Beyond Midnight

by Antoinette Stockenberg

Peaches became very still.

  "An herbalist? My goodness," she said lightly, "what on earth for? Some special blend of tea leaves?"

  The aunt began working herself into a fret. "Well, that's just it. I don't understand it at all. Why go there, when there's a nice organic food store nearby with good fresh vegetables and hard-to-find spices that I go to all the time— well, I don't go to it very much anymore, not since—well, the summer's been so hot, I haven't done much cooking and of course with Russell gone and then this business with the witches is taking everybody's time and—now where was I?"

  Peaches said slowly, "Helen Evett. She's gone to an herbalist. You were about to tell me why."

  "Oh, yes. To find out about a fungus in rye bread. It's such a strange thing to do! I'm a bit worried about her, between you and me. She was very excited, overly excited. With all the strain, well, even though she's a levetheaded girl—actually, a woman, I suppose, but she'll always be my little girl—well, actually not mine, but almost as well as ...."

  It was like being hit in the face with a hammer by a ninety-pound invalid: The swing wasn't much; it was the hammer that hurt. Peaches interrupted the babble to say she had another call and got off the phone.

  Shit! Way worse than she thought. Sooner or later Helen would hit the right herbalist.

  Peaches headed straight for the wall safe in Nat's study. Unhooking the Butterworth painting—it should've been hers!—from the wall, she quickly spun the safe's dial to the left, the right, the left. She heard the satisfying click of the tumbler, then swung the door open and began removing Linda Byrne's jewels, old and new. It was no coincidence that after Katie handed Helen Evett a diamond bracelet from a drawer of the commode, Peaches had encouraged Nat to consolidate everything in the wall safe. She had in mind an emergency scenario like the one that was playing out.

  She had a dozen of the most valuable velvet-encased pieces on the desk when she heard Nat's surprised greeting to his daughter in the hall. Shit! She grabbed the booty and flung it under the leather cushion of one of the matched wing chairs—she knew where he sat; he never sat there— then closed the safe, hung up the painting, and dashed over to the bookcase on the opposite wall just as he reached the open door to his study.

  "Peaches."

  The word sounded cold, almost threatening, on his lips. Nat didn't ask what she was doing there; obviously it looked as if she were searching for a book on finance, which he'd freely lent her in the past. Instead he said, "Would you mind telling me why Katie isn't in school?"

  She'd jumped at the sound of her name, closing the book with a snap. "Oh! Nat," she said, clapping an open palm to her breast. "You frightened me! I thought I'd left the front door unlocked!"

  "I'm sorry," he said with an icy stare, and waited.

  Discreetly ignoring his tone, Peaches said, "Katie's still a little sluggish." (With three candy bars in her, she could hardly be anything else.) "I have a call out to the pediatrician," she added in a lie.

  She put the book back on the shelf and said, "I tried to let you know. I even called Helen Evett, because I thought she might have heard from you. But Helen wasn't home, and her aunt," Peaches said with a bland look, "said she hadn't seen you. And with your car still here ...."

  She gave Nat a baffled shrug, though her heart was still hammering loud enough for a deaf man to hear.

  But Nat was suddenly somewhere else entirely. "Yeah ... I was sure I caught a glimpse of Russ as I walked past the Common. I've been combing the area since then, asking about him. How even a dimwit like Mrs. Lagor could take the boy's running away as proof of anything," he burst out, and then he remembered where he was and returned to the business at hand.

  "Well, never mind. That isn't what I want to talk about now," he said with a distracted look. "Will you have a seat?" He indicated the leather chair with the jewelry under the cushion.

  "Thanks, I'll stand," Peaches said quickly, drawing his focus away from the chair.

  He went over to his Regency desk, the desk that had cost him an arm and a leg at Christie's, and sat on one corner of it. Folding his arms across his chest, he said, "The Evett family's in a crisis, as you're well aware. You know that I care deeply about all of them, and yet you said things to me last night about them that were vicious and perverted. You amazed me, frankly. You're entitled to your own opinion, Peaches, but I think that at this point it's best you leave my employ."

  Just like a businessman: make it quick; make it clean.

  Peaches merely stared.

