The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane

by Laird Koenig

  "That’s right, I walked. Aren’t you going to ask why I didn’t drive Dear Mother’s lovely, liver-colored Bentley?"

  He gathered his cape and strode past her to the fireplace. From the woodbox he produced some newspaper which he wadded and stuffed into the grate. He poked in kindling, lit the paper and watched the fire catch, his face reflecting the orange flames.

  "Or don’t you ask because you’re so staggeringly brilliant that you know I don’t want to leave it out in the lane for all the world to see? Right?"

  He glanced up from the fire where the Hames rose, licking at the kindling.

  "Which reminds me. I owe you my thanks for bringing the car back to the office."

  The girl stood at the table motionless, silent.

  "Rynn?'

  "I don’t know what you mean."

  "I mean. you’re brilliant. No two ways about it. But you made one mistake. I’m speaking of that famous Saturday she drove her pride and joy, her liver-colored Bentley, over here to pick up the equally famous jelly glasses. She never came home. But somehow her car did."

  "That Saturday, she was never here."

  "Now, you’re being careless."

  "She never came."

  "My dear, I suggest you sit down."

  Rynn made no move. Hallet snapped his fingers at the couch. He watched her as she sat, the firelight flickering on his face.

  "She did come by. I know. I rode over with her."

  In the silence she could hear him breathe.

  "Now do you see why you must never make these careless statements?"

  "She never came by."

  "Don’t be a bore. That Saturday I thought I’d visit you, too. As we left the office I lied. I told Dear Mother I wanted to see your neighbors before they closed up their house and went to Florida. Once we reached this lane she knew why I’d come out here. Dear Mother, she knew what I wanted. Parked right out there in front of this house we had the most terrible fight. She forbade me ever to come here again. She said she was going to talk with your father. Alone. About me—probably. You think it’s too terribly paranoid of me to think that? It’s true, however. No matter now. I waited for her to leave. And waited. In the rain remember? I saw you leave the house and come back. Saw the little lame magician bicycle up here and then bicycle away again. By then I was soaked through and trudged off home leaving her car behind."

  "None of that is true."

  "You’ll never know will you? If you ask Fat-Ass Officer Ron Miglioriti, you’ll find out that the police left her Bentley, which I alone believed had so mysteriously reappeared at the office to sit there all day Sunday. Locked.

  "Like a bank vault. Since Dear Mother had the only set of keys I was helpless to open the door. On Monday a tow truck dragged it off to, Podesta’s garage. You’re supposed , to be so brilliant, you tell me. How did I open the car door and start the motor without the keys?"

  "She gave them to you."

  "No, no, no," he said impatiently. "I told you, I haven’t seen her. Besides, she wouldn’t let me touch that precious car of hers."

  "There was another set of keys?"

  "When mother didn’t want me to drive her car, you’re saying she’d leave a set around for me to find? No way. No, Dear Mother was a very thorough woman. So—" He snapped his fingers for the girl’s attention.

  "So how did I open the door?"

  "You called in a locksmith."

  "Voila!"

  "Then your mother still has the other set of keys."

  "You’re saying she drove back to the office?"

  "Yes."

  "And if not she, then who? Well, since you’re such a staggeringly brilliant little girl I Couldn’t know for certain that you hadn’t. It appears you are capable of the most remarkable things." He suppressed a giggle. "Once I had the doors open I scoured every inch of that car. Sherlock Holmes. Ellery Queen. Maigret, you name him. But I found nothing that said a little fourteen--or is it thirteen-year-old girl had driven the car. So, I looked again. You know what I found? On the plump leather paneling of the door were round marks. Thank God for real leather. Plastic wouldn’t show them. Round marks from what?' Round marks from the tip of a cane that someone had used to help get himself and something else out of the car? Arid in the back seat? Back there something had scratched Dear Mother’s precious leather. Something that was too big to fit in the trunk? Also, more marks from a cane. Why? For support? Scratches--from a bicycle in the back seat? Round marks from putting a bicycle in, taking a bicycle out? The little lame magician? Up to his little lame tricks?"

