Speak Softly, She Can Hear

by Pam Lewis

  Oh, yes, she had touched the dead woman’s naked body. She had felt it grow cool and seen close up the expressionless face. She had carried it up the slope, hefting it over and over as it slipped from her grip. She had helped to bury it wetly in the snow. She had pushed in the snow every bit as much as Naomi and Eddie. She had let Eddie talk her out of getting help when she knew it was wrong. She had kept everything quiet all these years. Yes. But she had not killed Rita Boudreau, and all these years she’d thought their knowledge, Eddie’s and Naomi’s, was her problem, when the truth was, she was theirs.

  She pulled the stack of photos toward herself and spread them out. Rita’s remains lay in the twisted pose she remembered. Now she had the courage to see these shots taken from every angle. The abundant dark hair, the ravaged lower face, the body that was left mostly intact.

  “She would have died quickly,” Will said. “She slipped away.”

  It didn’t matter. She had given Eddie her mother’s little silver cigarette box. She had given him her mother. If the three of us keep our mouths shut, nobody will be the wiser. He hadn’t ever been protecting her. She’d been protecting him. That was why he kept asking. Did you tell? Does anybody know? Does Sambo know?

  She knew what it meant when people said they saw red. The sudden fury was like nothing she’d ever felt. “I’m going over there.” She was barely aware of Will any longer. She looked forward to it. She was hungry for this. “I need to know,” she said out loud, although it was to herself, not to Will. “I need to know if Naomi knew. If she was in on it all this time.” She stood up, knocking her chair over and leaving it there. “That son of a bitch. They were laughing at me.”

  “Think this through, Carole. Don’t go tearing out of here.”

  “I’m finished thinking,” she said.

  “Don’t go alone, then. I’ll come with you.”

  “No.” She could hear the fury in her voice. She wasn’t going to hide behind anybody else this time. “This is my mess. I’m going to clean it up.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The rage built as she drove. It made her sharp and quick at the wheel, speeding over the snow-covered roads and once accelerating out of a skid. She was alert to the overcast sky, the jade color of frosted evergreens. And so many hateful images, all of them newly lit by this information. She saw Rita in that pointed rabbit fur hat, shaking out her hair when she took it off. And then Eddie’s hand at Rita’s throat, like he was trying to feel for words he couldn’t hear.

  She swerved along the shoulder of the road, half on, half off, recalling again what she’d thought that night. So there. She doesn’t want to play anymore, and neither do I. She veered back onto the pavement and gunned the motor, thinking of Eddie that morning in the cabin, spread out across the couch, talking about all the things he and Naomi would be buying now that they were married. A welter of images followed. Eddie in that god-awful yellow cashmere sweater that belonged to the owner of the brownstone on Sixty-sixth Street. Like mother, like daughter, he had said. And Naomi, so recklessly in his thrall. As Carole drove, she was convinced Naomi had to have known. How easy it had been to pull the wool over her eyes. What a loser, to believe it all this time.

  At West Hill, she hooked a left and flew over the snow-packed dirt roads, wheels slipping here and there as the road slush turned to ice in shadow. She went right on Molly Supple, and finally up Naomi’s long, messy driveway. When she was almost at the house, the green Jaguar blocked her way, the passenger-side door wide open. Carole stopped the truck and leaned on the horn.

  She waited. As soon as either one of them showed his or her face, she was going to let it rip. She wasn’t scared anymore. She wasn’t responsible for Rita Boudreau’s death. Eddie was. She let the horn blare again. But there was only silence. She got out of the truck, slammed closed the door on the Jag, and walked toward the house. The back storm door was ajar. She rapped and waited, then opened the inside door and called in; her voice was met by silence. The kitchen was piled with filthy plates and open containers of food. Naomi’s big patent-leather purse was on the floor, as if thrown, the contents spread out across the shiny wood. A lipstick, her car keys, junk.

