“No, I didn’t run anywhere,” South said. He looked at Sam as he spoke. “I lay in the woods, where Hammond put me. In fact, I lie there still, today. They never found me. Four years later my brothers had me declared legally dead to spite me—they thought I’d run off, and they wanted control of my money, so they took it. They cut a deal with Hammond, who was in the will, after all, to let him keep what he had—the proceeds from the possessions of mine he had already sold, the cash from the many checks he’d drawn against the estate account, and, of course, my father’s land. My brothers took what was left in the bank and the proceeds from the sale of the house and kennels.”
“Awful,” Mrs. Atlee said.
South focused on Sam. “You can go dig me up, if you’d like,” he said. “I can tell you where to look.”
Sam stared at South, whose eyes were changing color like a pinwheel spinning: black, gold, gray, green.
“Shhh,” South said.
“I remember—I do remember your coming to the house once,” Mrs. Atlee said. “Yes, I remember Hammond waiting for you downstairs, on that little bench just inside the front door. His clothes were terribly muddy, I was frightened of him. And Daddy—you and Daddy were in the small study. Yes, I remember.”
“That’s right, that’s right,” South said. “I had forgotten that you were there when I came out of the study. You were asking Hammond about the dogs.”
“Yes,” she said. “I was asking him about the dog show. He smelled awful.”
“Her father wouldn’t help me,” South said to Sam. “I have never forgotten the way the light from outside came through the window and lit his face so I could see how much he enjoyed me having to ask for help. He said, ‘If you are now paranoid—in addition to your numerous other infirmities—I would be happy to take control of your affairs while you enter a sanatorium.’ I remember watching his lips make the words—‘numerous other infirmities.’ Oh, God.”
Mrs. Atlee coughed. The room was quiet, dim.
“Jesus Christ,” Sam said.
“Hammond was the murderer,” Mrs. Atlee said.
“Yes,” South said. He was red, damp, electric. “That’s right.”
Sam rubbed his eyes.
“What happened?” Mrs. Atlee asked.
“That morning?” South said.
Mrs. Atlee nodded.
Sam pulled his feet up on the bed and hugged his knees. The ceiling seemed very low, the bureau across the room was hardly visible. Mrs. Atlee reached for his hand and held it.
“Well,” South said. “We argued, as we did all the time. I went to feed the dogs and he jumped out at me. I barely saw him coming.”
Mrs. Atlee opened her mouth to ask about God but South looked at her, smiling, and she was quiet.
“I know what you’d like to know,” South said. He frowned. “But I don’t know much more than you do. Whether there is a heaven or hell, or a God to meet, I don’t know. Some people—some people in my situation, that is—get to go on. They leave being like this, and we think some of them get peace.” He shook his head. “There are rumors, but none of us know anything. Some of us seem to just fade out eventually.”
Mrs. Atlee squeezed Sam’s hand.
The yellow light wavered on South’s face as he wiped tears from his eyes. “I feel God in everything,” he said hoarsely. “It is infinitely consoling to feel Him.”
Downstairs, outside, a car pulled into the driveway. The air in the room felt heavy and cold.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Book Club Again
“Have you talked to Eddie?” Viv asked. She bit a cookie in half and chewed.
Alice shook her head. “I don’t know what I’d say to him,” she said. “I don’t feel anything.”
They were sitting on stools in Viv’s kitchen, drinking coffee.
“Sure you do, Hon,” Viv said. “It’s just a shock. I mean, Jesus, you know?”
“Yeah. I don’t know. How long will it last?”
Viv laughed. “A year or two at the most. Three, max.”
Alice sipped her coffee. “I haven’t even started my Christmas shopping,” she said.
“That’s good,” Viv said. She lit a cigarette.
“I don’t feel anything, Viv,” Alice said. “I have do what’s right for the kids.”
“What’s that?”
Alice sighed. She looked around the room. The counters were all clean, the cupboards closed, the stove scrubbed. Even the sink was shiny. “You know,” she said, “it’s like—it’s like, sometimes I used to want him to sleep with someone else. I used to think I wished he’d do it, just get it over with, you know? Get us over with. I don’t know. Then I find out he’s been lying to me.”
