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Authors: Mary Higgins Clark

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Anthologies (Multiple Authors)

Stillwatch (23 page)

BOOK: Stillwatch
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Saint Anthony Missal
for a special favor. That was her prayer.”Detective Barrott was studying him carefully. “Arthur, did youvisit Mrs. Gillespie’s room last Monday?”“Oh, yes, I went in just before Nurse Krause made her rounds. ButMrs. Gillespie didn’t want anything.”“Mrs. Harnick said she saw you coming out of Mrs. Gillespie’sroom at about five of four. Is that true?”Arthur had figured out his answer. “No, I didn’t go in her room. I
looked
in her room, but she was asleep. She’d had a bad night and Iwas worried about her. Mrs. Harnick saw me look in.”Dr. Cole leaned back in his chair. He seemed relieved.

 

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Detective Barrott’s voice got softer. “But the other day you saidMrs. Harnick was wrong.”“No, somebody asked me if I’d
gone into
Mrs. Gillespie’s roomtwice. I hadn’t. But then, when I thought about it, I remembered I’dlooked in. So Mrs. Harnick and I were both right, you see.”Dr. Cole was smiling now. “Arthur is one of our most caringhelpers,” he said. “I told you that, Mr. Barrott.”But Detective Barrott wasn’t smiling. “Arthur, do many of theorderlies pray with the patients or is it just you?”“Oh, I think it’s just me. You see, I was in a seminary once. I wasplanning to become a priest but got sick and had to leave. In a way Ithink of myself as a clergyman.”Detective Barrott’s eyes, soft and limpid, encouraged confidences.“How old were you when you went into that seminary, Arthur?” heasked kindly.“I was twenty. And I stayed until I was twenty and a half.”“I see,” Detective Barrott said. “Tell me, Arthur, what seminarywere you in?”“I was at Collegeville, Minnesota, with the Benedictine community.”Detective Barrott pulled out a notebook and wrote that down. Toolate Arthur realized he had told too much. Suppose Detective Barrottgot in touch with the community and they told that after FatherDamian’s death, Arthur had been requested to leave.Arthur worried about that all day. Even though Dr. Cole told himto go back to work, he could feel the suspicious glances from NurseSheehan. All the patients were looking at him in a peculiar way.When he went to look in on old Mr. Thoman, his daughter wasthere and she said, “Arthur, you don’t have to worry about my dadanymore. I’ve asked Nurse Sheehan to appoint another orderly tohelp him.”It was a slap in the face. Only last week Mr. Thoman had said, “Ican’t put up with feeling so sick much longer.” Arthur had comfortedhim saying, “Maybe God won’t ask you to, Mr. Thoman.”Arthur tried to keep his smile bright as he crossed the recreationroom to help Mr. Whelan, who was struggling to his feet. As he walkedMr. Whelan down the hall to the lavatory and back, he realized that

 

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he was getting a headache, one of those blinding ones that made lightsdance in front of his eyes. He knew what would happen next.As he eased Mr. Whelan back into his chair, he glanced at thetelevision set. The screen was all cloudy and then a face began toform, the face of Gabriel as he would look on Judgment Day. Gabrielspoke only to him. “Arthur, you are not safe here anymore.”“I understand.” He didn’t know he’d said the words out loud untilMr. Whelan said, “Shhh.”When he went down to his locker, Arthur carefully packed hispersonal effects but left his extra uniform and old shoes. He was offtomorrow and Wednesday, so they might not realize he wouldn’t returnon Thurs-day morning unless for some reaso n they searchedhis locker and found it empty.He put on his sports jacket, the brown-and-yellow one he’d boughtat J.C. Penney’s last year. He kept it here so that if he was meetingGlory for a movie or something, he could look nice.In the pocket of his raincoat he put the pair of socks that had threehundred dollars stuffed in the toes. He always kept emergency moneyavailable, both here and at home, just in case he had to leave suddenly.The locker room was cold and dingy. There was no one around.They’d given the day off to as many of the staff as possible.
He
hadvolunteered to work.His hands were restless and dry; his nerves were screaming withresentment. They had no right to treat him like this. Restlessly hiseyes roamed around the barren room. Most of the supplies were lockedup in the big storage room, but there was a kind of catchall closetnear the stairs. It was filled with opened bottles and cans of cleaningagents and unwashed dust rags. He thought of those people upstairs—Mrs. Harnick accusing him, Mr. Thoman’s daughter telling him tostay away from her father, Nurse Sheehan. How dared they whisperabout him, question him, reject him!In the closet he found a half-empty can of turpentine. He loosenedthe cap, then turned the can on its side. Drops of turpentine began todrip onto the floor. He left the closet door open. Right next to it, adozen bags of trash were piled together waiting to be carried out tothe dump site.