  The fire began to crackle,

  "That was on Saturday. Unfortunately, I didn’t get into the car till Tuesday. What did he do? Bring the keys back to you Saturday night? You have them now? On a chain around your pretty little neck?"

  Hallet picked up the poker and stirred the fire. He lifted a maple log onto the flames.

  "Of course that didn’t tell me where Dear Mother was. That I still had to discover. Those evenings I came back here, I didn’t drive." He sighed. "Oh, the times I trudged through the rain and autumn leaves just to see you. .. ."

  He rose from the fire and brushed the soot from his hands. With exaggerated elegance, he drew his cloak around him and settled slowly into the rocking chair.

  "There are a few details we still have to work out." He held up a cautioning hand. "Don’t tell me. I’m enjoying doing this on my own far too much."

  He snapped his fingers at the cigarette box. Rynn brought him the pack of Gauloise. He took one and waited. She struck a match and lit the cigarette for him. Inhaling, he leaned back and began slowly to rock.

  "For fourteen—or is it thirteen—youare brilliant. Inventive. Resourceful. Cool under fire. But sooner or later all of us have to learn there are other brilliant people in the world. Discovering facts like that, I’m afraid, is part of growing up. Yes, it’s sad not to be the center of the world anymore, isn’t it?"

  Blue smoke curled around Hallet’s pink face.

  "You see, I know you finished Dear Mother off. Something to do with what she found down in the cellar….but, as I said, I’d rather leave the rest of it to talk about on our long winter nights."

  He reached forward and took the cigarettes the girl still held in her hand. "Pardon me. You want a cigarette? No?" He smoked, maintaining his theatrical air.

  "Don’t look so solemn. I told you, I’m not angry with you for getting rid of Dear Mother. A godsend. Saved me the trouble. Hated the woman. Longed for some thunderbolt to crash her down…. some crab salad at a women’s club lunch to turn bad…. some happy smashup on the expressway to flatten that liver-colored Bentley like a duck press, sending her blue blood trickling out in all directions. But no. Every year she grew more healthy. Seemed to blossom. My God, that woman was thriving on old age. I’d just about given up hoping she’d ever kick off."

  He smiled, mechanically rocking back and forth, like a painted puppet in a toy chair, Rynn thought. "So I say—thank you."

  The telephone shrilled. Still smiling the mechanical man lifted a mechanical hand ordering her to answer the telephone.

  "Hello? Oh, Officer Miglioriti. Oh, I’m so glad you called."

  Hallet rocked back and forth, his painted, glistening smile unchanging.

  "Well everyone said Mario’s better. I didn’t think—Yes? Yes? He did? Thank goodness. I mean if that’s what the doctor told his family, then I guess I shouldn’t worry. Me? I’m perfectly all right. Fine. I got the bus, just as you said….What? Look, if it’s really bad news perhaps now’s not the time ..."

  She turned her back on the man in the rocking chair. The chair slowed its rocking and stopped.

  "Yes," she said into the phone. "I see. Isn’t that always the way? No. Not now. I mean I don’t want to bother you. No really, I’ll manage it. Thank you for calling."

  She hung up.

  The man by the fire blew out a long stream of smoke.

  "Rule-One," he said. "No secrets. Bad news?"


  "I won the stupid Thanksgiving turkey."

  "And you told him not to bring it by. Very wise."

  Mechanically, Hallet began rocking.

  21

  "TOMORROW I’ll go by the police station and pick up your turkey."

  Hallet shook with a wheezy, silent laughter. "When I say your good-byes to Fat-Ass Ron Miglioriti for you."

  He watched Rynn closely.

  "Fat Ass is leaving us and going off to California."

  Hallet, nodding and rocking, continued to watch the girl. But she showed no reaction.

