“No one else needs to know,” Carmody volunteered feebly.
Uncle Albert had always said ‘There’s no such thing as a secret in a small town.’ How big did a town have to be before its secrets were safe? he wondered.
There followed a heavy silence of the kind the pastor used to make a point. The congregation exchanged unsure glances. Maylene had found Albert’s glasses and put them on. She climbed up on the dresser chair and was making faces at herself in the mirror.
“Maylene looks more like you than you do, with those glasses on,” said Cindy with a laugh. She gently took the glasses from her daughter. “Let’s put those down before you break ‘em, Mayzie.” She placed the glasses on the table and helped her down from the chair.
The Commander was studying Albert. “You know,” he said, “without those glasses . . .” He took the album from Carmody and held it up to the light, glancing back and forth from one Albert to the other. “And with that beard . . . “
Albert could feel everyone staring at him all of a sudden. He scanned their faces nervously. He wanted to say he didn’t do it, whatever it was. But he probably had.
“He looks completely different, don’t he!” said Cindy. She bent toward him with her hands on her knees and studied him as if he were an inanimate object, a definition that applied less and less with each passing second as he struggled not to stare at the heart-stopping panorama her position presented.
“What if he wore contacts,” Sarah suggested.
“That would do it!” said Cindy. She stood up and put one hand on Albert’s shoulder. “Contacts. This beard. These clothes.”
“His own mother wouldn’t know him!” the Commander said.
“A disguise?” said Albert, who thought he already had one.
“Why not?” said Carmody. “That way you can stay here as long as you like. No one would bother you. We’d see to that.”
Everyone nodded and swore they would.
“Contacts? In my eyes?” said Albert. He didn’t like the thought. “I wouldn’t like that.”
“Well, wire frames, then,” said Alice, undeterred. She took off her gold rimmed spectacles, folded them and held them in front of Albert’s eyes, which grew three sizes as a result. Heads nodded again.
“Perfect,” Sarah proclaimed. “There’s one of those places that does glasses in an hour out at the shopping center. Commander, you take him out there this afternoon.” She commanded.
Carmody had been thinking. “‘Professor’s’ too obvious,” he said. “We have to call you something else.”
“Like what?” asked Cindy.
“I don’t know, “ said Carmody, who hadn’t thought that far. “What would you like, Professor? If you could call yourself anything.”
“For the longest time I wanted to be called Kelli, with an ‘i’” said Cindy with a ‘y’. “Or Jasmine. I always thought Jasmine was pretty.”
“Cynthia’s such a pretty name,” said Sarah. “I always wished I’d been named Rose. If Mr. Grandy and I had had a daughter, I’d have named her Amber Rose, but we’d have called her Rose.”
“Alex,” said Carmody. “That’s the name I’d have picked for myself. Alexander the Great, Alexander Graham Bell – “
“That was the name of the father on theDonna Reed Show, too” said Alice, putting her glasses back on and looking more surprised than ever. “Isn’t that a coincidence?”
Albert was amazed. He was surrounded by people who all had an alias-in-waiting. They’d thought about it. They’d wished for it, even planned nonexistent families around it.
Names never crossed Albert’s mind. You were who you were and, if you were lucky, it didn’t rhyme with something obscene. ‘Albert’ didn’t rhyme with anything. “I don’t know,” said Albert. If he had a theme song, that was it. They might as well have asked him his favorite South American mammal. “Not Jasmine, though,” he said.
Everyone laughed. Albert smiled. Apparently he’d made a joke.
“We’ll put our minds to it,” said the Commander. “Don’t worry, Professor. Your secret’s safe with us.”
“Heather will play along, too,” said Sarah on Heather’s behalf. “I’ll tell her this morning.” She seemed oblivious to the fact that she had just declared her intention to break her pledge of secrecy.
“Tick-a-lock,” said Alice, zipping her lip.
One by one the flock filed out of the room, leaving Albert alone with his thoughts which, not providing much solace, drifted once again to the little oval picture of the girl. She stared back.
