Going Out in Style

by Gloria Dank

  Jessie, quite innocently, was a pryer, someone who liked to look into the crowded corners of people’s lives, someone who always opened other people’s medicine cabinets while a visitor in their home. She had admitted to herself years ago that part of her interest and joy in running the rummage sale was, quite frankly, voyeuristic.

  Now she continued happily rummaging through the Barton family possessions. “Good grief, what’s this?” She turned it this way and that, surveying it doubtfully. It looked like a miniature jungle gym made out of red-and-yellow toothpicks. “One of the kids’ things,” she concluded at last. “At least, I hope so.” Dr. Barton was a dentist, but Jessie hadn’t realized that toothpick sculptures were a specialty. “Oh, my!” The next item was a lamp shade made entirely out of tongue depressors. “Imagine that!”

  It was somewhere between the tongue depressor lamp shade and one of the strangest ties she had ever seen, a lurid purple affair with a picture of Ronald McDonald in the middle, that Jessie took a Barbie doll out of the box and began to walk it around on the floor. The doll was tall and slender and moved with stiff, graceless, jerky movements.

  A little while later Gretchen came by, on her way over to Albert’s table. She cast a glance at Jessie, who was still sitting on the floor, staring in a very odd way at some kind of doll she held clenched in her hand.

  “Jess? Are you all right?”

  Jessie gave a little jump, as if startled. She gave Gretchen an odd, furtive, hunted look.

  “Oh, yes, Gretch, I’m fine … just fine.…”

  “Everything all right with the unpacking?” Gretchen asked cheerfully.

  “Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. No problem.”

  “That’s good.”

  Gretchen moved on, and Jessie was left alone in the middle of the floor. She looked at the doll again and mumbled, “It can’t be … no, it can’t be.…”

  Finally she straightened up and said out loud, “No … no … that can’t be right!”

  “Is Bernard going to the rummage sale tomorrow?” asked Snooky.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said his sister.

  “What’s so ridiculous about it?”

  “A room filled with screaming, haggling women? Don’t be stupid.”

  “Well, I’m going,” said Snooky. “Jessie assigned me to table number four.”

  “That’s nice. Have fun.”

  “You’re not going either?” he asked despondently.

  “No.”

  “Why not, My? There’s some good stuff there.”

  “You pick it up for me if you see anything I’d like. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Bernard came into the living room and sat down in his favorite overstuffed armchair by the fire.

  “Bernard?”

  “Snooky?”

  “Can I convince you to go to the sale tomorrow?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Positive?”

  “Yes.”

  Snooky sighed. “Nobody in this family is sociable except me,” he said miserably.

  The day of the rummage sale dawned bright and clear. It was a Saturday, and by ten-thirty in the morning there was a crowd gathered in front of the hall with the brightly colored sign RIDGEWOOD RUMMAGE SALE displayed across the door. Inside, Jessie was running back and forth like a demented hen. She yelled at her volunteers, “Lisa—Lisa—is your table all ready?—yes?—good—Henrietta—Henrietta, what’s the matter over there?”

  “Nothing, Miss Lowell,” said Henrietta, who had spilled an entire bottle of nail polish on the English wool skirt and was desperately trying to clean it off before it hardened.

  “All right. Are we ready, everyone?”

  “Ready!”

  “Albert? Gretchen? Everyone else? Man your stations!”

  “We’re ready, Jessie,” said Gretchen impatiently. “Open the door.”

  Jessie unlocked the door and flung it open. She was nearly trampled by the hordes of humanity spilling into the hall. The crowd descended upon the tables en masse, throwing the carefully arranged clothing here and there, demanding prices, and bargaining in shrill tones. A startling transformation came over the bored, listless Henrietta. At the first sight of the crowd, her head came up and her nostrils flared widely. She took full charge of her table and began to bark out prices in a tone of authority. She made change quickly and expertly, counting the money out from a cigar box, and monitored any attempts to make off with unpurchased merchandise.

