The Puzzled Heart

by Amanda Cross

  For the rest of that evening, and most of the next day, William hung around with Moon. He seemed to be avoiding Muriel, which lent credence to his newfound affection for and allegiance to Moon, as well as his need for encouragement to tell her about his decision to follow Moon into a commune. Kate knew that Moon would never dream of joining a commune, and she hoped Muriel wouldn’t get a chance to ask him straight out, because Moon, Kate knew, would not lie.

  Moon must have had some powerful effect upon William, however, because he went on with the plan and held to it even in the face of his whole furious family. Muriel had gone running to them, and they had descended on poor William, who, however, was certainly old enough to decide what to do with his life and bold enough to tell them he felt entitled to make up his own mind. Muriel had a fit, she screamed, she carried on, but in the end they had to cancel the engagement party and Muriel left. The family tried to assure her that William would change his mind, but William remained adamant, and in the end he left with Kate and Moon, having failed, however, to retrieve from Muriel the rather large diamond engagement ring he had given her. Not that he tried hard.

  “She’s entitled to it,” he told Kate. “I feel that I’ve behaved very badly, but oh, Kate my dear, what an escape. What an escape.”

  Eventually William married someone else, suitable, pleasant, but hardly exciting. She was a good mother, however, and Kate was fond of their children. The whole episode of that summer retreated in Kate’s mind, not to say was actually repressed, because she felt rather ashamed of herself. She and Moon went their different ways shortly after, as a result of their having taken part in that charade, and Kate, in fact, as she now reflected, was not to meet up in any meaningful way with Moon until many, many years later, at, of all places, Harvard. And at that time, meeting unexpectedly, neither of them had even thought of, let alone mentioned, what Kate now dubbed the Muriel episode, the shameful—well, it was shameful, really—Muriel episode.

  Kate lifted herself off the couch, threw aside the pillow that had stood in for Banny, and went to phone Leslie with her news of a recovered memory. But why, she wondered, as the phone rang, had thinking of Banny helped that memory to return?

  And then it came to her: Moon had had a dog that summer, not a Saint Bernard, but a large, fluffy, friendly dog who went with them everywhere and had been loved by everyone, though by the older Fanslers with moderation. Rather to Kate’s surprise, the dog had been especially fond of Muriel, and Muriel of the dog. Rack her brain though she might, Kate could not remember the dog’s name. But it seemed to Kate that the mutual affection between Muriel and the dog had made Moon the least bit unhappy about taking part in Muriel’s deception. Still, Moon did not believe that anyone should marry anyone, and certainly not if one of them didn’t want to.

  “Hello, Leslie,” Kate said into the phone. “I think I’ve got it. Hold everything. I’m coming over. I think I’ll ask Reed to join us there later, if that’s all right with you.”

  Thirteen

  HOURS later, Kate, Reed, Leslie, and Jane were still discussing the situation, over a meal of Chinese takeout, and for about the eleventh time they rehearsed the ever more demanding and far-reaching questions.

  “You’re quite sure you didn’t make this whole thing up?” Jane, who considered herself the most practical member of the gathering, asked Kate. Reed, no question, was also practical, but when it came to Kate, Jane did not consider him as entirely objective as he could be expected to be in other circumstances.

  “Of course I didn’t,” Kate said, between mouthfuls of fried dumpling. “I know it seems improbable that she should have fallen for it, but there were two factors on our side—that is, William’s side. One was that she had clearly overestimated Fansler loyalty to her. They were prepared to accept her as better in every way than others William might have dragged home, but they weren’t devoted to her enough to discount the possibility that she may have been after William’s money. Wasn’t everyone after the Fansler money? Also, thinking about it now, I realize that the fact that I was there with Moon softened the family up, so to speak. I always brought out their most confrontational side, and they were so horrified by Moon they were quite willing to believe he and I might magically have managed between us to bewitch poor, dear William.”