  Businessman or no businessman, Nat responded to her stare with a dark flush of angry guilt. He went around to the back of his desk and sat down in the leather swivel chair that Linda, with Peaches's help, had bought him for his thirty-eighth birthday.

  Pulling out the wide flat binder that held his personal checks, he said, "You've put in long hours at the job since Linda's death; I'm perfectly aware of it. I think half a year's severance would be fair compensation."

  He began writing a check. Peaches gave him an ugly smile which was wasted on him as he filled out a blank, tore it from its record, then held it out to her.

  His face was impassive as he said evenly, "You have an evil mind, Peaches. If I ever hear you say another malevolent word against Linda, or anyone else that I hold dear, I promise you: it will be your last."

  She glanced at the amount, then folded the check and tucked it in one cup of her bra, exposing gratuitous flesh to him as she did so. Lifting her chin and arching one brow at him, she asked, "Are you throwing me directly into the street? Or will I be allowed to pack my things and take them with me?"

  "Take what you need," he said shortly. "I'd prefer that you send for the rest."

  She could see that it filled him with loathing simply to have to speak with her. It made her want to drag him down to her level; to engage with her. She said with a sneer, "My performance here has been nothing less than stellar. May I use you as a reference?"

  But he refused to acknowledge that she was any longer in the room.

  Flushing a deep, dark shade of humiliation, Peaches turned on her well-shod heel and left the room.

  It was all the fault of the Evett bitch. Damn her to hell.

  ****

  Helen Evett drove home like a madwoman; her trooper husband would've been shocked. She'd got the information she needed from the herbalist to confirm her goofy theory, and now she was ready to share it with Nat, because it didn't seem so goofy anymore. After that, they'd decide about the police. Helen had no proof, still; only the theory. But at least it was plausible.

  The first words out of her mouth as she flung open the front door were, "Who's home?"

  Out toddled her aunt. "Only me, dear," she said with a sweet look of sadness. "Becky's at the store, food shopping.'

  Helen didn't have to ask whether Russell had called. Nonetheless, she was fiercely optimistic. The day so far had been filled with amazing things, and it wasn't even noon.

  "Aunt Mary, I have to go over to Nat's. I shouldn't be long. But I have to—maybe I should call first," she decided, and she ran to the kitchen phone and punched in his number. Busy.

  She turned to her aunt, then frowned with concern. "You look awfully hot," she said, noticing the beads of perspiration on her aunt's rather fuzzy upper lip. "Are you feeling okay?"

  Aunt Mary sighed and sat down on one of the oak chairs. "It's awfully warm today, isn't it?" she said unhappily. "Maybe I shouldn't have put on panty hose." She was wearing sky blue polyester pants and a floral blouse to match, because she'd rather melt than be caught in creased clothing. She slipped off her Cobblers and wiggled her toes, trying to create a breeze.

  Helen, who was carrying a glass of cold water over to her aunt, stopped and stared at her feet. Her aunt was wearing two pairs of panty hose, one on top of the other. Oh, no, she thought. Please. Please don't slip any more than you have.

  "Aunt Mary. . . you were in such a hurry," she said softly, "that you doubled up on your panty hose. I've done the sam
e thing myself. Why don't you take them both off? You'll be so much cooler."

  The elderly woman looked at her feet with astonishment. "For heaven's sake." Her lined, pale cheeks rouged to pale pink. She looked at her niece, her eyes watery with tears, and said, "It's the same at the Senior Center. I can't remember any of the steps to the dances. . . any of the rules to the games. Lena," she said fearfully, "what will I do? Tell me what to do."

  Helen stooped down to eye level with her aunt and took her trembling hands in hers. "You can go with me to the doctor on Tuesday," she said urgently. "You can get tests; this isn't as bad as you think. Sometimes there are perfectly good reasons for people to be forgetful. Plus, look at all the stress we're going through! My God—half the time I don't know if I'm coming or going!"

  "Yes ... yes," Aunt Mary said vaguely. "It's so hard to remember everything nowadays. Such a busy summer ... so many people. Oh! Peaches Bartholemew called," she said, suddenly remembering. "She was looking for Nat. At nine in the morning! Here! It was almost rude."