For a long time they just looked at each other. Then Albert had to have a cigarette.
Everyone had gathered in the parlor after dinner to watchJeopardy! Albert didn’t get it. Neither did Maylene. The pleasant-looking man in the nice suit would read something that sounded like a question from a little TV screen, but he called it an answer. Then one of the three nervous people would press a button and answer with a question.
Albert and Maylene didn’t know what the ‘C.S.’ in ‘C.S. Lewis’ stood for. They didn’t know what color there was most of in a package of M&M’s. They didn’t know the 27th Vice-President of the United States or why his feet hurt. The whole half-hour was a litany to Albert’s ignorance. He felt diminished by it.
Maybe it had something to do with his new wire-rimmed glasses. They were like Alice’s. He wondered if he looked as surprised as she did. He narrowed his eyes.
The Commander knew most of the questions, Albert could tell, though he only answered when nobody else could. Carmody did well, but opera and chemistry were his downfall. Cindy answered all the questions wrong, then said ‘I knew it . . . I knew that. I just can’t think that fast,’ after each one. Alice smiled and knitted and said “Mm-Hmm,” when the nervous people got it right.
Sarah was in the kitchen and Angela Marie had gone to the library just after supper.
At the end of the program, they played a familiar piece of music while the nervous people scratched down the question to the answer ‘He won the Congressional Medal of Honor for this composition ofDardanelles Suite for the last inauguration.’
The School had named it. Albert couldn’t have put a name to his music any easier than he could name a new species of fungus. And he hadn’t written it for anything. Administration had asked him to give them some original music . . . so he scooped some pages off the floor of his apartment, stuffed them in an envelope, and sent them over.
He did know where the Dardanelles were, though. That’s what the answer should have been.
Albert got up and left the room, and Maylene followed. They went out and sat on the front porch step. After communing for a while in silence, Albert spoke. “I need a new name, Maylene.”
“Name,” said Maylene, and pointed at a tree.
“What name do you like?”
“Elmo,” said Maylene instantly.
“Elmo?”
Maylene nodded
“Mr. Elmo,” he rolled the name around on his tongue. It rolled well.
“Elmo!” Maylene sang aloud on a joyful peel of laughter. She repeated it rhythmically, over and over, swinging her head from side to side and slapping her knees.
“Mr. Elmo,” said Albert. So it was that Mr. Elmo, piano teacher, came to Tryon, North Carolina, at precisely the same instant that Albert departed.
“So who’s Mr. Elmo?” said Angela Marie. Her voice announced her arrival from the shadows at the end of the walk. Soon she was dressed in the halo of light from the porch.
Albert didn’t respond to Angela Marie the way he’d responded to so many women lately. Three, actually. She evoked something else that he didn’t know the name for. It was a nice, warm feeling, but not all edgy and uncomfortable. She didn’t make his eyes water, or his heart throb. She just made him glad she was there.
Maylene held out her hand, and Angela took it in hers and swung it back and forth. “What’s all this noise, then Maylene? Huh? Are you trying to keep the whole neighborhood awake?”
“Yes!” Maylene squealed joyfully.
“Well, you’re doing a good job, that’s all I can say!” said Angela Marie warmly. She sat down beside Albert. “Have you been watchingSesame Street with Maylene, Professor?”
“No,” said Albert. “Jeopardy!”
“Oh, I thought you’d been watchingSesame Street. Elmo’s one of the Muppets.”
“Oh,” said Albert, who didn’t know Sesame Street from Sunset Strip, or Muppets from jellied eel, but felt that he should be flattered, so he was. “That’s what she calls me.”
“Is that right, Maylene? Do you call the Professor Elmo, like on Sesame Street?”
“Mr. Elmo!” Maylene chorused all by herself, emphasizing the distinction. She slapped Albert on the back and danced around him, tossing her head around like an independent object.
“Well, that’s a fine name,” said Angela Marie. She grabbed Maylene in the midst of a twirl and plopped her down in her lap, where she blew on her neck and covered her forehead with kisses to the accompaniment of Maylene’s laughter.