Viv nodded. “Sure,” she said.
“I never felt so old in my life—never—as when I walked out of that hotel room,” Alice said. She thought of Sam and wondered if he’d show up for the book club. He must’ve hired that detective. Who else would’ve done that? And that was weird of him, that was way too involved. Even if it was meant to help her.
“Have you talked to Sam?” Viv asked.
“No, I can’t do that,” Alice said. “I can’t do that now.”
“Why not?”
“It’s too—I told him I need to concentrate on my marriage, and he goes out and hires a detective to tail Ed? What can I possibly say to him?”
“Whatever you want. Thanks?”
“No,” Alice said. “It wouldn’t be fair, anyway. I’m going to call Ed and tell him we’re going to counseling or something. You don’t think Sam’ll show tonight, do you?”
Viv searched through her pocketbook for her lighter. “I’m sorry, Hon, but I gotta say one thing,” she said. “I’ve listened to everything you’ve said for the last two weeks—for the last ten years, Allie. And I never said anything against Ed, did I? I mean, we joked about our husbands sometimes, whatever, but I never said a thing against him. And I’m not gonna sit here and trash him now. But that man did everything he could to tell you he wanted out for—what—a year? Two years? How long was he screwing around? And what’s more, you wanted out, too. And now you’re going to try to fix it, even after you asked him to his face what was going on. Look what good that did.”
“So I shouldn’t try?” Alice said. “I’m not even—I don’t even expect to fix anything. We’ll try, but that’s not the point. The point is the kids.”
“I’m not saying don’t try,” Viv said. “I’m just reminding you that you tried about a million times.”
“Yeah,” Alice said. She sighed. “Ok.”
“And besides, you’re not old,” Viv said. “We’re not old. We’re just approaching middle age, that’s all.” Viv stretched and groaned.
The doorbell rang.
“What the hell do I tell Sam if he shows?” Alice said.
“You want me to turn him away? Turn all of them away? It’s not too late, we can just apologize and say something came up.”
“No, I’m fine,” Alice said. “It’ll be good.”
They stood up and went to the front door together.
Gretchen, in a knee-length purple coat and long multi-colored scarf, was standing on the front stoop. Her oversized shoulder bag was stuffed with papers. “Hello,” she said. “Very good to see you.”
Viv ushered her inside. “Glad you could make it,” she said.
“It’s very cold,” Gretchen said, unwrapping herself. “Hello,” she said to Alice. Her glasses were steamed over. “It’s so good of you to have this in your house again. I thought we were going to switch this month! Next month someone else really has to do it.”
“It’s Viv’s house,” Alice said quietly.
The doorbell rang again. It was Sue, square-faced and wide-eyed, holding a tray of cookies. Behind her on the path came Mr. Childs, a red scarf pulled up, almost touching the flap of the fur hat that hung over his eyes.
“Well hello,” he said to everyone, withdrawing from beneath his coat a tin of shortbread.<
br />
“Hello,” Alice and Viv said.
“Hi, Alice,” Sue said, hugging her. “You ok?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Alice said.
“Now, I’ve invited a friend this week,” Gretchen said as she proceeded to the living room. “She’s a professor at—a very well-known local University, and she knows quite a bit about good writing. But don’t be intimidated, she’s just a reader like the rest of us.”
“So, how have you been, Sarah?” Mr. Childs asked Sue, who mumbled something in response.
Viv passed out mugs of coffee and put a creamer and a bowl of sugar on the table.
Mr. Childs applied a squeeze bottle of nasal spray to each nostril and snorted. He patted at his thin gray hair, which had been fantastically disordered by the removal of his hat. The red scarf remained around his neck.
“So what did we all think of this one?” Gretchen said, removing a battered paperback from her shoulder bag. “I know, we shouldn’t get started till everyone’s here. I’m just taking a preliminary survey.” She laughed.
“Well, I did not like the title,” Mr. Childs said. “Is it supposed to be sarcastic? Love and Genius? I don’t know what that means.”