  “Mrs. Hendrick,” she yelled over the noise of the crowd, “Mrs. Hendrick, I don’t believe you’ve paid me for that skirt, have you? Three dollars, please. That’s right, three dollars. Oh, there’s a tiny spot of nail polish on it, isn’t there? All right, two dollars. Thank you very much. That blouse is going for ten dollars, Mrs. Ratliffe, it’s pure silk. That’s right. No, not a penny less. I’m sorry, Mrs. Ratliffe, but somebody else will buy it, then. Ten dollars is my final offer. That’s right, my final offer. Thank you. Yes, I can make change.”

  The other teenage volunteer, Lisa, was giving way to tears.

  “I am not overcharging you, Dr. Barton,” she was saying. “That pair of hedge clippers is worth eight dollars. Yes, it is. Oh, Dr. Barton, how can you say that to me?”

  Elsewhere in the room, there were cries of shocked dismay as various items, formerly given as presents, were found lying discounted on the tables.

  “I gave you this cotton sweater last summer as a birthday present,” one woman was saying furiously to another, a yellow sweater bunched in her hand. “How dare you, Eleanor? How dare you?”

  The noise level in the room was almost unbearable as people screamed, bargained, and jostled each other in an attempt to get closer to the sale items. Snooky wiped his sweating face and wished he was anywhere but there. The room was crowded to capacity and he could barely hear the customers at his table as they screamed prices at him.

  Jessie, at table number three, was managing to carry on an animated conversation with one of the mothers from her day-care center.

  “So then I told him,” she was saying as people ebbed and flowed around her, “I told him, ‘Johnny, you have to share your fingerpaints with William now,’ and do you know what he did, Mrs. Furness? He went right over like a little angel and shared them.”

  “That’s my Johnny,” said Johnny’s mother. “He’s a very giving person.”

  “Oh, my, yes. Why, as I told Gretchen the other day—fourteen dollars for that one, Mrs. Smith. No, I’m sorry, it’s fourteen. Oh, all right, ten. That’s fine. Did you pay for that, Ed? Ed?”

  Ed, a disgruntled-looking silver-haired man, said he had.

  “All right, I’m sorry. Don’t be offended now. Don’t go away mad. Anyway, as I was saying, Mrs. Furness …”

  Mrs. Furness gave a whoop as she held up a blue sequined evening gown. It glowed in rainbows of color in her hands. “Why, look at this!”

  “Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s one of poor Mrs. Whitaker’s dresses. Her daughter donated it. I really wasn’t sure how much to ask—I’m sure it was terribly expensive when she bought it—”

  A cunning look came into Johnny’s mother’s eyes. Bargaining began, and was successfully concluded a few minutes later. A sum of money changed hands, and both sides were satisfied.

  “Thank you so much,” said Jessie, closing the lid of the cigar box. “It’s going to a good cause, you know that. Lovely dress, isn’t it? Just your style, I would think. You know, looking at it reminds me … I was there the night she was killed, poor thing.”

  “What?” said Johnny’s mother. The noise level had suddenly swelled around them.

  “I WAS THERE,” shouted Jessie. “THE NIGHT SHE WAS KILLED. POOR MRS. WHITAKER.”

  “OH, YES. TERRIBLE, WASN’T IT? MY HENRY SAID HE HAD NEVER HEARD OF SUCH A THING HAPPENING AROUND HERE.”

  “I KNOW,” said Jessie. “UNBELIEVABLE, ISN’T IT? That’s three dollars for that purse, thank you,
Mrs. Kapleau,” she said, suddenly diverted. “Thank you very much. Anyway, where was I? I was driving by the house that evening, and do you know, I saw the funniest thing … at least I think I saw it … maybe it was a trick of the light, or I could be wrong, I’m afraid my memory isn’t what it used to be—”

  “WHAT?”

  Jessie repeated what she had said, but this time at the top of her lungs.

