Authors: Margarite St. John
The Art of Death (27 page)
Cold and Remote
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Chester complained that sitting on the window seat made his back ache. He didn’t like the armchair in the alcove either. He was tired of the recliner in his bedroom. No, the porch swing wasn’t good because he was a little chilly. He wanted to be in the front parlor.
“God, you’re heavy, Daddy. I won’t turn on any lights, just the television. You want the military channel tonight? Steve’s coming over. You’re going to tell him all about the new rooms you want in the barn when it’s finished.”
“Where have you been the last month, Madeleine?”
She pulled a chair close to his. “A month! I haven’t been gone a month, Daddy. Just a few weeks. I had to get away for awhile after Anthony was murdered in Indianapolis.”
“Where’d you go?”
“A special place in California. It treats addiction.”
“You aren’t addicted to anything.”
“It was just a good place to rest. I missed his funeral, though.”
“That wasn’t nice. Who killed your doctor friend?”
“I hear it was a woman wearing a chador, one of those Muslim capes you see women wearing in Saudi Arabia.”
“I didn’t know you had a chador.”
“We have a costume closet at ApEx.”
“So Captain Ahab didn’t kill the doctor?”
“Not this time.”
“Why did he have to die?”
“He knew too much.”
“About what?”
“About Nicole and Dan and Kimmie.”
“He’d never have told anybody else, would he?”
“I couldn’t be sure, especially if I decided to break things off -- which I was thinking of doing. He was dull, very rigid in his ways, far too academic for my taste. I didn’t give him enough credit, though. In the end, he double-crossed me.”
“How?”
“He found the portrait I was painting of him and got worried enough to decide to propose marriage. If I’d only known! And he didn’t leave me anything in his will. Nothing! He promised years ago that I was his sole beneficiary. After he saw the painting, I’m told that he went right to his attorney and changed his will, leaving everything to a cousin in Italy. A very handsome man named Renzo.”
“If the doctor wanted to marry you, why didn’t he leave you anything?”
“I don’t know, Daddy. Maybe he thought I’d turn him down.”
“Is this Renzo handsome enough to marry? If you marry Renzo, you’ll get your hands on what should have been yours in the first place.”
“Too late for that, Daddy. Anyway, he is -- well, he was -- already married and you know how Italians are about divorce.”
“You’re fidgeting,” he said.
“I know. I’m just going to go outside a moment.” She walked to the porch railing and looked at the moon, just a tiny waxing sliver. So cold and remote. So little light. She felt a migraine coming on. “No,” she said aloud. “I can’t get a headache now.”
She abruptly turned and reentered the house. Again, she took a chair near Chester. “Daddy, do you remember when Dan died?”
“Of course. I was surprised you shot him.”
“I had to. He wouldn’t sign over the deed to that little farm he owned in Ohio. I got it as part of the divorce settlement, but my lawyer forgot to get the paperwork done.”
“You didn’t have to kill him.”
“Of course not, but we’d have had to go back to court and I was tired of that. Anyway, is there any chance any part of his body was left after you burned him?”
“I don’t think so.”
“All his remains are in that urn in the mausoleum?”
“I think so.”
“There was lot of blood on the carpet in the back parlor. We never took up the rug.”
“So?”
“There’s such a thing as luminol. What if the cops spray it back there?”
“Why would they? What do they know now that they didn’t seven years ago?”
“I’m not sure, but somebody seems to know something about Dan.” She turned around to face her father. “Did Mama see me hit Nicole? Is that why she was so sad and quiet and just faded away?”
“She wasn’t sure what she saw. But you were a very naughty girl when you were little, so she was inclined to think you’d done a bad thing at the Lake. You were a real handful.”
“You told me she died of melancholy.”
“That’s right. You never apologized for the things you did. You were never sorry, even after you killed poor old Joe or made me shoot Maisie. Mama didn’t like what you did to worms and flies, let alone horses and dogs, and it made her sad. But it wasn’t until you did what you did to your little girlfriend at the Lake that she lost all hope. She stopped wanting to live.”
“Why did you continue to love me?”
“You were the only thing I ever did love besides her. Mama loved you too but she saw you as naughty.”
“No, Daddy. She said I was evil, that the devil was working through me.”
“She shouldn’t have said that to a child. I saw you as spunky and mischievous. Very creative. So talented I couldn’t imagine where you’d come from. Other than that, how do you account for love?”
“Love,” she mused. “I’ve had so little of it. You know, I’m thinking of burning this house down.”
“Why?”
“Get rid of all the bad old memories. I hate this place. And it won’t be a big loss because in a few months we’ll have a grand new place to live. The barn will be amazing!” She walked over to push him upright. “You keep slumping, Daddy. I think your head’s too heavy for your body. Sit up straight. Look alive.” She turned to look at the road. “I see headlights. I think Steve’s here.”
Don’t Be Shy
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Madeleine walked down the drive to greet Steve as he got out of his pickup. When she tried to kiss him, he pulled away. “Thanks for coming, Lefty. It means a lot to Daddy and me.” She held onto his arm as they mounted the steps to the porch and approached the screen door. “Say hello to Daddy first.”
The front parlor was dark except for the flickering of the television screen. Chester, who was holding a drink in one hand, was sitting in an armchair. A newspaper was lying on a table next to him.
When Steve reached for the door handle, Madeleine grabbed his arm. “No. Don’t go in yet. I told Daddy I want to talk to you alone first. It’ll just take a minute.”
