Sugar in Her Bowl

by India Maslany

  "I had to wash my hands before coming to bed," Lamont said. "Then I wanted to refill the basin because I didn't want you to use that dirty water in the morning. I know you like to wash your face first thing in the morning."

  Lamont tried to snuggle close to his wife, but she seemed rigid. Something was bothering her. It could be that he came home much later than anticipated. He thought of telling her about the gift he received from the birthday girl, but he decided to wait until the morning, when the light prevailed.

  "I hope you didn't leave a lamp on in the front room," she said, nearly startling him as he tried to go to sleep.

  "No, Velma. I didn't," he said. He was annoyed and he didn't care. He turned over, his back to her, and didn't say another word.

  Neither of them slept well that evening.

  The next morning, Lamont sat up with a start. He felt fatigued, as if he had never closed his eyes. His limbs felt as if they were made of lead.

  Looking at his watch, Lamont saw that it was already seven in the morning. Velma had drifted off and was snoring slightly.

  He slipped out of the bed without awakening her. He looked out the window and saw that it was snowing, blanketing the outside world with peaceful, quiet whiteness.

  Lamont grabbed his clothes and dressed in the hallway. The newspaper was waiting for him on the front doorstep. He both hoped and dreaded for it this morning. In fact, it was the sound of the paper hitting the front step that caused him to sit up quickly.

  Collecting the paper, Lamont went into the sitting room, shutting the door behind him quietly. He placed the newspaper on the table and spread it out.

  Lamont looked up and sighed, a look of deep relief on his face. What he had feared would be printed on the front page wasn't.

  Chapter 22

  Lamont felt light hearted to the point of being light headed. He lit the stove to make Velma her morning coffee. While preparing for the morning, he heard her call out:

  "Lamont!" she cried. "Lamont!" He hurried to the bedroom.

  "What is it, girl? I'm getting your coffee ready," he said with a foolish smile.

  She sat up, looking at him with a dazed expression. "What are you grinning about?"

  Lamont explained then and there the stroke of luck he had at last night's service: the extra twenty dollars. "You were so cross last night I didn't want to say anything until this morning," he said in closing.

  Velma said nothing. She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. "When is Delia coming home?" she asked. "When is Carter bringing her back?"

  "Probably around dinner time, I suppose."

  "I wonder how long her grandmother of hers expects us to house Delia?"

  Any joy in Lamont's face died. He felt angry. Having Delia around made his joy complete, especially now that they were doing far better than they had in years!

  "Delia will stay here as long as possible," Lamont said. "It's a shame you continue to talk like you do, Velma. Delia helps all she can and she's been good for us and you know it. Besides, I'm her father. My time with her is already fleeting. Before you know it, she'll be married and with a family of her own and I'll rarely if ever see her then. I would hope you would appreciate that."

  Velma said nothing in response. Lamont stormed off, returning to the sitting room. The water was at a boil. He made Velma's coffee and brought it in on the tray. Looking at Velma, he felt sorry for her. She looked sick. He wondered if she was in pain and just wasn't sharing with him what all she was dealing with inside.

  "I met Mr. Lockhart on the street last night, coming home. We came in together," Lamont said. "He's a strange fellow, isn't he? It certainly wasn't the type of night one would have chosen to go for a walk, but he must have been out and about for quite a while if what he said was true."

  "It's no wonder why a quiet man such as Mr. Lockhart hates the streets when they're crowded during the day. It gets worse the nearer to the holidays we get," Velma said. Lamont went back to the sitting room. He started the fire and sat down with his newspaper.

  In his heart, Lamont thought back to the night before with a bit of shame. Why had he thought such terrible things, about their quiet, gentlemanly tenant no less? The sight of the blood on his hands. Mr. Lockhart clearly explained it. Lamont thought back to the number of times he'd seen dead animals on the sidewalk, vehicular victims of the city. It was not uncommon to think someone would trip over such a poor beast and find themselves covered in all manner of gore.

  Maybe Velma was right after all. Maybe he should stop spending so much time dwelling on the actions of a serial killer. It spilled over into one's life in such a way that you could find evil behind every corner, if you went looking for it.

  There was a knock at the door. Before he could put down the paper, get up and head for the foyer, Velma was already at the door.

  "I'll go," she said somewhat breathlessly. "I'll go, Lamont. Go finish your paper."

  Surprised, Lamont stared at her and followed her down the hall.

  She opened the door, nodded and took something from the person at the door. It was a telegram. "No need to wait," she said to the telegram delivery boy. "If we need to reply, we'll send it ourselves."

  Velma opened the envelope and read as Lamont approached her, looking over her shoulder. "It's from Carter. He says he can't drive up to get Delia today. Something about work. I suppose you'll have to fetch her, Lamont."