  They could be in bed. They could have come home from Chacha’s lusting for each other and gone upstairs to the bedroom. It would explain the car in the driveway, the open doors. They could be lying there, waiting for her to leave. She wouldn’t put it past them. “I’m coming up,” she yelled at the base of the stairs. The outside door swung shut on a breeze and slammed, causing her to jump.

  She took the stairs two at a time to the wide-open bedroom, but it was empty. The huge king bed was unmade, littered with boxes from Tripler’s, the men’s store in Manhattan. Tissue from the boxes was strewn around, and so were sweaters and slacks and socks, all still with the tags on. There were two suits, one brown and one blue, in a heap on the couch. And several pairs of shoes. Eddie had been on a shopping spree. She flung open the closet door, but it was empty. Then she raced back downstairs and did the same, opening and slamming doors all through the house, even into the cellar with its dank walls. And she would have left, would have assumed they’d gone out again, except for one thing. She checked the garage and there was the Land Cruiser.

  So they had come home, and something had made Naomi throw down her purse, and now the only place they could be was outside. She went to check, and sure enough there were footprints, freshly made in the snow, heading downhill in back. Eddie’s big boots and Naomi’s little high-heeled ones. It infuriated her all over again, the irresponsibility of everything they did, running into the woods too late in the day, letting the battery run down on the car, letting the heat out of the house. She’d just add that to the list when she found them.

  In the back of the truck she kept, among other emergency items, snowshoes and a small pack. Will had drummed preparation into her. She wasn’t supposed to take any trail, summer or winter, without that little pack with its plastic bags of gorp, water bottle, dry socks, and a little first-aid kit whose contents were probably reduced to dust by now. She went into the house to fill the bottle of water. She tied the snowshoes to a loop on the pack, then entered the woods, following their footprints. They were mostly Eddie’s, only occasionally the little pointed triangular ones. In one place, the snow was freshly roiled. In another there were long troughs where something had been dragged. It all continued clearly enough, and Carole followed them. What were they doing? Where were they going? They couldn’t have gone too far, certainly not with Naomi in those stupid boots.

  The snow had softened in the midday sun, then firmed to ice. In minutes, the hem of her skirt was waterlogged from dragging in the snow, and salty sweat stung in her eyes. The trail flattened out for a good distance and then turned down again through the forest. She scanned the thickly wooded terrain, called Naomi’s name, waited, then continued. She must be on a snowmobile trail because the footing was so solid. In the distance was the sound of running water. She decided to keep going a bit more. If she couldn’t see them soon, then to hell with it, she’d go back and wait for them at the house.

  She went carefully down the incline, calling out as she went, stopping at a junction where another snowmobile trail came in from the left. They could have gone either way, she thought, and she was about to turn back when a little fleck of black in the distance caught her eye. It moved, stopped, moved again. She stopped to watch, lost it, found it again. A person, she was sure.

  The sun was falling behind the mountains now, casting everything in shadow. As she headed down, holding on to trees for support, crouching to keep herself from falling, she could feel moisture seep through her skirt and her gloves. Will had taught her to turn and look behind her periodically, making a mental note of landmarks so she would know what to look for when she doubled back. But the light in the woods was already too dim to get a good fix on any rocks or trees, so she concentrated on the sound of the water, which was ahead now and much closer.

  She kept going, t
esting her weight with each step. Then Eddie came full into view perhaps twenty yards away, a thick, dark shadow standing with his back to her. Beyond him, Naomi swayed on hands and knees, her head lolling as though it was too heavy to raise. Carole watched as Eddie took Naomi under the arms and lifted her like some limp little doll, then toppled her on purpose and left her sitting in the snow, her head drooping. He lit a cigarette. The smell hit Carole and she stood up.

  Naomi saw her at once and made a sound that caused Eddie to spin around and look. He was massive in all his winter gear. Carole didn’t have time to move before he spotted her. “Oh, Christ,” he said.

  “What’s going on? What’s wrong with Naomi?”

  “She’s drunk,” Eddie said with a laugh. “As usual.”