  “We are, therefore,” Leslie announced, in the crisp tones of one trying to wrap up a lengthy meeting, “agreed that Muriel has been seething all these years and has finally taken her revenge in the way we know. Are we agreed?”

  “It’s a possibility,” Reed said, as he and Kate plunged into the moo-shu pork. “But a possibility based on a number of assumptions. You accept the first assumption and then the second, and before you know it you have a whole theory that hangs together beautifully if you manage to forget that you haven’t a shred of evidence for the first assumption, the basis of the whole thing. There’s no getting away from that. On the other hand, if we agree, as we seem to have, that this is an act of revenge against Kate, and if this is the only source of deep resentment against her that Kate can come up with, I think we might as well pursue it, at least for a time. If we cannot locate Muriel, we’ll have to send Kate into psychoanalysis for a more thorough dredging into her past.” He smiled at Kate, who, he knew, thought as little of classical psychoanalysis as he did.

  “So,” Leslie observed, “the question of Who is Muriel, what is she? remains the operative one.”

  “Perhaps William knows what became of her,” Jane suggested. “One does somehow often manage to hear about one’s discarded loves, at least in a general sort of way.”

  “Not likely,” Kate said. “William has not got any less stuffy with the years. He’s got grown children and works on Wall Street. He probably doesn’t even remember who Muriel was. I mean, let’s face it, if I repressed this sorry episode, William has probably banished it to oblivion.”

  “You remembered it,” Leslie said, “because you have a lot of guilt attached to it. I doubt that William does, though I agree with Jane that you ought to ask him, just in case he has some news of her. I mean, if she’s been dead for decades, we’re clearly whistling in a wind tunnel. But the salient point, as far as I can see”—and Leslie put down her chopsticks in a determined way—“is whether Muriel knew, or surmised, or guessed that Kate was in back of her rejection by the Fanslers. Can you know, Kate, that Muriel blamed you, or is there a possibility she didn’t and thus cannot be considered in the present circumstances?”

  “Good point,” Kate said. “But I’m really sure she knew it was me behind it; in fact I remember, now, that she told me so. I’d forgotten that part. The row about her was still going on when Moon and I left. She came up to us as we were getting into the car to go. She paid no attention to Moon, and it was his supposed commune, after all, that William was supposed to be going to join. She just stood there, facing me, and said, ‘I guess you’re feeling satisfied with yourself, you stuck-up bitch,’ or similar words. And she spat at me and stalked off. I remember now; Moon took out the bottom of his T-shirt and wiped the spit off my face. I’d forgotten that part.”

  Absolute quiet greeted this memory. Kate looked shaken.

  “I still think Kate should have a chat with William about Muriel,” Jane said into the silence. And Kate agreed to that.

  They began to gather up the cartons of food. It seemed settled, without the matter being mentioned, that questions of who Muriel was and where she was would be deferred until tomorrow.

  But when Kate had enticed her brother William into meeting her for a drink the next day, he turned out to have no idea what had become of Muriel. William had been worried about meeting Kate, supposing, as her brothers always did if she asked to see them, that she would request either money or, what they dreaded slightly more, financial advice. Their relief when the subject turned out to have nothing to do with money was always so great that they quite agreeably discussed whatever was on her mind. (Kate’s brothers, although she neither knew nor guessed it, secretly
agreed with her that their wayward sister was not their father’s daughter but the offspring of some belated and, in fact, quite uncharacteristic fling of her mother’s. The sexual mores of the Nineties had made such a thought about one’s mother rather more romantic than scurrilous.) But about Muriel, William knew nothing.

  Indeed, he recalled the episode only vaguely and reluctantly. “You should have simply persuaded me to tell her to go to hell,” he said now. Kate, with great restraint, did not challenge this extraordinary statement.

  “You have no idea what became of her?” Kate persisted.

  “No. She sent me an invitation to her wedding. I do remember that. Of course, I threw it away before Patricia could ask who she was.” Patricia was William’s wife. “It was years ago at any rate. Why on earth do you want to know about Muriel? Well forgotten, I should have thought. Are you writing your memoirs, God forbid?”