 

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Arthur didn’t smoke, but when visitors left packs of cigarettesaround the nursing home, he always picked them up for Glory. Nowhe took a Salem from his pocket, lit it, puffed until he was sure itwouldn’t go out, unfastened the tie on one of the trash bags anddropped it in.It would not take long. The cigarette would smolder; then the wholebag would catch fire; then the other bags would go, and the drippingturpentine would cause the fire to burn out of control. The rags in thecloset would cause dense smoke, and by the time the staff tried to getthe old people out, the whole building would be gone. It would seemto be a careless accident—an ignited cigarette in the trash; a fire causedby an overturned can of turpentine that had dripped from the shelf—if the investigators could even piece that much together.He retied the bag as the faint, good burning smell made his nostrilsquiver and his loins tighten, then hurried from the building and downthe lonely street toward the Metro.

 

Glory was on the couch in the living room reading a book whenArthur got home. She was wearing a very pretty blue wool housecoat,with a zipper that came up to her neck and long, full sleeves. Thebook she was reading was a novel on the best-seller list that had cost$15.95. Arthur had never in his life spent more than a dollar for abook. He and Glory would go to secondhand stores and browse andcome home with six or seven titles. And it was their pleasure to sitcompanionably reading. But somehow the dog-eared volumes withthe stained covers that they had delighted in purchasing seemed poorand shabby next to this book with the shiny jacket and crisp newpages. The girls in the office had given it to her.Glory had fixed a roast chicken for him, and cranberry sauce andhot muffins. But it was no pleasure eating Christmas dinner alone.She’d said she wasn’t hungry. She seemed to be thinking so deeply.Several times he caught her staring at him, her eyes questioning andtroubled. They reminded him of the way Mrs. Harnick had looked athim. He didn’t want Glory to be afraid of him.“I have a present for you,” he told her. “I know you’ll like it.”Yesterday, at the big discount store in the mall, he’d bought a frillywhite apron for the Raggedy Ann doll, and except for a few spots on

 

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the dress, the doll looked just the same. And he’d bought Christmaspaper and wrappings and made it look like a real present.“And I have a present for you, Father.”They exchanged the gifts solemnly. “You open first,” he said. Hewanted to see her expression. She’d be so happy.“All right.” She smiled, and he noticed that her hair seemed lighter.Was she coloring it?She untied the ribbon carefully, pushed back the paper, and thefrilly apron showed first. “What . . . oh, Father.” She was startled.“You found her. What a pretty new apron.” She looked pleased, butnot as exquisitely happy as he’d expected. Then her face becamevery thoughtful. “Look at that poor, sad face. And that’s the way Ithought of myself. I remember the day I painted it. I was so sick,wasn’t I?”“Will you take her to bed with you again?” he asked. “That’s whyyou wanted her, isn’t it?”“Oh, no. I just wanted to look at her. Open your present. It willmake you happy, I think.”It was a handsome blue-and-white wool sweater with a V-neckand long sleeves. “I knitted it for you, Father,” Glory told him happily.“Would you believe I finally was able to stick with something andfinish it? I guess I’m getting my act together. It’s about time, don’tyou think?”“I like you just as you are,” he said. “I like taking care of you.”“But pretty soon it may be impossible,” she said.They both knew what she meant.It was time to tell her. “Glory,” he said carefully. “Today I wasasked to do something very special. There are a number of nursinghomes in Tennessee that are badly understaffed and need the kind ofhelp I can give to very sick patients. They want me to go there rightaway and select one of them to work in.”“Move? Again?” She looked dismayed.“Yes, Glory. I do God’s work, and now it’s my turn to ask for yourhelp. You’re a great comfort to me. We will leave Thursday morning.”He was sure he’d be safe until then. At the very least, the firewould have caused great confusion. At best, his personnel recordsmight be destroyed. But even if the fire was put out before it burned