  Carole approached Naomi. Up close she could see that Eddie had on a new down parka, a new ski hat. Naomi had only her thin jacket. Even from several yards away, Carole could tell that she was dripping wet. Naomi tried to stand again but fell and broke into a giggle.

  “Give me a hand,” Eddie said.

  Carole approached warily. Something was way off. “How did she get so wet? That’s really dangerous. We have to—” she said, forgetting her anger.

  “She fell in,” Eddie said. “Get over here, okay?”

  Carole held back, afraid of what Eddie might do if she got too close to him. She stalled for time, removing her pack, dumping it at her feet. “I might have dry clothes in here. Something.” She rummaged around but caught a glimpse of Eddie at the same time holding up Naomi’s hair. He seemed to be trying to tell how wet it was.

  “Help me.” Naomi was looking at Carole, her eyes wide and frightened. “Please.”

  “Relax, will you?” Eddie said to her. “Bring that pack of yours over here,” he said to Carole. He was beckoning, snapping his fingers with impatience, a gesture she remembered from that night in the motel when he’d been so agitated. She edged closer. Maybe Naomi was drunk, and maybe Eddie was trying to help. But when she drew close, Naomi said, “Look out,” and Carole stopped.

  He looked from Carole to Naomi and back, then laughed. “My wife pulled some very stupid shit,” he said. “Back there at your place, she wanted to go for the free lunch. Fill in the blanks down there at your place. She thought it would be fun for people to hear who actually did it. She’s waving her hand around for your friend to come over so she could give him a blow-by-blow, and I had to manhandle her a little to get her out of there. It was extremely stupid what you did with that picture. Extremely.”

  “You lied to me,” Carole said. “I never killed her. You did. She died of asphyxiation, not a broken neck.”

  He stared at her, took a long drag on his cigarette.

  “What’s the difference?” he said. “It was an accident.”

  “But it was your accident, Eddie, not mine.”

  “We got away with it, okay? You should have left it alone.”

  She moved in closer to him, all her fury back. “You said it was my fault, you son of a bitch. You said you were covering up for me when all the time I was covering up for you.”

  He was standing before her, legs slightly apart, arms taut. All black except for his pale, round face. “And you believed it,” he said. “A smart girl like you. I wondered when you’d figure it out.”

  “I was sixteen.”

  “You were a kid. I knew that. There was no telling what you’d do. You were in a shitload of trouble no matter whose fault it was. You should have thanked me a million times over. Instead you make a federal case of it. She”—he pointed to Naomi—“she was ready to tell the world today. Shit. She thought it was funny.”

  “Tell them what? That I did it or that you did it, Eddie? That’s what she wanted to shout out today, isn’t it? That it was you and not me?”

  A long moan came from Naomi.

  “We’ve got to get her warm, Eddie. This is serious.”

  Eddie took a step toward Carole. “When we got back from town, she jumped out of the car and ran for the woods, drunk as a skunk. I came after her, and when she stopped, she was in this creek. All I was trying to do was settle her down so I could get her home and get her dry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  He was lying, and Carole knew it. Naomi’s purse had been on the floor, which meant she had gone into the house first. She hadn’t bolted from the car to the woods like he said. Naomi rolled herself around and sat on the snow, her legs straight out in front of her like a doll. She began tugging at the zipper on her jacket and finally got it down, then she pulled open her shirt, exposing her neck. “Hot in here,” she said.

  In that instant it all made sense. Eddie had brought Naomi out here. He might even have carried her, dragged her. It explained the troughs she’d seen in the snow. In a sudden fury, Carole ran at Eddie, ramming him with her body, and felt him give, massive and soft. She felt him fall beneath her and grappled for his face. Will had taught her how once, made her show him the claw her hand could make, the index and middle fingers crooked to plunge into the eyes. But Eddie was powerful. He rolled away, loomed over her, and pinned her to the snow. They lay panting and gasping.

