out that Henry was seeing me, fraternizing with Dora Gale’s help, he’d be a laughingstock. He’d have to dump me just to save face.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “Shows how little you know,” said McCormick, waving a bony hand in the air. “The winters are awful long up here. And cold. I’m sick of being alone. Some women can take it, like Dora. Not me. You won’t tell her about Henry, will you?”

  Molly hesitated. Was that all there was to this? A lonely woman? Cold Vermont nights?

  “It would kill her, I tell you,” insisted McCormick. “Down she’d go like a little sack of potatoes. Thump. Sssh. Here she comes.”

  “Well, I’m very relieved,” said Dora with a sweet smile, emerging from the kitchen. “Russell is home safe. And he’s going to have lunch with the vice president’s wife next Thursday.”

  She took her place at the table again.

  Everybody murmured congratulations except for Nell. Molly took a handful of her french fries and put them on her sister’s plate, but Nell ignored them.

  “The back door in the kitchen was wide open,” said Dora. “We have to remember to close and lock it, Mrs. McCormick, now that Russell is gone and we’re alone in the house. You can’t be too careful these days. Someone might sneak in and murder us all in our beds.”

  “Don’t remind me,” said McCormick. “Do you want me to heat up your burger in the microwave, Mrs. G?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. McCormick, but I’m not very hungry,” said Dora, regarding the remains of her now-cold supper. “I put up the kettle in the kitchen, though. Maybe you could bring us all a nice pot of tea?”

  “Why not?” said the nurse. “Save any interesting gossip until I get back.”

  She gave Molly a meaningful look, then marched through the door to the kitchen.

  Dora, Molly, and Nell sat in silence for a moment. Molly’s thoughts began to turn from McCormick and Troutwig to her and David Azaria before she managed to push it all from her mind. How to clear Nell of the suspicion the sheriff had focused on her was the only thing she should be thinking about. Suddenly it seemed more important than ever to find out what had happened between Atherton Gale and his two sons seventeen years ago. What had set in motion the events that were still unfolding? If anyone knew the truth it was Dora.

  “I’m glad Russell is okay,” said Molly, trying to lead into the subject naturally. “You must be very proud of him.”

  “Oh, yes indeed,” said Dora. “When Russell was younger I used to worry that he’d never find his place in the world, let alone become involved with such a wonderful charity. He went from job to job, never seemed to connect with anything. George was different. George always knew he wanted to be a doctor, to help people. Of course, Atherton hated that. He’d wanted George to come into the business with him, but George had other plans for his life.”

  “Why did Atherton cut them both out of his will?”

  Dora shook her head and shrugged her shoulder.

  “I don’t suppose we’ll ever know what went on in poor Atherton’s mind. Atherton was always redoing things, changing his plans. He thrived on confusion and uncertainty. It was difficult to know where you stood with him from one day to the next.”

  “Even you?”

  “Oh, yes, indeed.”

  An unhappy look passed across Dora’s sweet open face. She took a nibble of her cold hamburger, chewed, and executed a dainty swallow before continuing.

  “Atherton kept me so off balance for the first years of our marriage that I really didn’t understand the kind of man he was. I was too busy trying to defend myself, please him, figure out what he wanted. Felicity had told me about some of the problems she’d had with Atherton, but the man who courted me seemed like a different individual—so kind and thoughtful, so charming and shy. It was only later that I began to see who he really was.”

  “He was cruel to you?”

  “He was cruel to himself,” said Dora. “Yes, Atherton often humiliated me verbally in front of what few visitors we had here. But it wasn’t like he had singled me out; Atherton was horrid to everyone. He would fly into impossible rages from one moment to the next and everyone would have to scramble to figure out what they had done wrong. But it was all a distraction, Atherton’s ploy to prevent people from looking at him and seeing the frightened, selfish, unhappy little man he really was. It was himself he hated, you see? All he had really was his money. That’s why he kept accumulating more and more. He never saw that he couldn’t buy the self-respect he craved. It was very sad.”

  “But surely Russell and George must have done something terrible for Atherton to have cut them off so completely.”

  Dora sighed deeply.

  “I can’t help thinking it was the incident with the pants,” she said. “Oddly enough, it began with an act of kindness. Atherton could actually be quite kind as long as you did things his way. In honor of my birthday he had flown us all to New York for a weekend. On the second night we were going out to a fish house downtown. We met downstairs in the hotel lobby. Atherton took one look at George and ordered him to go upstairs and change his pants.”

