George, Anne (29 page)

"Why did you need to be dead?" I asked Meg.

"So I could kill Bobby, and Georgiana would spend the rest of her life in prison for it."

"Georgiana?"

"Let me tell you a story, Patricia Anne, quite an old story, actually, a simple story. One night, just a few months after we were married, Bobby and I, probably in June or July, I remember it was hot, I woke up, and Bobby wasn't beside me." Meg's voice took on a dreamy tone. "I got up and looked through the house and everything was quiet. I didn't turn on the lights because it was a full moon, a blue moon. I remember that because later I told myself that such a thing would happen only once in a blue moon. Did I tell you that, Cassie?"

"No."

"So I walked outside, down the pier. I could hear the cicadas. It was so light, fish scales were shining along the planks, and I started to call, 'Bobby.' And then I saw them at the edge of the water, Bobby and my friend, Georgiana, my dear friend and my husband making love."

"Just like Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster in
From Here to Eternity,"
Cassie added.

Meg scowled. "Shut up, Cassie."

"But that was, what?" I asked. "Forty years ago? You waited forty years to get even with them?"

"Yes. But all those forty years they knew the reckoning was going to happen some day. It was a dark undercurrent, waiting."

I figured it wasn't the time to point out that Judge Haskins and Georgiana Peach had led busy, happy lives for the last forty years. I obviously wasn't dealing with a rational woman here. I looked over at Cassie, who was propped back on her heels.

"Don't look at me," she said. "He screwed me, too. Literally and figuratively."

"I thought he became your guardian after your parents died."

"He did," Meg interceded, "and, Cassie, don't say it was all bad. You know better than that."

I suddenly felt dizzy. I put my head down against my knees. "You mean," my voice was muffled against my pants legs, "that all that's happened has been about getting even with a man who looked like a weasel?"

"Of course not," Meg said, "but it sure made it easier. You see, Bobby was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. He'd figured out who was tampering the records. And we made quite a bit of money while we were setting Georgiana up, didn't we, Cassie? Quite a bit. Heidi Williams is going to be able to live very comfortably somewhere. Maybe Key West. Or Toronto? They say the theater there is spectacular."

"What about Cassie?" I asked.

"Oh, she'll stay here if she likes. Georgiana's responsible for everything, the murders and all the changes that have been made in the lineage charts. And for stealing and destroying records. That's what Cassie's making sure of now. Yesterday when we thought Georgiana was going to die, we didn't think We would have to be so careful." Meg grinned. "She's had that ulcer for forty years. My 'help me' message did a number on it, didn't it?"

"You just walked in and shot him?" I mumbled against my legs.

The dreamy voice again. "I almost didn't. He thought I was a woman named, I understand, Jenny Louise. He came into the living room wearing a robe, and he smiled when he saw me. I said, 'Where have you been, Bobby?' and he said, 'A long way, Meg.' And I asked him to take off his robe."

"Why?" Cassie asked. "There couldn't have been any surprises."

"But there were. Bobby wasn't a big man, but he had a strong body, a barrel chest, and short legs. Good Irish stock. And the man standing before me looked as if his bones were trying to break through his skin."

"A Rose for Emily," Cassie said.

"Shut up," I told Cassie.

Meg smiled at me. "He was beautiful," she said. "Old and beautiful. I could see the veins crisscrossing on his chest." She paused as if remembering details of his body, and then in a moment, continued. "He said, 'Meg, you're going to kill me, aren't you?' and I said, 'I think so, Bobby.' So he said, 'Okay,' and I shot him in the head." Another pause. "I thought I would feel better."

"I'm sorry," I said. I really was. I was sorry for this woman, for the many threads of her life that had brought her to this violence.

"Thank-you." Meg drank the last of her coffee and put the cup down.

And ndw the big question. What were they going to do about me? I might be sorry for Meg, but she certainly wasn't rational. Throw Castine Murphy in for good measure and the answer was clear.

Meg stood up. "Cassie, you through? Why don't you put those boxes in the car and be thinking about what we can do with Patricia Anne. I swear I hate this."

"So do I," I said into my knees. I tried to think. Trinity knew I was here at the office, but she would be at the hospital all day. No one else knew I was here. Yes, they did. I had left word on Sister's phone. But she wouldn't be looking for me. If anyone called, they would just assume I was out for a while and leave a message. Even Sister. Even Fred. Fred. A few tears slid down onto my pants legs. At my funeral, he would tell the kids, "I told her to stay out of that mess." He might even have those words put on my tombstone. He would certainly marry one of the girls from Atlanta within six months. "Oh, Fred," I whispered, sniffling.

"Here. Use a Kleenex." Meg pressed one into my hand. I heard the front door open and close.

"Bobby did look a little like a weasel, didn't he?" Meg said. I watched her shoes as she went around the coffee table and sat down again. "Amazing how the women adored him."

I rose up and wiped my face with the Kleenex. "There's no accounting."

"True." Meg leaned forward. "You know, Patricia Anne, I really hate to shoot you. It makes an awful mess. I was startled when I shot Bobby."

I thought of Sister's story of the blood blooming like anemones on the white canvas Keds. "I hate the idea, too."

"We'll see if Cassie can come up with something. She said something about giving Georgiana snake venom when she found out she had an ulcer. I thought that was a clever idea. It'll get into your blood stream that way. But I decided I'd rather have Georgiana found guilty. Get what she deserves."

"That Cassie is a clever girl," I said.

"Oh, good. Sarcasm. You're feeling better, aren't you?"

/
wouldn 't say that,
I thought.

Cassie took the last box out. When she came back in, Meg said she had to go to the "little girls' room," and then we would talk.