  "One less wop cop, right?" His wheeze bubbled into a hearty laugh. Only sucking on his cigarette quieted him." As for the little magician, when he’s out of the hospital we’ll let you be the one to tell him. That will be your job, to tell him to go away and stay away."

  Rynn, her arms across her nightgown, rubbed her elbows as she stepped back from the man.

  "Where do you think you’re going?"

  "You asked for a cup of tea."

  "England’s answer to everything, right? Nice, hot cup of tea. First," he said, "put a record on. And turn down the lights."

  Liszt surged into the house. Enthroned in the rocking chair, Hallet was enjoying the ceremony he had staged, smoking with deliberate slowness as if he felt the world was waiting for his next imperial decree.

  "I liked the way you handled yourself on the phone. Shows an innate capacity for learning. Except"—his pink face twisted on his thick neck to peer into the kitchen—"except for that one slip up about the car, you are—brilliant. Even better than brilliant. Smart. Clever. A survivor."

  Survive.

  From the tap, the girl was filling the kettle with hot water. She did not look at the man as she spoke. "My father says that intelligence is the ability to see reality quickly."

  "Does he? So does the famous American philosopher George Santayana, and unfortunately for your father, Santayana said it first." Hallet listened to the girl moving between the counter and the range. "At Harvard I majored in philosophy, that is, until I was kicked out. Oh, you’re going to find me full of surprises."

  Hallet rose from the chair, opened the woodbox and lifted out a maple log. "No reason you shouldn’t go right on the way you’ve been living. Only from now on, we’ll be friends, you and I. Just we two. How does the song go? 'Nobody near us to see us or hear us.'" He was half singing, half talking the words and music of "Tea for Two." "No friends or relations on weekend vacations—Dear Mother loved, absolutely adored that song."

  With a grunt he rolled the log into the fire.

  "Mario," the girl said quietly.

  "Yes?"

  "He knows."

  "Knows what?"

  "What happened."

  "As I said, we’ll leave getting rid of him up to you."

  "Maybe it won’t be easy."

  "Maybe he’ll die."

  "The doctors say not."

  Hallet eased himself back into the chair.

  "Then you’ll simply have to use that brilliant little mind of yours and think of some way to let him know he’s not wanted. Just let him drift away on his uneven little wop feet."

  "Biscuits?"

  "What?"

  "You want biscuits?"

  "But of course. Only here in the States we call them cookies."

  The kettle whistled and then hissed as the girl lifted the boiling water from the range. She was filling the teapot when she said, "Mario’s been down in the cellar."

  "Busy place."

  "As I said before, he knows."

  "He a bright little wop is he?"

  "Very."

  "Then he’ll be bright enough to know that he’s an accomplice. You know that word?"

  "Yes." She returned the kettle to the range.

  "He knows what that means?"

  "He’d know."

  "He’s the only other one who knows about the cellar?"

  "Yes."

  Hallet was studying the pack of Gauloise. Did he want another? At the sound of Rynn’s footsteps he decided against the cigarette and watched the girl balance the tray on the corner of the coffee table as she knelt to the floor. She pulled her bare feet under her as she cleared a place for the tea things. Hallet, an arm’s length away, made no move to help. He stared at her hair glowing in the firelight.

  "Mr. Hallet?"

  "Yes, my dear?"

  "You’ll tell your wife?" The girl realized the risk the question carried. If, in this instant, the man had struck a stinging blow across her face, she would not have been surprised. But Hallet did not move.

  "Suppose," he said, dropping all trace of banter, "you leave that to me."

  Rynn moved saucers and cups, the teapot, the plate of cookies to the table. Hallet reached out a pink pigskin hand, his fingertips touching the spun-gold outline of Rynn’s hair that shone in the glow of the fire.

  "Pretty hair."

  Rynn did not pull away from his touch. Instead she used the act of arranging the tea things to reach across the table to edge away almost imperceptibly from the man’s hand. If Hallet saw her move as a withdrawal, he , said nothing. He had time.