  “AND THE STRANGE THING IS, IT JUST DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE—I MEAN, I COULDN’T HAVE SEEN WHAT I THOUGHT I SAW, BECAUSE THAT WOULD MEAN THAT EVERYONE WAS THINKING ABOUT IT COMPLETELY BACKWARDS—”

  “Fascinating,” said Mrs. Furness, who was no longer listening. Her attention was riveted on a small sequined purse. “How much is this handbag, Jessie? I could use another evening bag.…”

  By one o’clock, most of the items had been sold. Snooky was slumped, exhausted, in his chair. So were most of the other volunteers. Lisa was busily checking the long list she had made of everything she had sold, and for how much. A few items were missing without being paid for.

  “I don’t know how people can do that,” she said indignantly to no one in particular. “I don’t understand it. It’s only a few dollars. Look at what’s missing here: a hat, two skirts, a letter opener, and that stupid white rabbit. I can’t believe anyone would want that rabbit enough to steal it. It’s not fair, honestly, it’s just not fair.”

  Snooky was gazing with quiet pride at the items he had managed to buy, in a few free moments allotted to him. He had picked up a gray silk tie for Bernard, identical to the other two that Bernard already owned, and a hat he thought might fit him. For Maya he had scavenged a wool skirt and an oversized white sweater. For himself he had bought only the purple Ronald McDonald tie. He had glimpsed it through the crowd and could not resist. Now he knotted it wearily around his neck and said, “I wouldn’t worry, Lisa. Whoever took that wooden rabbit is cursed enough.”

  “But it’s not fair, Snooky. It’s not right to steal.”

  “They can’t mean to display it. Maybe somebody needed firewood, have you thought of that?”

  “Even so, they should have paid for it,” said Lisa, who had a one-track mind. She went back to adding up columns of figures.

  “Come on, George,” said Susan wearily. “It’s time to go.”

  “All right, Susan.” George, in his free time, had managed to pick up four of his own shirts. Susan looked at him with fond despair.

  “George, I don’t believe you. You paid money for those shirts? George, there were some nice shirts on sale today. What about them?”

  “I like these shirts, Susie. These are mine.”

  “Well, I bought these two for you. They’re not great, but they’re better than the ones you have. And this sweater is for Harold.”

  Albert was collapsed in his chair. He felt hot and tired. His good nature had been repeatedly abused by the shoppers, who had offered him less than he thought he should take but more than he felt he could refuse. He was positive he had taken in far less money than anybody else. Gretchen, at the table next to him, had been a model of efficiency. She was counting through her cigar box with a pleased expression on her face.

  The room had emptied out a while ago, and now the volunteers began to stir, wearily lifting themselves from their chairs and hobbling toward the door.

  “We’ll come back later and clean the place up, Jessie,” said Gretchen, closing the cigar box with a satisfied click. “All right?”

  Jessie did not reply. She was sitting slumped in her chair, her head resting on her arm.

  “Jessie?”

  Snooky, almost at the door, looked back. In a few rapid strides he was next to Jessie. He bent over her.

  The missing letter opener from Lisa’s table was buried squarely in the center of Jessie’s back.

  Snooky straightened up and his eyes met Albert’s. Albert gave him a startled, questioning look. Gretchen began to scream, a high-pitched agonized sound.

  “Jessie … oh, no … oh, God, no …!”

  7

  “Let me get this straight,” said Bernard. “The woman was stabbed to death with one of the sale items sometime toward the end of the bazaar?”

  “Yes.” Snooky played listlessly with his Ronald McDonald tie.

  “How do you know it was toward the end?”

  “Because, Bernard, the three thousand women shouting prices at her half an hour earlier would probably have noticed if she was dead.”

  Bernard had to admit that was true. He leaned back and looked quietly out his study window. The willow tree in the backyard was bare, its branches whipping in the breeze.

  “And she had seen something—the night your friend was killed?”