  Now it was Helen's turn to rouge up. "Did she say what she wanted?"

  "No. She asked for you, too, but I told her you'd gone to the herbalist's. You know ... her voice is so familiar. I'm sure I've heard it before. But I know I haven't met her. Have I?" she added timidly.

  Helen shook her head, then said, "Unless it was at the Ice Cream Social."

  Her aunt pursed her lips. "I don't think so. I would've remembered her name. It's so unusual. 'Peaches.' What does she look like?"

  "Very beautiful. She dresses well. Long, auburn hair; she sometimes wears it in a braid, or a twist. She's tall. Good figure."

  It was amazing, in fact, that Nat had been able to resist her.

  In the meantime, Helen's aunt was frowning fiercely, her nose scrunched up, her mouth pressed firm, trying to place the voice with the face that Helen was describing. She looked like a contestant on Jeopardy.

  "I know!" she cried, clapping her hands together. "I remember!" Her face became utterly joyous, younger by twenty years.

  "It was at the Ice Cream Social. I thought she said she was someone's mother, not their nanny; but maybe I misunderstood her. She was, oh yes, I remember now, very interested in everything. And she said nice things about you, what a good mother you seemed to be; and I know I was bragging, dear, but I told her how you were bringing up the children so well by yourself ... how you made Russell do chores for his allowance, and how Becky had to help with her car expenses by baby-sitting—I even told her you made them clean up the statue! Oh, I went on and on about you, dear. I think I bored her to tears. She hardly got a word in edgewise. I remember now! I do!"

  The rumors about Satanism: Peaches was there.

  The rumors about Linda: Peaches was there.

  The rumors about Nat: Peaches was there.

  Helen jumped up. "My God! How could I have been so stupid! It never occurred to me that she might want to bring me down. I'd never have guessed her motive! But she must have seen, way before I did, how Nat felt. Compared to what she'd already done, the Satanism—the cat—was child's play! An amusing way for her to get me out of the picture!"

  She had another thought. "Aunt Mary! Did you tell her about all those weird soups you make? Did you tell her about the duck soup?"

  "The czarnina? I may have. I remember she was curious about my last name ... but then, she was curious about everything. We did talk about Polish food, I know."

  "Oh my God."

  "Was that the wrong thing to do?" Aunt Mary said fearfully.

  "No, no, no. Don't worry about it. You've helped me a lot."

  She ran back to the phone and pressed the redial button. Busy. Damn it!

  Turning to her startled aunt, she cried, "Stay right here. I'm going to Nat's. We've got her, Aunt Mary! We've got her!"

  Helen ran out of the house with no more explanation than that. In the few minutes that it took to negotiate summer traffic between her house and Chestnut Street, she had more than enough time to work herself up into a belated fury. What had been mistrust, then loathing, now turned into a kind of full-blown outrage. Helen was beyond itemizing the injustices by this time; all she knew was that Peaches was evil, and she had to be locked away.

  She rounded the corner onto Chestnut Street, which as usual was free of traffic. Her view of Nat's mansion was unimpeded. She could see Peaches ahead of her, loading a suitcase into the trunk of her Toyota.

  No. She couldn't leave—she had to be stopped. Helen roared up alongside the Toyota just as Peaches dropped into the driver's seat. Leaving her own car door open, she ran around the front of the Volvo and up to the Toyota. Peaches, catching sight of her, scowled and rolled up her window.

  Furious, Helen slammed her hands against the window glass and shouted, "You murdered her! I can prove it! And all the rest! You evil, evil woman!"

  With a squeal of her tires, Peaches tore literally out of Helen's grip, wrenching Helen's right hand in the process. Appalled at the thought that she was getting away, Helen ran up to the deep green door of the mansion. She lifted the brass knocker with her left hand and rammed the ship down on its pad. Nat had heard the commotion. He swung open the door with a look of wonder on his face.

  "Where's Katie?" Helen said, charging past him.

  "Upstairs, lying down. She has a stomachache. Why?"

  "Oh my God, we have to get her to a hospital, then!" cried Helen.

  "It's not that bad. She said Peaches gave her three candy bars, God knows why. What's wrong?"

