Going Out in Style (16 page)

“Miss Pinsky—”

“Call me Aunt Etta. Everyone does.”

“Aunt Etta, can you remember the words she used? Can you tell me what she said,
exactly
?”

Etta screwed up her face into a tight knot and closed her eyes. “I’m not sure … it was something like, ‘The coat is so beautiful. And there’s something else … something else it brought to mind that I should tell you.’ Then she said something about that detective not being as smart as he made himself out to be. She was still all fussed up
over his asking whether she had left by the back door. She had her pride, Mrs. MacGregor did.”

“He asked her how she left the house?”

“Yes, and naturally she was all insulted. That was the way she was. So she said something about him not being so smart, and that if he knew what
she
knew …”

“So she knew something because she left by the front door,” said Bernard. “Is it possible—do you think she saw who was hiding in the hallway?”

Etta pondered this, then shook her head. “That wasn’t the impression I got. I don’t think she was talking about a person. It seemed to me she was talking about some
thing
, not someone … as if there was something she saw or knew about that the detective had overlooked. She loved knowing things that other people didn’t,” she added tartly. “And when I tried to get her to tell me about it, she just shut her mouth and wouldn’t say anything except that
it didn’t make any sense
. She would have figured it out eventually and maybe told me, but unfortunately she didn’t get to live that long.”

“
It didn’t make any sense
,” muttered Bernard.

“Yes. I told her that nothing she said ever made much sense. More tea, either of you?”

“No, thanks,” said Snooky. Bernard did not reply. His eyes were curiously blank.

“Bernard’s gone into one of his comas,” said Snooky. “Embarrassing, I always find it. He doesn’t seem to mind. Of course, he’s never very social at the best of times.”

“I was just thinking hard,” Bernard said. “Naturally you wouldn’t recognize what that looked like, Snooky. Thank you very much, Aunt Etta. You’ve been very helpful.”

She gave him a shrewd glance. “Thinking you’ll get to
it quicker than the police, are you? I wouldn’t count on it.”

“No … no, I suppose not.”

She and Snooky chatted for a while. Bernard had lapsed into another one of his reveries, staring out the window with a glazed look in his eyes.

“Narcolepsy,” Snooky said. “Sad, isn’t it? If you don’t mind, Aunt Etta, I’ll just drag him out by his feet to the car, and we’ll be on our way.”

They said good-bye to Aunt Etta, who accompanied them to the front entrance of the apartment house and watched them as they left.

“Letter for you,” said Maya.

Snooky looked up apprehensively. “It’s not another one from Deirdre, is it?”

“Guess again, Snooks. This one is from William.”

“Take it away and burn it, please.”

Maya held it out wordlessly. Snooky ripped the envelope open and, after steeling himself with a large gulp of coffee, read through the letter with a stony expression on his face. Then he picked up the newspaper and went back to doing the crossword puzzle.

Maya said, “A bad one this time, Snooks?”

“Not too bad.”

“Mind if I read it?”

“Help yourself.”

Maya picked up the letter. It was typed on William’s word processor, on thick cream-colored stationery with the initials WSR across the top in a dark blue diamond design. Maya could not remember the last time she had received a letter actually handwritten by William himself. Except for short notes to members of his own family,
William went straight to his word processor. The only time she had ever seen him use his gold fountain pen was to punch out the numbers on his pocket calculator.

“It’s pathetic,” Maya said. “Simply pathetic. They never stop trying, do they?”

“What I can’t understand is, why does he always sign it ‘Your brother’? Does he think I don’t know who he is by now?”

“Where
is
your money, by the way, Snooks?”

“Oh, you know, Maya. Here and there. Here and there.” He waved a hand in the air. “I get interest checks from time to time, from around the country. It doesn’t bother me. I get by.”

Maya regarded him fondly. Snooky indeed did get by. When he was not encroaching on someone else’s hospitality, he would rent a house for himself. He would stay in one place for a while, then move on when the impulse struck.

“No stability,” William would say in funereal tones. “No security. Not like you and me, Maya. Not like you and me.”

“Snooky doesn’t value security, William. He likes change.”

William would make a forlorn mooing sound. “
Change!
Change? Who honestly likes change? Nobody! A lonely old age, that’s what he’s building for himself. Mark my words, Maya. A poverty-stricken old age.”

“William, honestly. Snooky is only twenty-five years old.”

“A poverty-stricken old age,” her older brother would say with relish. “I only hope I’m here to see it, Maya. I just pray I’m here to see it.”

Now Maya said worriedly, “I hate to tell you this, Snooks, but I think that William has a point. Maybe you should invest some of your money with him. No matter what else you can say about him, he’s a good businessman. You could at least consider it.”

“I have considered it, Maya. I’ve been considering it while I’ve been trying to think what fourteen down, a
wealthy person, nine letters, ends in S, could be. And I’ve decided to nip this whole idea in the bud. Do you mind if I call William from here?”

“All right. Go ahead.”