  “No,” Kate assured him. “I just happened to remember her the other day and I got to wondering. You don’t remember her married name?”

  “I don’t even remember her maiden name. That was thirty years ago, Kate, and she wasn’t exactly in the first flush of youth then. She might be sixty now. I wish you’d tell me what this is all about.”

  Kate did not tell him, and she let the conversation drift in other directions. But as William was preparing to pay the bill he suddenly stopped, having thought of something. “I’ve just remembered,” he said. “Funny how memories come back like that, all of a sudden. I remember the last thing she said to me. I tried to be at least polite as she was getting ready to leave but she wasn’t having any of it. Well, I said, good luck anyway, or something equally foolish, and then she sort of snorted and said: ‘I bet your sister never marries, but if she does, I’m sorry for the guy. Very sorry.’ ”

  “And what did you make of that?” Kate asked.

  “What’s to make of it? I thought she was sorry for any man who married you. Sorry, dear, but that’s what I thought, and you did ask for every last memory. What else could she have meant?”

  “I’m sure that’s exactly what she meant,” Kate said. They were by now outside on the sidewalk and Kate kissed William goodbye in a sisterly way and walked off in the opposite direction from him.

  That evening, when Kate and Reed were both home from work and winding down, drink in hand and feet up, the telephone rang and Reed went to answer it. Kate could tell from the look on his face when he returned that the news was bad.

  “Toni has died,” he said. “That was Harriet. The police have asked to interview her. She’s down at the first precinct. I’ll be with her during the interview, unless she prefers to talk with them alone.”

  “But I thought Toni was getting better—had come out of the coma and all,” Kate wailed.

  “There was another clot. That’s all Harriet had time to say. I don’t think Harriet’s in real danger, but I’d better get over there.”

  “I’ll come too.”

  “Better not. The police get fussy in these cases, and it may look as though we’re ganging up on them.”

  “We are ganging up on them. Will they let her out when they’re through interviewing her?”

  “Of course. They’ve no reason to keep her. There’s no evidence against her, and no probable cause. They’re fishing. Anyway, they always like to question those nearest to the victim, which is usually family but also business associates. What I have to do is get her a lawyer. I know a good one I hope I can persuade to take this on.”

  “Can’t you be her lawyer?”

  “Not a good idea. I’ll consult, of course.” Reed was looking for his coat.

  “I’m still coming,” Kate said. “I just want her to know I’m there, even if I have to wait outside on a bench or wherever.”

  Reed shrugged, helped her into her coat, and they were off. Kate, thrown back in the taxi, realized that she was far more worried about Harriet than about Toni.

  Toni was dead. Surely one should feel more sorrow for the dead. But Harriet meant a great deal to Kate, and the thought of her being convicted of murder could not be contemplated. What Kate felt was profound regret that Toni had ever got mixed up in this case, that she had ever allowed Harriet to bring Toni in. Kate had always, she now had to realize, felt deep reservations about Toni. But she was young, and dead, and would be mourned when Harriet was out of danger. Those thoughts, Kate knew, were harsh, and she did not intend to share them with anyone. Reed, she felt certain, would have guessed in any case.

  As Reed had suspected, she was not allowed to go with him to see Harriet. Indeed, she sat, as she had anticipated, on a chair and waited. But Reed would tell Harriet that she, Kate, had come with him, and that was the important thing.

  Reed emerged a relatively short time later. “I think she’s holding up,” he said, “though very upset about Toni’s death, for which, being Harriet, she naturally blames herself. I tried to shock her into understanding that she was the one who needs all of our efforts now, including her efforts; Toni was beyond our help. When people are in a state like Harriet’s, you have to say the simplest things and keep repeating them. I told her she would have a lawyer tomorrow, with whom she could discuss the whole matter, and that they certainly wouldn’t hold her. She was babbling on about bail. I do often wonder at how little citizens, even private eyes, know about the penal law. Do you, Kate, know how long people can be kept after arrest?”