  "Call the police, call the police!" Helen said, dragging him over to his hall phone. "Do you have her license number? We have to stop her. She killed Linda!" she cried. "She's running away!"

  "No, I booted her out," Nat said, amazed at the state Helen was in. "Calm down, calm down. What's going on?"

  "I have to see Katie first!" Helen broke away from his grip and ran up the stairs. Katie was fine. She was sitting on the floor, playing with her drink-and-wet doll. Her reaction to Helen was a surprised grin.

  "Hi, Mrs. Uhvett. You wanna play wif me?"

  The sight of the child in her pink Oshkosh bib overalls and bow-topped hair was so at odds with what Helen feared she'd find that she felt, briefly, like a fool.

  She made herself smile and blow a kiss over the metal gate and say, "I'll be back in a little while, honey," after which she backtracked into the hall where Nat was waiting to usher her into a quiet corner of the house. "C'mon," he said. "My study."

  But Helen couldn't wait that long. "She'll get away!" she kept insisting to Nat on their way down the open, curving flight of stairs. "Don't you see? Linda didn't die of an overdose of prescription ergotamine. She was poisoned, somehow—with ergot!"

  "What're you talking about? Ergot; ergotamine—they sound like the same thing."

  "Yes, the drug is derived from the fungus ergot—from the dried scierotium of the fungus is how the herbalist explained it. The first guy knew that, too, but I couldn't understand him, and—"

  "—and I don't understand you, Helen," Nat said, more and more alarmed by her.

  "What don't you understand? Peaches poisoned her! The autopsy showed the presence of an ergot alkaloid, but it didn't say where it came from—how could it?"

  Helen picked up the phone on the priceless sycamore side table that graced the hall and handed it to him. "Call them!"

  It seemed almost like a dream. In this perfectly exquisite environment a jungle snake had bit and poisoned, and now it was slithering away.

  "And tell them what," he said, slamming the phone down in its cradle. "To put out an APB on Peaches because she murdered Linda by talking her into swallowing half a bottle of pills?"

  "She didn't do it that way! She did it some other way, obviously—with a syringe or something. She tampered with something Linda ingested; maybe she even injected it directly—"

  "Why for God's sake? Why would she murder Linda?"

  "For you, of course—no, that's not true," Helen said.

 
She swung her sore hand in a wide arc around her. "For this, Nat! For all of this."

  Obviously it had never occurred to him. "That's insane!" he said. "How could she think I'd offer it to her?"

  If the situation weren't so tragic, it would almost be laughable. He was so naive. "She looks like an empress, Nat; all she lacks is the empire! She wouldn't be the first woman to do what it takes to get one."

  He was still incredulous. "I can't believe she'd do something that ... speculative!"

  "For God's sake, you work in the stock market," Helen cried. "Does The Great Depression mean anything to you?"

  "Jesus."

  They were wasting time. "Nat—you know and I know that Linda is innocent. She didn't overdose, and she didn't commit suicide. Nat—you know that. After last night—you know!"

  It was the first time since he'd come to her in the middle of the night, devastated by grief and remorse, that Helen had alluded to his experience. It was too sacred to invoke lightly, but Helen was invoking it now.

  Some of what he'd felt last night came back to him in a rush; she could see it in his face. He bent his head, deep in concentration.

  When he looked up again, his face was grim. "The police won't be able to do anything this fast," he said. "But I can call my bank."

  They went into his study and he looked up the phone number, telling Helen what he'd paid Peaches, explaining to her that the only place where she could cash a check on the spot for that size was the bank the check was drawn on.

  "I'll tell them there was a problem," he said, punching in the number. "I'll get them to try to stall. I'll go to the bank; you call the police. Get them here. You can keep me posted on my cell phone."

  The meander through the bank's hierarchy took an agony of minutes. Helen spent them pacing between the twin leather wing chairs that flanked the desk. Once, she stopped to stare through the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the lush garden and vine-covered bricks of one wing of the house. Was the owl still there? She wished she knew.

  Finally Nat hung up. "Okay, we're set. When she gets there, they'll take their time. I'm on my way. Keep an eye on Katie, would you?"