  “You stupid bitch.” He pulled himself up and planted a knee hard on Carole’s shoulder. He took a few more breaths, rolled her over, and pushed her arms painfully up. She tried to pull away, but he had her tight. “You’re not as strong as you think you are.” He dragged her a few feet to the stream. She struggled and tried to kick, but he had her too firmly, and she was facedown, her arms pinned. He plunged her down into the icy water. It was everywhere at once. In her mouth and her nose and ears. It rushed under her clothing at the neck of her parka, her wrists and ankles and waist, searing her skin all over. He pushed her down farther, so far under the water now that the cold attacked her back and her legs, it soaked her hair, burned her scalp. She couldn’t breathe. She had to fight against taking in a great sucking breath from the shock of the cold, but if she did, she would drown. She shook her head, clamped her lips shut against it, writhed like an eel until he let go, and burst through the surface of the water, dragging the cold night air into her lungs like fire. He flung her back onto the snow and planted his knee in the small of her back.

  “You girls are a couple of losers. Always were.” Still holding her down, he rummaged through her pack, came up with the flashlight, and shone it into her face. The light was so weak she could see its filaments, the shape of the bulb. It would never last. “I can use this.” He took out the socks and a windbreaker, then threw the pack down.

  “I’m hot.” Naomi was sitting cross-legged a few feet from where Eddie had Carole pinned.

  “You’re gone.” Eddie raised himself up, putting more weight on his knee, digging it deeply into Carole’s shoulder. He took a handful of snow and shoved it into Naomi’s face, down her neck. “Better?” he said.

  Carole tried to pull away but couldn’t. “Let me lay it down for you,” he said. “Now that I have your attention.” He laughed. “I’ve been reading your boyfriend’s column in the newspaper,” he said. “What’s his name?”

  Keep him calm, keep him talking, Carole thought, but her body was starting to convulse with shivers. Don’t let him get a rise out of you. He laughed again. “Will,” she said.

  “That’s right. Will. It occurred to me that all I needed to do is wet her down and leave her here like she slipped and fell in the brook and was trying to crawl out. Hypothermia. I didn’t believe it at first, but I asked around, and it’s true. You girls are just going to cool down to nothing.”

  “What did she ever do to you?”

  “It’s not what she did to me. It’s what she might do with that mouth of hers. And it’s what she can do for me. I’ll be the grieving widower. Need I say more?”

  “She would give it to you,” Carole said. “She was giving away money all the time.”

  “Exactly,” Eddie said. “She’s very careless.”

  “You’re despicable,” Carole said.

  Eddie sighed. �
�And fast too,” he said. “The hypothermia, I mean. That’s the interesting thing. It happens fast. Well, not death itself, but the disorientation, and he said once a person is disoriented they’re dead, because they do all the wrong things. They can’t help themselves. It’s irreversible at some point. Oh, skinny and wet speed things up even more.” He paused. “I’ll be leaving once you girls are ready. I’ll go back to the house, my house now, for a bowl of hot soup or something. In a few hours I’ll call the police about my missing wife.” He paused and then laughed. “When they find you, they’ll just think it’s a couple of dumb broads, which it is.” He laughed. “That’s got possibilities.” His knee dug deeper into her back, pressing her abdomen harder into the snow. “I wish you could thank Will for me,” he said.

  By now Naomi was whimpering rhythmically. Eddie straddled Carole’s back, keeping her down. She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, and in spite of trying not to, she slipped in and out of sleep. She began to shiver violently, picturing her wet clothing welding to the icy ground beneath her. She shut her eyes and must have dozed because when she opened them again, the woods had darkened. Eddie switched on the light. Its thin yellow beam flickered. “Come on,” he said. “Time to get up and go home to a nice warm bed, okay?”

  She tried to pull herself up but felt a tug and realized her clothing had begun to freeze to the ground. She lay back down again and felt his bare hand under her clothes. His face came close to hers, and she could feel his breath. He raised her eyelid with his finger and she stared into his face, training her eye on the bridge of his nose so it wouldn’t flicker. “That boyfriend gives you a couple of hours, maybe,” he said to her. “A lot less for my wife here.”

  He let go of her, rolled over, and got to his feet.