This was the music Albert longed to write.
“It’s a beautiful evening,” said Angela, when the riot subsided and Maylene lay quietly across her lap, twirling her fingers in her hair.
Albert noticed how warm it was. How sweet the air was. How still. Except for whatever insect it was that made the peeping sounds. Odd how they kept perfect time for a measure or two, then fell off the beat, squeezing themselves back into the chorus whenever they liked. Very distracting. “Yes, it is.”
He surveyed the neighborhood. All the houses had their lights on – with one exception.
“Looks like that house is going to be dark for awhile,” Angela said, following his eyes and his thoughts. “At least ‘til Maudanne gets back.”
“Maudanne?”
“Marchant’s housekeeper. She’s gone to take care of her mother somewhere in Tennessee, so Marchant says. She’s dying.”
“Maudanne?”
“No, her mother,” Angela corrected. “Left the day they found Judge Antrim, as a matter of fact. He doesn’t know when she might be back; you never know with cancer.”
“She takes care of him?” Albert thought aloud. It happens. Recent experience had shown him that. Who knew how many young men were being taken care of by older women? Even Albert had Mrs. Gibson – but she wasn’t taking care of him, she was taking care of his apartment. And Jeremy Ash. Both needed a lot of taking care of.
“She’s been there since the Flood,” said Angela. “So Sarah says. Family retainer type of thing. You know.”
Albert didn’t know. His sister had a retainer once after her braces were taken out. It wasn’t a family retainer, though. Just hers. He decided to change the subject. “Why did they take him?”
“As a matter of fact, I overheard Chris Harvey telling Brigit Cassels down at the library – Brigit’s the librarian . . . “
“Harvey?” said Albert. He’d heard that name before.
“Chrissy,” Angela continued. “She’s Matt Harvey’s wife. He’s the policeman who – “
“Yes,” said Albert. “The policeman. I saw him this morning.”
“Anyway,” said Angela, stroking Maylene’s hair, “it seems the Judge – Judge Antrim – was working on something when he . . . “
“Yes. Yes,” said Albert, meaning ‘No. No!’ He didn’t want to hear any more.
“Nobody paid much attention to them at first. Just papers, you know. But it turns out he was writing a letter to his lawyer – an addendum to his will; there’s a legal word for it, but I don’t remember what it is. Anyway, he was making Heather co-heir with Marchant. Heather Proverb,” she said in response to the puzzled look on Albert’s face.
“Heather Proverb,” he repeated. It didn’t clarify things.
“She’d get half of everything,” Angela said, staring earnestly at her stoop-mate.
“So?” said Albert. The direct question was best in situations like this.
Angela had been told she talked too fast. She must be doing it again. “So,” she said slowly, “Marchant wasn’t expecting to have to share his inheritance with anyone. If he found out Judge Antrim was writing Heather into his will . . . “
Albert suddenly got it. “Greed!” he said. “He wanted it all for himself!” The cobwebbed orchestra in his heart woke up, dusted itself off, and burst spontaneously into the first four bars of theHallelujah chorus. The harpist, having nothing to do, improvised a pizzicato that was most unexpected. Very nice.
Angela breathed a sigh of relief. “So they revoked his bail. You’ve got it, Professor – excuse me – Elmo.”
“Mr. Elmo!” Maylene chimed, opening her eyes and smiling.
“I thought you were asleep!” Angela said. She tickled Maylene’s belly, and the child rolled off her lap and ran into the house to the accompaniment of assorted giggles and squeals. Angela chased after her. “I’m gonna get you!”
“Greed.” The word echoed in the night like the Lord’s call to Samuel. The import was the same. Albert had discovered motive.
By bedtime, everyone was calling Albert Mr. Elmo; a first name had yet to be agreed upon. Sigfried had met with some approval. Cindy thought it sounded intelligent. That would be a great disguise, Albert thought. He and Sarah were the only ones still up. She put her head back on the high backed chair and closed her eyes as she rocked back and forth, swishing the decaf gently in her cup as if it was fine brandy. Albert was staring at the fireplace. The clock in the hall laid down a persistent beat, but only the peepers joined in.