  “Of course not,” Kate said.

  “Six days, or one hundred and forty-four hours. I told her you had come with me, and that neither of us believed for a minute that she had killed Toni. Harriet is as bad as you; she didn’t seem to know that she was not being arrested, let alone that had she been, she would have been arraigned and then remanded without bail, which is set at a later date before a judge. I do find it a bit appalling that two of the most intelligent women I know are so ignorant of law.”

  “Is that the truth?” Kate said. “I supposed it’s because we don’t expect to find ourselves in the hands of the police, and if we should, we would be able to hire a lawyer. Self-satisfaction leading to inexcusable ignorance, not to put too fine a point on it.”

  They rode for a while in silence in the taxi taking them home, where Reed would make his call to the lawyer he hoped would take on Harriet’s case. “Do you really not believe for a minute that Harriet killed Toni?” Kate asked, after a time.

  “I can imagine Harriet learning something about Toni she didn’t like, for instance, and resigning from the partnership in a huff, slamming the door behind her. I can’t see her hitting Toni, or anybody else, over the head with a blunt instrument. But I suspect there may be more than she’s told us about what she and Toni found out. You do realize, Kate, that Toni may have been killed because she was close to learning who was behind our little drama. And she may have told Harriet, or she may not.”

  “Can you find out from Harriet?”

  “I certainly hope so, if she is willing to be frank with us about Toni and their partnership, including its clients. She’ll be expecting us to question her, you can be sure of that. You know, Kate,” he went on, “I’m beginning to realize that I never much liked Toni and I’ve never stopped to face that fact or to ask myself why.”

  “You mean, we should be sorrier than we are?”

  “Well, sorrier in a more personal way. Death is always shocking and frightful, but some deaths rock us more than others. Had Harriet died …”

  “I know what you mean. And Toni was young, which makes it worse. I realize I took it altogether for granted that she would recover, once she was out of the coma.”

  “I don’t know that anyone can ever be said to have wholly recovered from traumatic head wounds. They lie in wait sometimes, those kinds of traumas.” He took Kate’s hand, and they rode the rest of the way in silence.

  In the end, it took several days for Reed to persuade the lawyer he wanted for Harriet to take the case. The man had a very overcrowded calendar. “As all successful defense lawyers
do, don’t they?” Kate commented. “Either they’re too busy or no one wants them—the way of the world.” Reed and Kate had agreed to meet the lawyer’s fees. Harriet, of course, objected, saying she preferred to settle for someone assigned by the court. Reed pointed out that such a lawyer might be first-rate, but also might not, and that he and Kate would feel better with a known quantity of law experience on Harriet’s side.

  “I’ll pay you back if it takes the rest of my life,” Harriet warned them.

  “Of course you will,” Reed said. “If you don’t, we’ll take it out in labor. Let’s concentrate on what’s facing us at the moment.”

  And so they sat together one evening to discuss the case: Archie Press, Harriet’s lawyer, Harriet, Kate, and Reed. Reed’s point, which he had persuaded Archie and Harriet at least to sit still for, was that they must prove that Harriet could not have committed the crime and that there was no probable cause the police could offer.

  “It would help,” Archie pointed out, “if we could find the real murderer, if any.”

  “Well,” Kate said, “she didn’t hit herself over the head.”

  “Sorry,” Archie agreed. “I mean a murderer as opposed to a casual lunatic who happened into the office and decided that Toni was his enemy. That does, alas, happen in New York. You all read the papers, so I don’t have to offer examples.”

  “Don’t they leave evidence most of the time?”

  “No. Usually they are caught for one crime and end up confessing to the others. We’re speaking here of killers who know nothing of their victims who are unfortunate enough to get in the killer’s way, cross his path, be there when he wants to steal something.”

  “And you think it would be hard to prove it was that kind of killing?” Kate asked.