  “What was wrong with his pants?” asked Molly.

  “Nothing,” said Dora. “That was the point. Oh, they were a little casual, I suppose, but there wasn’t anything really wrong with them.”

  “Then why did Atherton want him to change?”

  “It was just Atherton’s way of dominating people, forcing them to his will. But George was a grown man now, a doctor. He refused to change his pants, said it wasn’t necessary. Atherton insisted. The argument escalated until Atherton declared that if George wouldn’t change his pants, Atherton would cut him out of his will. That’s when Russell spoke up. He said that Atherton was being ridiculous. Atherton replied that unless Russell supported his opinion, he would be cut out of the will, too.”

  “George didn’t change?”

  “No, he didn’t. And Russell refused to take Atherton’s side. I remember thinking it was a very important moment, a rite of passage for the boys. Of course they were grown men then, but this was the first time they had really stood up to their father. I never dreamed that Atherton was actually serious about disinheriting the boys. Besides, Henry always warned me about any changes Atherton wanted to make to his will. But Atherton tricked us all and went to that man in Boston. I really do think it was all because George wouldn’t change his pants.”

  “My God,” said Molly, shaking her head at the senselessness of it.

  “There was really no way to win with Atherton,” said Dora, her voice level, her eyes hard. “You either did it his way or he cut you out. That’s why I’m still here, I’m ashamed to say. I always did it his way. I was too afraid, too dependent upon him to do anything else.”

  She fell silent as the clatter of orthopedic Oxfords signaled Mrs. McCormick’s return from the kitchen. She carried a silver tray with a silver Queen Anne tea service and a plate of cookies.

  The four of them nibbled cookies and sipped tea and chatted about nothing in particular for another fifteen minutes. Dora went on about gardening and the weather. Nell ate a few cookies and wouldn’t make eye contact. McCormick was very subdued.

  To get her mind off Atherton Gale and all the people who had died, Molly focused her thoughts on the tea set. She was dying to pick up the creamer and investigate the hallmarks on the bottom but could see no polite way to do so. All she received for her interest was a second cup of tea, which Dora insisted on pouring for everyone.

  By the time the clock in the living room chimed nine-thirty, Molly was ready for bed. The days started early at Gale Castle and there wasn’t much reason to stay up very late. Nell was yawning, too.

  “Will you excuse us, Dora?” said Molly, rising from the table. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Of course, my dear,” said Dora. “You children run along to bed. I’ll help you clean up, Mrs. McCormick.”

  “Good night then,” said Mo
lly. “Thank you for dinner.”

  McCormick grunted a perfunctory farewell. Molly and Nell headed toward the stairs and to their room.

  In the upstairs hall strange shadows played over the suits of armor and the house groaned like an old wooden ship. Gale Castle no longer seemed such an interesting place, Molly decided. There was too much death here, and somewhere a murderer walked free.

  “It’s pretty wild about Mrs. McCormick and Troutwig, don’t you think?” Molly said later, after she had brushed her teeth and was getting into her nightgown. “And how about Atherton and the pants? McCormick was right. The man was insane.”

  Nell had already changed into her nightdress. She made no move to get into bed, however. She sat on the overstuffed chair in their room, a worried expression on her face.

  “You’re not scared about Atherton’s ghost, are you?”

  Nell glanced up and nodded.

  “There’s no such things as ghosts, you know.”

  Nell nodded her head again, though it wasn’t clear whether she was agreeing with Molly or saying that there were.

  Molly went to the door of their room and locked them in. Dora was right. You couldn’t be too careful these days, even here in Vermont on an island in the middle of nowhere. Maybe David Azaria was right, too. Maybe they should think about getting out.

  “I suppose that Atherton Gale does have a lot of influence around here for a dead person. But he’s not going to hurt us, believe me.”

  Nell didn’t look convinced.

  Molly shrugged and got into bed. There would be plenty of time tomorrow to worry about Atherton Gale and where to spend the rest of their lives. She was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open and more confused than she had ever been in her life.

  Molly reached over and turned off the lamp on the night table. Nell didn’t move from the chair. In the moonlight that streamed through the window she looked like some kind of gossamer angel.

  “Come on to bed,” Molly murmured.

  Nell got up from the chair after a moment, but instead of getting into her bed on the other side of the night table she crossed the room and sat down on the floor of the big cedar closet.