  She handed the telegram to him and walked into the sitting room for her coffee. Sure enough, the message read:

  >On duty this morning. Unable to retrieve Miss Delia as planned. -- Carter."

  "Wonder why he's on duty?" Lamont mused. "Carter's hours are usually as regular as clockwork. Oh well, it is what it is, I guess. I'll head out about eleven or so. Hopefully, the snow will have stopped by then. I'm still pretty tired from last night."

  "Start out at twelve. Give yourself a little more time to rest. It'll take you a while to get up there and back."

  The morning went by without further event. Lamont received a letter from his former mother-in-law asking for Delia to return the following week, less than a week away.

  Mr. Lockhart was quiet as he usually was during the day. Sleeping, no doubt. Velma stopped at his door to listen. While she made up her room, she heard no sounds above. He must be sleeping, she thought.

  "Delia will be surprised to see you, but disappointed as well," Velma said to Lamont when she returned downstairs.

  When the clock struck eleven, Lamont rose from his chair. Velma urged him to stay a little longer. "There's no need to rush," Velma said with surprising good naturedness. "Besides, with the sun out and rising, the longer you wait, the more likely the snow will melt off the roads. You can be there and back before dinner. I'll have dinner ready for you and Delia when you return. I figure Aunt Margaux has worked that poor girl to the bone."

  When it came time for Lamont to head out to retrieve Delia, Velma went with him to the front door. It had stopped snowing, finally. There were people on the street, coming and going. A few cars and carts dragged through the slush. The sun shone on the fallen snow, reflecting a blinding white that caused both husband and wife to squint their eyes.

  Velma kissed Lamont on the cheek and patted his chest gently. "Be careful. Don't rush in this weather," she said. Lamont nodded, donned his hat and made his way down the street to the nearest bus stop.

  Velma was still in the kitchen when the doorbell rang and there was a knock at the door. She recognized the knock. "Carter must think Delia's home," Velma said to no one.

  Before she had opened the door, Carter spoke up, "Velma, don't be scared now. It's Carter." Velma wasn't scared, but she did gasp. Carter stood there, made up in a disguise to resemble a homeless drifter. He was covered in dirt and he wore clothes that were worn and didn't fit that well. His hat was dented and scuffed.

  "I've barely got enough time," Carter said, breathing excitedly. "But I wanted to stop by to see if Delia made it home yet. You got my telegram, I hope? I
was worried you wouldn't get it in time."

  "She ain't back yet. Lamont went to go get her." Velma noticed a strange look in Carter's eyes. "What's wrong?" Her face went pale and her voice quivered slightly.

  "Well, it ain't really my place to say anything, but I'll tell you," Carter said. He walked into the house and shut the sitting-room door carefully behind him as Velma waited for his account.

  "There's been another killing," Carter whispered. "But this time, we're not giving that information out -- at least, not just yet. The reason why is we think we've got a clue -- a very good clue!"

  "What? How?" Velma asked, anxious and feeling as if she might need to sit down.

  "A body was found on a bench in Battery Park. It just happened that the first person to find it was one of our men. He was on his way home, but he was able to get it covered quickly and quietly. He'll probably get promoted to detective for it," Carter said.

  "What about the clue?" Velma asked, her voice almost a croak. She needed something to drink.

  "Well, that's something I don't quite understand myself. All I know, it's got something to do with a tavern, "The Fox and Hound." It's not far from where the body was found. They think the Hangman was there right when it closed.

  Velma took a seat. The wave of dread had passed over her now. Of course the police would suspect some drunkard in tavern. "So that's why you weren't able to go get Delia?" she asked Carter.

  He nodded. "Keep this hush-hush. It'll be in the late-evening papers. They can't keep it quiet forever. There'd a riot if they did."

  "So are you going to that tavern now?" Velma asked.

  "Yes. I've got to try and get something out of the barmaids."

  "Why is that?" Velma asked, that nervous tremble returning to her voice.

  Carter took a step toward Velma and leaned in. "They think the Hangman is actually a gentleman," he whispered.

  "A gentleman? In a tavern late at night?" Velma frowned. "Why on earth would anyone think such a foolish thing?"

  "Apparently, just before the tavern closed for the evening, a strange looking man, carrying a leather bag, went into the bar and asked for milk to drink. He paid for it with a silver dollar. He refused change. Told the barmaid to keep the change. That's why she's been unwilling to give us a lot of detail about him, what he looked like and so on. She doesn't know why we want to know about him. We haven't told her yet. But... I'd better go now. I should be finished today around five. Would it be possible to come by here for a cup of coffee, Velma?"

  "Of course, Carter. I'll even fix you some dinner. Lamont and Delia will be back by then and we can all eat together." The words were hospitable but the tone was empty, hollow and exhausted.