"She's
crazy,
you know," I whispered to Cassie as soon as the door closed.

"Aren't we all."

"Possibly. But are you so crazy you think she's going to let you stay here while she takes off as Heidi Williams?"

"Shut up, Mrs. Hollowell."

"This whole thing is so Gothic. Imagine spending a lifetime waiting to get even with some man who hurt you."

"At least she's not sleeping with his dead body."

"What?"

"Like in that Faulkner story you had us read where there was long gray hair on the pillow by the skeleton.

I hated that story. This whole thing keeps reminding me of it somehow."

" 'A Rose for Emily'? That's why you said it awhile ago?"

"Yuck."

"Cassie?" I was going to try to reason with her, but just then we heard the toilet flush, and in a moment, Meg bounced out of the bathroom. "Well, girls," she said, looking bright and cheerful. "What are we going to do about our little problem?"

Eighteen My suggestion was that they let me go, that they had my scout's honor, so help me God, that I would not tell anyone what they had done or were about to do in the future, that it was none of my business who they wanted to throw out of windows or shoot in the head or blackmail or which family records they wanted to change or steal and, as far as I was concerned, they could just take off for wherever they wanted to go or even stay in Birmingham, I would stay out of their way, cross my heart and hope to die.

Meg smiled benignly at me. "You do tend to babble, don't you?"

"She always did, even in class," Cassie said, a remark that hurt.

"Which isn't solving our problem," Meg turned to me. "You know, Patricia Anne, I hate to kill you. I've got nothing against you. In fact, I like you."

"Thanks," I said. God! Nutty as a fruitcake. I looked at Cassie, but she was busy studying her nails. Just as crazy, I decided. There wouldn't be any help there.

"Take her with you," Cassie said. "Company on your trip."

"No, I couldn't tolerate that babbling as far as the Mississippi state line. I'd lose my mind."

"Then, what's your choice?" Cassie asked.

Meg Bryan shook her head pityingly. "Patricia Anne, I'm real sorry about this." She reached into the pocket of her skirt, and I was looking at the tiny pistol. I wasn't sure, but I figured tiny pistols were as deadly as big ones. The hole through Judge Haskins's head was proof of that.

"Let's go," she said. "Cassie, you ready?"

"Where are you going to take her?"

"Doesn't your house have a basement?"

"Oh, no you don't. I'm not getting stuck with a body."

The word "body" galvanized me. I grabbed the lamp from the table by the love seat and swung it at Meg's hand, knocking the pistol loose. It skidded across the floor and Cassie and I both lunged for it. She won, hopping up with the pistol in her hand while I lay there wondering if I had broken my hip. My arm. My leg.

"Get up," she commanded.

"In a minute," I said. Tears of frustration, pain, and fear burned my eyes.

"Give me the gun, Cassie," Meg said. "Patricia Anne, I can't believe you did that."

"No," Cassie's voice was firm. "I think I'd better keep it. Mrs. Hollowell's right. There's no way you're going to let me out of this alive."

"Don't be stupid, Cassie." Meg started toward her and I moved my leg, tripping her. For some reason, it had occurred to me that I had a better chance with Cassie than with Meg. After all, she had been naive enough to be duped by Meg.

Meg's head hit the counter with a crack that didn't sound good. I sat up and looked at her prone figure. "Is she dead?"

A moan answered me.

"Oh, God," Cassie said. The hand holding the pistol was shaking. "Oh, God, what am I going to do with the two of you?"

Meg's moan was the only answer.

"I can't leave you here. Somebody will be here in a little while."

"Meg killed the judge all by herself, didn't she?" I asked.

"Of course."

"And she pushed Heidi Williams out of the window by herself?"

A slight pause. "Yes."

"Then why don't you call the police and turn her in?"

Cassie wheeled on me. "You bitch. You think I'm that stupid? They might not get me for murder, but they sure as hell would get me for blackmail and record-tampering. Get up!" I struggled to my feet. Pain shot up my right arm in such an intense arc, I thought I would faint. "Now get her up."

"I think my arm's broken."

"Get her up anyway."

I struggled to get the half-conscious Meg propped into a sitting position against the counter. "She can't walk," I said, "She could have a fractured skull."

"Then you and I'll drag her out. People will just think she's had one-day surgery since we're so close to the medical center. If they pay any attention."

"Where are you taking us?"

"I don't know. I've got to have time to think."

It was at that point that I got the Brer Rabbit idea. The caves under Vulcan. Bo Mitchell had said hiding someone there would be like putting them on Highway 280.

"Just don't put us in the caves under Vulcan," I pleaded. "Please, for God's sake, I don't think I could take it. The snakes, the dark."

"I think my basement will do for the time being," Cassie said. "Now, get on Meg's right side and help me pull her up. Don't think this gun isn't still on you, though."

Meg was a dead weight, and, frail as she might appear, that dead weight was a considerable amount.

"I can't do it," I said.

Cassie aimed the gun at my head. "Put your shoulder under her arm." It worked. I pulled Meg's right arm around my shoulder and held on with my left. My own right arm felt paralyzed.

"Now, walk."

We started toward the door, dragging Meg between us. If anyone coming down the street thought this woman had just had one-day surgery, it would scare them away from the procedure for life.

The trip across the room seemed to take an hour, an hour of agonizing pain, nausea, and the fear that I was going to faint before we could get to the door. I had no doubt that my keeling over and dropping Meg would make up Cassie's mind and she would kill us both. So I concentrated on the brass doorknob, willing each step toward it.

And then we were there. Cassie reached over and opened the door and there stood Sister, holding a pot of pink gloxinias.

"Hi!" she said cheerfully. "I got these for Geor-

giana, but—" I saw the expression change on her face. "What's going on?"