“At least let me say hello to him.”
“Daddy,” she abruptly called out loudly. “Say hello to Steve.”
Chester turned his head, nodded, and waved a hand.
Steve waved back before asking, “What do you need to talk to me about?”
“Patience, Lefty. Patience.” She led him to the far end of the porch. A pair of wicker chairs was separated by a little round table holding a votive light, two drinks, and a package.
“What’s going on?” Steve asked after he was seated.
“It’s such a nice night, I thought we could enjoy a drink first.”
“Where’s Dave? I didn’t see his car in the driveway. And he’s not in the parlor with Chester.”
“He parked behind the garage. He asked to use my office at the back of the house. Before closing the door, he pointed at his phone, saying he might be awhile.” She abruptly stood up and gave a little twirl. “You haven’t said a word about my outfit.”
“Sit down. I’m not here to notice your outfit.”
“Don’t be cruel. I chose it just for you. Beyoncé was photographed wearing the same kind of harem outfit when she got off a yacht, so I had to have it. Isn’t it lovely? Doesn’t it make you think of Mediterranean cruises?”
Once upon a time, Steve would have found her very hot indeed, but not now. Just as Lexie said, Madeleine wanted him back and was willing to use sex to do it. “Stop it, Madeleine.”
She sat back down, picked up a tumbler, and handed it to him. “Your favorite drink, scotch and soda, lemon twist, two ice cubes.” She toasted him with her own drink. “Here’s to us.”
“I’m not in the mood for a social occasion, Madeleine,” he said, placing the glass back on the table. “Let’s get down to business.”
“Oh, stop, Lefty. I have something for you,” she said, pushing a package toward him. “Daddy wants you to have this.”
“I don’t want anything I don’t already have.”
“You have to have it.” She untied the ribbon and tore the paper, then handed him something in a small display case. “It’s Kilian’s Love, Don’t Be Shy, a very special cologne for men. You’ll never believe the base note is civet oil. Isn’t that wild? The display case is lockable, by the way, because this is so precious. One of the most expensive men’s colognes in the world.”
Nothing Madeleine did could have made Steve more furious. He pushed the gift away so violently it flew to the floor. “You make me sick. I’m married. Get this through your head: I love Lexie, not you. I have a little girl I adore. I’m never leaving them. So give me that check now. Then I’m done with you. My men will come out tonight and take the construction trailer away. We’re done.”
Madeleine, her face suffused with rage, jumped to her feet. “You’re a monster, Lefty. I hate you. I’ll get your damn check and then I demand you hit the road, Jack. I’ll sic Daddy on you if you don’t.”
“Send Dave out here,” Steve yelled at her receding back.
“Don’t move till I get back.” She entered the house, slamming the screen door for emphasis.
Star Wars Bar
Thursday, July 11, 2013
After Madeleine disappeared into the house, Steve grew increasingly irritated and impatient. He thumped the table with his knuckles. He eyed the tumbler of scotch with distaste and the broken cologne case with satisfaction. He got up and paced. Then he walked to the screen door. “Chester,” he called softly.
No answer.
In a much louder voice, he called out, “Chester, it’s me, Steve. How are you doing?”
Chester turned, nodded, and waved.
That was all the invitation Steve needed. He opened the door and walked into the parlor. “What are you watching?” he asked, hunkering down at the side of Chester’s chair. He was whispering into Chester’s ear so Madeleine wouldn’t hear that he’d disobeyed her instructions to stay on the porch. “How are they treating you at the nursing home?”
No answer, though once more Chester blinked, nodded and waved. The drink he was holding fell out of the other hand, spilling on the carpet.
“Oh, let me get that,” Steve said. As he bent down to retrieve the tumbler, he brushed the old man’s shoulder. Unexpectedly, Chester slumped forward and fell headfirst on the carpet. “Damn it, man, what just happened?” Steve asked in panic. “Did I do that? Are you hurt? Here, let me help you. Easy does it.”
From the floor, Chester blinked, nodded, and waved.
“Is that all you ever do, Chester? Nod and wave? Speak to me.”
When he moved in to grasp Chester’s shoulders, he felt a body that was at once too doughy on the outside and too wiry on the inside. The body, though lighter than it looked, was a dead weight. Steve stared at the face, seeing it clearly for the first time. The eyes looked right at him but the light in them didn’t look normal. As he tried to lift the body, he noticed how heavy the head was. He took the wrist to feel for a pulse. He noticed the freckled hand, the broken thumb. Though the skin of the old man’s hand felt like skin, there was none of the warmth of flesh. And there was no pulse in the wrist.
Though his mind resisted the obvious conclusion, the truth was surfacing like a worm sliming its way out of the dirt. He dropped the body, wincing at the sound of the head thudding on the carpet. Upon impact, Chester’s head turned a few degrees, his eyes blinked, his hand waved.
What the devil! What was going on? This Chester wasn’t alive but merely a dummy. Where was the real Chester?
Steve looked wildly around, half expecting the real live Chester, the old prankster, to be hiding in a corner, laughing his ass off. He felt weak in the knees, overwhelmed by the creepiness he’d encountered. He’d been called to the farm to talk to Chester but found only fake-Chester in the parlor. When he stamped his foot in frustration, once again the dummy nodded and waved. He wanted to smash the damn thing.
Somehow, he’d passed from the familiar world of normal human beings through an invisible membrane into the phantasmagoria of the Star Wars bar scene.