Snooky went to the kitchen phone and dialed rapidly. “Hello? Hello, who is this? Anna?” Anna was William’s six-year-old daughter. “Hello, Anna, how are you? This is your Uncle Snooky calling. Can I speak to your daddy, please? What? No, Anna … what? Anna, I don’t want to talk to your doll first. Anna … listen to me, you little … oh, all right. All right.” In a resigned tone he said, “Hello, dolly. What? That’s not her name? Well, what’s her name? Emily? You can’t name her Emily, honey, that’s your mommy’s name. What? You know? All right. Hello, Emily. How are you today? Now, can I speak to your daddy, please, Anna? Good. Good. Yes, I’ll talk to your doll while you go find him. Hello, dolly, how’s the stock market these days?” Snooky covered the mouthpiece and said in a hoarse whisper, “She has a doll named Emily. Isn’t that a little strange? Does that seem Freudian to you? Do you think she sticks pins in it or something? Hello?” he said into the phone. “William? Snooky here. Yes. Yes, an adorable little minx, yes. Listen, William, down to business. I got your letter.” Pause. “Treasury bills? Maybe. What do I mean, maybe? Well, to tell you the truth, William, I have something—well, something a little awkward to tell you. Maybe you’d better sit down. You’re not going to like it much. You see, William—I hope this doesn’t upset you, I really do—well, you see, I’ve already spent all the money you gave me. Yes. That’s right. All of my inheritance. I’m afraid so. Oh, about a year ago. That’s right, it only lasted about two or three years. I want to tell you how truly sorry I am, William. I know what a disappointment it is to you, with your business
sense and all. It was a lot of fun while it lasted, though. So you see, I’m afraid your investment advice is a little … well, it’s a little too late for that. Thanks anyway. How’s Emily? And Buster?” Buster was William’s ten-year-old son. “Good. Good. Fine. Talk to you soon. Okay. I will. They say hello, too. Bye.”

Maya had listened to all this curiously, sipping her coffee. Snooky came back to the dining room table and sat down. He picked up the paper and murmured.

“Wealthy person, nine letters … hmmmmm …”

“Snooks?”

“Hmmm?”

“How’d he take it?”

“William? Oh, he took it fine. He knew I was just putting him on. One thing I have to say about William, I’ve never been able to put one over on him.”

“He got the message, though?”

“Uh-huh. I think he’ll back off for a while. Is there any more coffee, Maya?”

As she handed him the coffee pot, Snooky exclaimed in triumph,
“Moneybags,”
and filled it in neatly.

Jessie Lowell, as she did every year, was helping out with the local rummage sale. This was a big event in Ridgewood; a hall was rented in the center of town, near the art gallery, and for two weeks ahead of time people came by and donated old, used objects and clothing. All the proceeds went to charity. Jessie had volunteered for ten years running and was, by now, one of the leading lights of the Ridgewood Rummage Sale. During the weeks of preparation, her personality changed completely. Ordinarily so shy, hesitant, and unsure of herself, she changed overnight into a dominating shrew, bossing around her
underlings and fussily rearranging the sale items. Every year Gretchen regarded this change in her friend with bemusement. Jessie even became more authoritative at home, instructing Gretchen how to make proper broiled chicken (“I always baste it
first
, and rub it with butter, not margarine, Gretch”), and eating far more than her fair share. She even complained about how untidy the house was, and went around straightening things and mumbling to herself. This year Gretchen had decided to simply stay out of Jessie’s way until the whole thing was over.

Now Jessie was fussing over one of the tables, making sure that everything was arranged to her own satisfaction, if not that of the teenage girl who was in charge of the table.

“Now, now, Henrietta,” she was saying, “this pair of pants doesn’t go here, it should go over
here
, next to this pretty sweater; you see what a nice combination that makes?”

Henrietta, a pale blonde girl with a willowy figure and a decided squint, was polishing her nails. She looked bored and nodded.

“And this nice wool skirt, what a lovely English heather that is, should go over here, next to this silk blouse that Mrs. Rivera donated. Don’t you agree, Henrietta?”

“Sure, why not,” said Henrietta. She held up one hand and blew on her fingernails vigorously.

“Be careful of that nail polish, dear, you’re going to spill it all over the clothes.” Jessie picked up the bottle of polish and surveyed it critically. “You know, Henrietta dear, you really shouldn’t wear such a bright red. It looks positively
slutty
, it really does.”

This was the kind of remark that Jessie would normally never dream of making. Henrietta merely shrugged.

“Anyway, dear, I’ll be off now. Don’t you rearrange anything, I think it’s perfect now. Bye-bye!”

Henrietta waved limply with the other hand. Jessie bustled off, saying to herself,

“I don’t know
what
the young are coming to … what a color, positively
slutty
, my mother would have called it … anyway, where is that lovely piece of crockery that Mr. Henderson, bless his soul, brought in yesterday …?”

She pushed her mousy brown hair off her forehead and wedged her ample figure in between two tables. “Hello, Lisa,” she said to the other teenage girl who had volunteered to help. “Where’s that piece of crockery Mr. Henderson gave us?”

Lisa, a neurotic-looking girl with dark hair, glasses and a worried expression, pointed. “It’s over there, Miss Lowell.”

“Ah, yes, that’s right. What else have we gotten so far today?”

Lisa, with an expression of triumph, produced a neatly labeled, alphabetized list. “Angora sweater,” she read out loud. “Cotton sweater (red), piece of crockery, wooden doll, painted elephant (porcelain), three hats, one letter opener (silver), one mohair sweater, a set of napkins, four pairs of pants, and one rabbit.”

“A rabbit?”

“A wooden rabbit. Over there.”

Jessie’s eyes followed her finger to a large, grotesquely carved white rabbit with pink ears, pink nose and painted black whiskers. One of its ears was shorter than the other and its face was lopsided, giving it a disturbed and pathetic look. “Good Lord, who gave us
that
?”

“Mr. Valpasso.”

Jessie nodded. Ernest Valpasso labored under the delusion that he was an expert woodcarver. Fortunately it
was only his hobby, and most of his time was taken up with his work as an accountant in a local law firm. At Christmastime a barrage of oddly shaped wooden objects would emerge from his workshop, to be distributed among his relatives and friends. This one must have been left over; or perhaps, thought Jessie cynically, it had been returned.