  Carter let himself out. Velma went to the kitchen to begin preparing Mr. Lockhart's breakfast. He would be ringing for his meal any time now. Before long, Lamont and Delia would return and they'd want something to eat. Apparently, Aunt Margaux ate her meals far earlier than most people when her employers were out of town.

  Velma threw herself into her work, trying to focus on nothing but the work at hand. But the unanswered questions that had long plagued her, the fears she held at the possible answers, made it impossible to empty her mind.

  She didn't dare to ask Carter anything about the man in the tavern. She only thought it a relief that Carter and Mr. Lockhart had never had a face-to-face encounter in her house.

  Mr. Lockhart's bell rang. Velma brought the breakfast up, but Mr. Lockhart wasn't in his sitting room. He must have still been in his bedroom, Velma thought. As she set the cloth on the table, Velma heard Mr. Lockhart's footsteps coming from his bedroom. She also heard a faint hiss that she immediately identified as the upstairs gas stove.

  Mr. Lockhart was performing another experiment.

  "Is it still snowing?" he asked without waiting for an answer. "The city is so quiet under the snow. It's very peaceful. A pleasant change from all the shouting in the streets."

  "Yes," Velma said. "It's too quiet for my liking. It's unnatural."

  From outside, the iron gate at the end of the walkway swung, creaking and clanging. "Is someone here?" Mr. Lockhart said with a start. "Would you mind taking a look at the window and seeing, Velma?"

  Velma obliged her tenant. "It's Lamont and his daughter."

  "Oh," Mr. Lockhart said. "I didn't know your husband had a daughter. So he was married before?" Mr. Lockhart walked up behind Velma and she shrank away from him a little. He was getting too close and she was afraid that his proximity might cause her some sort of anxiety.

  They stood at the window, side by side, looking down on the walkway.

  As if it were timed, Delia turned her clear, shining face up toward the window and smiled at Velma and Mr. Lockhart, though she could only barely make out his features.

  "What a beautiful young lady," Mr. Lockhart said thoughtfully. He said something that sounded like poetry. Velma stepped away from Mr. Lockhart.

  "Your breakfast is getting cold, Mr. Lockhart. You should probably go ahead and eat."

  Mr. Lockhart complied, sitting down at the table as if he were a small child who had been rebuked for disobedience. Without another word, Velma left the room.

  Downstairs, Lamont greeted Velma with a smile. "Well, what do you know? Aunt Margaux paid for Delia to take the early morning bus. I met her at the first stop right at the edge of town."

  Delia didn't look as happy as her father. "I hope nothing's happened to Carter," she said with a frown. "He said he would meet me, but when I received the telegram at Aunt Margaux's, I was so fidgety Aunt Margaux paid for me to get on the first bus this morning."

  "Carter came by earlier," Velma said.

  "He did?" Lamont said, almost with a cry. "Is everything all right?"

  "He was on his way to work. Delia, head into the kitchen. There's something washing up I need help with before I start dinner."

  Delia obeyed, but she didn't seem pleased about it. She figured Velma had something to tell Lamont that she didn't want the girl to hear.

  Once Delia was gone, Velma whispered to Lamont, "I have something to tell you."

  "What is it, Velma?"

  "There's been another murder. The police is keeping it quiet right now. But Carter had undercover duty."

  There was a long pause between them. Lamont shook his head. "Where did it happen? Was it close to the last one?"

  "I don't know. He didn't tell me. But I don't want to talk about this in front of Delia. Besides, Carter told me to keep quiet about it. So you keep quiet too!" Lamont nodded.

  After a short while, Velma went back upstairs to clear Mr. Lockhart's breakfast. He had barely touched the food. "I don't feel all that well, I'm afraid," he said to her. "Velma? Do you think your husband would lend me today's newspaper? I've been oblivious to the news of the world lately and I'd like to get caught up on what's going on out there."

  Velma found Lamont in their bedroom. He was changing into his inside shoes. "Lamont, the tenant wants to take a look at your copy of the morning paper."

  Lamont handed it to her. "I've read through all of it," he said. "He can keep it."

  Velma looked at the front page as she went back up the stairs. There was a strange sketch with a caption:

  >"Police artist sketch of a footprint of a rubber-soled shoe believed to be the Hangman's shoe when he committed the double murder over a week ago."

  Velma went into the sitting room. Fortunately, it was empty.

  "You can put the paper down on the table, Velma," Mr. Lockhart said from the door to his laboratory.

  "Yes, sir. Lamont said he doesn't need the paper any more, so it's yours to keep." She hurried from the room and back downstairs.

  Chapter 23

  It flurried a few times during the evening. The three of them -- Lamont, Velma and Delia -- sat there, looking out the window from their seats, waiting.