  "Fire’s catching," he said. "Nice and cozy now?"

  Notes of the piano concerto fell like silver rain—a few notes shimmering at a time, building to that moment when a full shower of sound would burst.

  "What are we listening to?" he asked.

  "Liszt."

  "Lovely." His eyes never left her.

  "Milk?"

  "Yes, please."

  Hallet watched Rynn pour. With great skill she cut the flow of milk so neatly that not one extra drop spilled from the creamer.

  "Sugar?"

  "Go ahead. I’ll tell you when."

  She dropped in cubes of sugar till with a snap of his fingers Hallet stopped her.

  "Three?"

  "I’ll expect you to remember that."

  "That’s easy," the girl said. "Same as I take," Hallet tapped the table where he wished her to place the cup to be within reach at the rocker’s forward tilt.

  "Right there.”

  Rynn prepared her cup, the same amount of milk, three cubes of sugar.

  "Nothing," the man said, "like a nice, hot cup of tea.”

  They listened to the music, neither touching the tea.

  "Lovely," the man said.

  "Mm."

  After several minutes Hallet broke the silence.

  "Something wrong, my dear?"

  "No."

  "Be honest now."

  "It’s just that it’s a shame not to enjoy your tea while it’s nice and hot."

  "You mean, why don’t I take my tea?"

  "Not exactly."

  "That is what you mean isn’t it?"

  "Yes, I guess—"

  "You’re not taking yours either."

  "I’m waiting for you. You’re the guest."

  The man smiled. "You put more milk in yours."

  "Did I?"

  "Actually, that’s the way I prefer mine."

  "Here," the girl said lifting the creamer, ready to pour, "that’s easy to make right..."

  "I’d rather have yours,” he said staring straight at her.

  He tapped the table and spoke with surprising harshness.

  "When I talk to you, look at me."

  Rynn lifted her green eyes to find his, but they faltered.

  "I want your cup of tea," he said. "Gives us more a feeling of sharing, don’t you think?" He reached out.

  As Rynn raised the saucer and handed it to him she tried to keep the cup from chattering. In exchange Hallet slid his saucer and cup across the table.

  "Don’t wait for me," he said. "Ladies first."

  Rynn lifted the cup.

  "Wait.”

  She held the cup in mid air.

  "Some English lady you are,” he said wiggling his little finger at her. "You’re not holding your pinkie out."

  "I don’t in England either," she said.

  He watched her
closely, waiting for her to take her first taste. She sipped the tea.

  "Good?"

  She took a longer sip." As you say, nothing like a nice, hot cup of tea."

  With her other hand she offered the mall the plate and he took a cookie.

  He broke the cookie with his teeth.

  She waited as he tasted from his cup.

  "Good." His lip balm’s greasy mark glistened on the cup.

  "Another biscuit?" she asked.

  "The word is cookie," he said. "I told you that once."

  He coughed.

  "The napkins," the girl said. "I’m afraid I’ve forgotten them. I’ll get you one."

  "Sit still."

  "Enough milk?"

  "Lovely.” He sipped again. "You know why I made you change cups with me?"

  "No." She knew at once he did not believe her.

  "Think." His look demanded an answer.

  "Some kind of test?"

  "I switched those cups so you’ll remember, when it comes to any little tricks, you’d do better to leave those to your little wop magician." He coughed.

  Hallet crunched another cookie. He sipped more tea. "Tea tastes of almonds."

  Rynn felt the rough edge of her chipped tooth with her tongue as she bit into one of the cookies.

  "I expect it’s the almond cookies that give it that."

  Hallet finished his tea and put the saucer on the table.

  "You should see the way the fire lights up your hair. All brown and gold."

  Over her tea cup she watched the man lean toward her.

  "Such lovely hair ..."

  Hallet’s hand reached across the firelight to the girl. He stroked her hair. Rynn sat very still.