“More coffee?” Sarah asked after a while.
Albert shook his head, but Sarah had her eyes closed, so she couldn’t see. “No,” he said.
“Mm,” she sighed. “Nice night.”
“Yes,” he said. But something else was on his mind. “Mrs. Grandy?” he said, after another while.
“Mm?”
“That picture in my . . . on the wall in my room . . . “
“Which one?”
There was more than one?
“The girl.”
“Oh! Yes. Lizzie.”
“Lizzie?”
“Well, that’s what we called her, Mr. Grandy and I. We did some remodeling after we moved in – there used to be a stairway leading to the attic from your room. We put in a landing and turned the lower part of the stairs so they came down in an old closet in the hall, instead. Then we built a closet in your room where the stairs used to be. (They used to have wardrobes in the old days.)
‘Anyway, we found that picture there, under the attic stairs. We needed something to hide a little tear in the wallpaper in your room, so we hung her there. Sad face . . . “
“Sad,” Albert agreed.
“So, we named her Lizzie.”
Lizzie must be a sad name.
“But you don’t know anything about her?”
“Pardon? Lizzie? Oh,” Sarah thought for a moment. “I don’t really know. Whoever she was, she lived here; I’m pretty sure of that.” The night absorbed the sum total of Sarah’s information on the subject with sublime indifference. “Sad face, though,” she added.
Albert wondered if he was sleeping in Lizzie’s room. Maybe that would explain why he felt her presence so distinctly; why he found the faded old photograph so mesmerizing ... and companionable. She never asked him anything. She just seemed to know, or didn’t care that she didn’t know.
“We can take her down, if you want,” Sarah offered. “I’ve got a lovely watercolor of something or other. Flowers, I think, out in the shed. I can’t swear it would match the paper.”
“No,” Albert replied. “I’d like her . . . I’d like it to stay there.”
“Suit yourself,” said Sarah.
He was startled by his reflection in the mirror when he turned on the light in his room. The wire-rimmed glassesdid give him a look of intelligence.
No one would ever recognize him.
Chapter Eight
“
I’m not sure I understand,” said Heather, with a smile. “What do you mean, ‘how do you find out who someone is?’”
Albert had lain awake a long time the previous night, trying to force the murder to the back of his mind, or out of his mind altogether. But the harder he concentrated on not thinking about the it, the more he thought about the picture on the wall. He could feel it there, wide awake in the dark, staring at him. The eyes in pictures never close. They watch you while you sleep.
“There’s a picture on the wall in my room,” Albert explained. “It’s very old.”
“And you want to find out who it is?” Heather asked. She and a very short, sinewy black lady were draping carpets over the porch rail. He’d have offered to help, but it never occurred to him. A little radio sat on the railing playing unconscious music.
“Yes,” Albert replied.
Heather blew at a wisp of hair from her face. It flung a brief salute to the morning and fell back down across her forehead “Have you asked Sarah?”
“She doesn’t know. Mr. Grandy probably did . . . but he’s dead.”
“Maybe you should try a séance.”
“A what?” said Albert.
“Don’t you be pullin’ at him like that,” the black woman scolded.
Heather laughed. “Have you two met? Kitty, this is the – Mr. Elmo.”
“The Mr. Elmo. There’s more than one?” said Kitty with a nod in his direction as she picked up a broom and took a prodigious swing at the carpet.
“I misspoke, Kitty. This is Kitty Odum,” said Heather. She came down the steps to avoid the billows of dust and stood beside Albert in the sunlight. She smelled clean. “The Judge’s housekeeper.”
“The Judge’sformer housekeeper,” said Kitty Odum, tilting her head forward and looking at Heather over the top of her glasses. “Now, I’m just a squatter.”
“Pay her no mind,” said Heather. “May I get you some iced tea?” Heather held the screen door open. “Come along in, won’t you? You can talk to me while I do the laundry.”
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