“It certainly is difficult to understand,” Gretchen said. “Especially since we had such a short time to read the book—since the choice was so late in coming.”
The doorbell rang and Alice jumped up.
“That must be Lisa,” Gretchen said. “My friend, the professor. She’ll explain the title, I’m sure.”
Alice opened the door. A stocky woman in purple with bushy black hair and wide glasses smiled at her.
“Hello,” the woman said. “I am Lisa Vushinsky, Gretchen Phillips’ friend. Is this the book club? Are you Alice?”
“Yes, come in,” Alice said. She showed Lisa into the living room.
“Hi, Gigi,” Lisa said, hugging Gretchen. She shook hands with everyone else. “I am so sorry to be late,” she said. “Unfortunately, being a professor isn’t a nine to five job, it’s a life. Or fortunately, I suppose. But, you know, the respect of my students is more important than their love, and more difficult to earn, as well.” She took off her coat, laid it across the arm of the sofa, sat down, and adjusted a long, wide, maroon and gold scarf in three folds around her neck.
“Would you like some coffee?” Viv asked her.
“Regular coffee? Oooh—I’d take a half-decaf, half-hot chocolate if you have it.”
“I’ll look,” Viv said.
“Lisa, tell everyone what you were telling me about the title the other night,” Gretchen said.
“Is this everyone?” Lisa asked. “I think we should wait—I don’t want to repeat myself.”
“There might be one more,” Alice said. “But we’re not sure, so go ahead.”
“I do hope that nice young man whose grandmother is ill is coming back,” Gretchen said. “Does anyone know how he is? How she is?”
“He’s ok,” Alice said. “And his grandmother is hanging in there.”
Viv came back with a mug and handed it to Lisa, who took a sip.
“Oh, delicious, thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” Viv said.
“Well, so,” Lisa said, sipping again. “I was just telling Gretchen the other night that among my colleagues at Harvard there is a great debate about this title. But I’m from Philadelphia, so let me start with some common sense instead.”
Gretchen and Sue laughed. Lisa smiled around the room.
Mr. Childs nodded, his eyes closed, his eyebrows raised. “As a colleague, allow me to add my perspective to yours,” he said. “I am the former head of the American and European Literature department at the Middletown School. Back in the 1950’s and 60’s, a movement of young writers, self-consciously sloppy, in my opinion, sprang up. They are now known as the ‘Beats’, I believe. I think the tone of this title is very much of their milieu.”
Alice looked at Viv and tried to smile.
“Well, yes, Mr.—Childs, is it? Yes, I would agree with you to some extent,” Lisa said.
Alice mumbled something about needing more coffee and walked slowly to the kitchen.
Viv came in behind her. “You ok?” she asked.
Alice poured coffee. “Fine,” she said. “Did you really make half-decaf, half hot chocolate?”
“Nah,” Viv said. “All regular, a squirt of chocolate syrup. Now come on, Al, don’t bail out on me.”
“I’m not. I’m coming,” Alice said.
They went back to the living room.
“A double irony,” Lisa was saying. “The author is making fun of himself for making fun of himself. But we must ask ourselves why. Why the distance from his own work?”
“Especially,” Gretchen interjected, “when some of the scenes with the little brother are so intimate. I remember when my mother was dying—it was toward the end, the end of the process of dying—my younger brother came into the room.” She closed her eyes and held up her hand.
“It’s ok,” Lisa said, her voice deep, her eyelids fluttering. “You know, at the faculty awards dinner last year—it’s just a little ceremony, I had been voted an award by the Extension school, best teacher, you know—I was asked to give a talk, and I said—I talked about my mother, who died when I was 16, and about my father, who once said to me—well, he meant to be supportive, I’m sure, but he said, ‘Lisa, you’re not as smart as your brothers but you work hard.’ And I think, I really believe that that statement caused me to build a wall of sarcasm around myself, a protective wall, if you see what I mean. And I think that’s where this author is coming from, too. From his own walls, from his own defenses. That’s why the distance.”