  Snooky nodded. “That’s what I gathered from what Gretchen was saying. She was nearly hysterical, and she kept on talking, talking, talking until the police came. She said Jessie had driven by the Whitaker house that night. It was dark out and she said at the time that she didn’t see anything, but I guess she did. And there was something else—something about a Barbie doll Gretchen saw her playing with last night. She was walking it around on the floor and Gretchen said she seemed all funny about it.”

  “A Barbie doll,” mused Bernard. “So Jessie saw someone going into the Whitaker house—someone who later said they weren’t there … someone, perhaps, she wouldn’t dream of suspecting, so she forgot all about it until last night—”

  Their eyes met. Snooky nodded.

  “Exactly,” he said. “Someone she wouldn’t dream of suspecting …”

  The door opened and Maya came in. She had a worried, maternal expression on her face and was holding a steaming cup of brown liquid. “Here, Snooks. Drink this now.” She thrust it at him.

  Snooky eyed it dubiously. “What is it, My?”

  “Just drink it and don’t ask any questions. It’s one of Bernard’s new recipes.”

  Snooky gave a weak, trembly laugh. “Dog food, eh, Bernard?”

  “Just do what your sister says and drink it, Snooky.”

  Snooky drank it. In between gulps he said,

  “Hot cider, rum, a little brandy, orange juice, honey, cloves, cinnamon—hey, Bernard, this is the same as before, isn’t it? Where was I? Honey, cloves, cinnamon …”

  When he was done he said accusingly, “That wasn’t any different.”

  “Yes, it was,” said Bernard.

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “There was something else in it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Something I missed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not dog food again?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. Then what was it?”

  “Lethe,” said Bernard.

  “Lethe? What’s lethe?”

  “Forgetfulness, Snooky. Now go lie down and take a nap, will you?”

  After Snooky had gone upstairs, Maya said, “There wasn’t anything different in that recipe, was there, honey?”

  “No. Just the power of suggestion.”

  “I see.”

  Maya sat down on the edge of Bernard’s chair and he put his arm around her. “This is terrible, Bernard.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s so bad for Snooky to have to go through this. He has a sensitive nature, no matter what you say.”

  “It’s worse for the people who were murdered.”

  “Yes. I know. I’m not forgetting them.”

  “I know.”

  They sat for a while in companionable silence. Twilight began to fill the room with a cold blue light. Maya leaned down to give her husband a kiss. “I’m going upstairs to check on him. Make sure he’s asleep, and not tossing and turning. How are you doing? Should I turn on the lights as I go?”

  “No.”

  She regarded him with the same anxious, maternal expression she usually saved for Snooky. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Maya.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

 
“I’m going to think,” said Bernard. “I’m going to think very, very hard.”

  After Maya had left, Bernard sat silently at his desk. The world outside turned blue in the early winter evening, then gray, then black. His form faded along with the light, until he was a silent motionless shape in the darkness. His mind was clicking along rapidly. A third murder … another person who had seen something or known something, and there could be a fourth or a fifth or a sixth before the killer finally felt safe.

  He sat quietly for a long time, going over the whole affair from the beginning. Bernard had a precise, methodical mind, something that was not utilized a great deal in his profession, which called more on his reserves of intuition and creativity. Now he went over everything that had happened in detail. Bella’s death … Mrs. MacGregor’s death … something she didn’t see … the earring … who planted it on him?… Jessie Lowell’s death … who was it she had seen?…

  Bernard stirred and sighed. Under the desk, Misty raised her head and gave him a reproachful look which he could not see in the darkness. He felt annoyed with himself. There was something that Snooky had said recently; something that had stuck in Bernard’s mind, if only he could recall it; something that had gone by unnoticed at the time, but now was prickling at him like a thorn, announcing itself and its own importance …

  He remembered Aunt Etta sitting like a mushroom on the hard sofa in her living room, saying, “She shut her mouth and wouldn’t say anything except that it didn’t make any sense.…”

  It didn’t make any sense.

  Of course nothing about this case did make much sense.

  If only he could remember what Snooky had said. It was an offhand comment, one of Snooky’s specialties, and Snooky himself, as usual, had no idea what he was actually saying.…