 

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the place down, it would probably be at least a few days before thepolice could check his references and find the long gaps betweenemployment, or learn the reason he’d been asked to leave the seminary.By the time that detective wanted to question him again, he and Glorywould be gone.For a long time Glory was silent. Then she said, “Father, if mypicture is on that program Wednesday night, I’m going to turn myselfin. People all over the country will see it, and I can’t go on any longerwondering if someone is staring at me because he or she knows whoI am. Otherwise I will go with you to Tennessee.” Her lip quivered,and he knew she was near tears.He went to her and patted her cheek. He could not tell Glory thatthe only reason he was waiting until Thursday to go away was becauseof that program.“Father,” Glory burst out, “I’ve started to be happy here. I don’t thinkit’s fair the way they expect you to just pick up and go all the time.”

 

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24

 

 

 

At 1:30 P.M. Lila rang Pat’s doorbell. She was carrying a smallpackage. “Merry Christmas!”“Merry Christmas. Come in.” Pat was genuinely pleased by thevisit. She had been trying to decide whether or not to confide in Lutherthat Eleanor might turn herself in to the police. And how could shebroach the subject of Catherine Graney to him? The prospect of alawsuit would send him into orbit.“I won’t stay but a minute,” Lila said. “I just wanted to give yousome fruitcake. It’s a specialty of mine.”Pat hugged her impulsively. “I’m glad you did come. It’s terriblyodd to be so quiet on Christmas afternoon. How about a glass of sherry?”Lila looked at her watch. “I’ll be out of here by quarter of two,”she announced.Pat led her back to the living room; got a plate, a knife and glasses;poured the sherry and cut thin slices of the cake. “Marvelous,” shepronounced after sampling it.“It is good, isn’t it?” Lila agreed. Her eyes darted around the livingroom. “You’ve changed something in here.”“I switched a couple of paintings. I realized they were in the wrong place.”“How much is coming back to you?”“Some.” Pat admitted. “I was in the library working. Thensomething just made me come in here. As soon as I did, I knew thatthe still life and the landscape should be reversed.”“What else, Pat? There’s more.”“I’m so darn edgy,” Pat said simply. “And I don’t know why.”

 

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“Pat, please don’t stay here. Move to an apartment, a hotel.” Lilaclasped her hands imploringly.“I can’t,” Pat said. “But help me now. Were you ever in here onChristmas Day? What was it like?”“That last year, you were three and a half and able to reallyunderstand Christmas. They were both so delighted with you. It wasa day of genuine happiness.”“I sometimes think I remember a little of that day. I had a walkingdoll and was trying to make it walk with me. Could that have been true?”“You did have a walking doll that year, yes.”“My mother played the piano that afternoon, didn’t she?”“Yes.”Pat walked over to the piano, opened it. “Do you remember whatshe played that Christmas?”“I’m sure it was her favorite Christmas carol. It’s called ‘Bells of Christmas.’”“I know it. Veronica wanted me to learn it. She said mygrandmother loved it.” Slowly her fingers began to run over the keys.Lila watched and listened. When the last notes faded away, shesaid, “That was very much like your mother playing. I told you youresemble your father, but I never realized until this minute howstartling the resemblance is. Somebody who knew him well is boundto make the connection.”
BOOK: Stillwatch
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