“Perhaps,” Mr. Childs said. “But we must consider the quality of the prose before we analyze the author.”
“I thought he was happy with himself,” Viv said. “Too happy. I mean, some people just always talk about themselves, and this guy knows enough to make fun of himself for thinking everything he writes is fascinating, right, but he still thinks it. And he wants to be ahead of you, right, so you know any joke you might make about him he’s already thought of.”
“Yeah,” Sue said.
The doorbell rang. Alice looked at Viv.
“But the scenes with the little brother,” Lisa started.
“Yeah, those were ok,” Viv said over her shoulder as she went into the front hall.
“My younger brother was so sweet, so determined to be helpful,” Gretchen said.
Viv came into the room looking straight at Alice. Sam was behind her.
“Hello,” he said. His eyes stopped on Alice for an extra second and he nodded to her. He took off his coat and hat, smoothing his hair with red fingers. Viv asked him if he wanted coffee and he thanked her, nodding.
Alice looked away. His smile, the way his shirt collar stuck out from under his sweater—she wanted to hug him.
The room was quiet for a moment.
“We’ve only just started, Sam,” Gretchen said. “This is my friend Lisa. I haven’t told her your story—I’ve only mentioned it in passing.”
“Hi,” Sam said, nodding at Lisa. “Ok, thanks,” he said to Gretchen.
“Well,” Mr. Childs said. “You might as well jump right in, young man. Did you like the book this month?”
Sam took a cookie from the tray Sue offered him. “Well, I—” he said, “I didn’t quite finish it, but what I read I—liked.”
“I don’t think I agree with the last comment,” Lisa said. “About the author being happy with himself. He seems quite unhappy to me.”
“Mmmm-hmmmm,” Gretchen said, nodding. “How could anyone going through what he’s going through be happy?”
Alice went to the kitchen again.
Viv was standing just inside the door.
“Jesus,” Alice said, pacing. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and snapped a hair band around it. “Why’s he here?” she asked.
She thought of the hotel room, of litt
le Jenny, Ed laughing. Imagine what Sam was going through these days—and she not even his friend.
“Why’s he here?” Alice repeated.
“Duh,” Viv said. “I’m gonna take him his coffee.” She passed through the swinging door, shaking her head.
If she couldn’t find any feeling for Ed now, she would at some point. Marriages went in cycles, after all. She heard the door swing and a step on the linoleum and turned.
“Hi,” Sam said.
“Hey,” Alice said quietly. “How are you?”
“I’m ok,” he said. The light in the kitchen captured the tiny wrinkles around Alice’s eyes. He looked down. “It’s been a very strange time. I, ahh, I don’t think I could explain it, really.”
“I’m sure,” Alice said. “How is your grandmother?”
“She’s not good,” Sam said. “I don’t think she’ll live much longer. I probably shouldn’t be here. But I wanted to—anyway. She seems, I don’t know, ready? Something.”
Alice nodded and fidgeted with the hem of her sweater. “That must be very hard for you,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. He tried to look at the cabinets, the stove, the fridge, but his eyes returned to Alice. “How’re you?” he asked.
“Been better,” she said. “You had no right to hire that guy,” she said.
“I did not hire that guy,” Sam said.
“Don’t lie, Sam. Who else could’ve?”
“I think he—I think he did that on his own.”
“What? Why? What does that mean?”
“It’s a strange time, Alice. That guy—he’s a—I think a client of mine had him do that. I think he thought it would help.”
“And you knew nothing about it?” Alice asked. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m going back to Ed. I told you I was going to focus on my marriage,” Alice said. “I’m not changing that just because—look, I knew Ed was up to something, ok? It wasn’t such a big surprise, you could’ve saved yourself some money on that one.”
“Alice, I didn’t hire that man. Listen to me. I did not hire him.”
“Then who is he?”
“Oh, God, I—I told you, I think he did that for a client of mine, I think they thought they were helping us. Maybe Mrs. Atlee told them that’s what I wanted because I’d told her about you, about how I felt.”
THE GHOST DETECTIVE: Boston Page 26