The Golden Goose (14 page)

“Oh, I'm so used to having him around I keep forgetting about him. Besides, most people don't understand him.”

“I can see why they wouldn't. I'm not sure I understand him myself, and I've had plenty of practice understanding odd people.”

“He's an engaging little devil when you get to know him. Currently, however, he's something of a problem. I don't know what to do with him when we get married.”

“He's a grown man, isn't he? He'll just have to shift for himself.”

“A grown man? Winnie? By God, that's true, when you stop to think of it.”

“Darling, you're far too warm-hearted for your own good.”

“Well, I feel sort of committed to old Winnie. I've kind of led him to expect certain things.”

“He absolutely worships you. He thinks you're the kindest and cleverest and finest fellow alive.” Prin watched him narrowly.

“Did he say that?” asked Coley, obviously touched.

“Yes.”

Coley uttered a distressed sound. “I wonder if we couldn't arrange it so he lives with us later.”

“We could
not
. And you'd better stop thinking along those lines, Coley Collins!”

“You're probably right. He'd only make a bloody little nuisance of himself—snakes all over the place, and all that. It's a big house, though. Maybe we could put him and his snakes in the basement or some place.”

“Which house do you mean?”

“Your Uncle Slater's, of course. I assume we'll be living there.”

“Why should you assume any such thing? Uncle Slater is dead, and everything has changed.”

“You mean about that crazy will, ringing in all those remote O'Sheas? Princess, I've always had a feeling you'd come out better than the others. He liked you the best—told me so himself one night in the taproom. You'll see, Prin. The house will be yours at least. Probably the whole estate.”

“On the contrary, Coley, nothing is mine.”

“What's that? What did you say?”

“He didn't leave me anything at all.”

“You're putting me on.”

“The crazy will was a deliberate fake. He never signed it. Lieutenant Grundy found out about the real will from Selwyn Fish, Uncle Slater's lawyer. That's one of the things I wanted to talk with you about. Everything goes to Aunt Lallie.”

“Aunt Lallie! Did you say Aunt Lallie gets it
all?”

“That's what I said.”

Coley was in the grip of a terrible excitement. He leaped from the bench and began pacing with a measured wildness, so many steps this way and so many that, like a big cat in a small cage. It was too dark for Prin to see him clearly, but she knew from having seen it before that his eyes were glittering with fierce thought. Finally he sat down again on the bench, breathing deeply.

“Well!” he said. “Well, by God!”

“As far as I'm concerned,” Prin said, “Aunt Lallie is welcome to her haul. It's bad enough that Uncle Slater was murdered, but to think that it was probably done by a member of his family! Whoever it is ought to be
ashamed
of himself.”

Coley muttered absently, “Aren't you using the wrong gender?”

“The wrong what?”

“Gender. You said ‘ashamed of himself.' It should be ‘herself.'”

“You mean Aunt Lallie? Don't be silly, Coley.”

“Why not? As it's turned out, isn't she the one who profits?”

“Aunt Lallie says she had no knowledge whatever of the existence of that valid will.”

“My God,” groaned Coley. “Of
course
she said she didn't know anything about it! Would you expect her to say that she did?”

“What about the drug? It wasn't the kind of drug Aunt Lallie would even know existed, let alone get hold of and use.”

“What drug? You haven't told me that.”

“A synthetic substitute for insulin. Something new for diabetics.”

“The devil it was,” said Coley thoughtfully. “Who said that was what was used? Grundy?”

“Yes. They found it in Uncle Slater's bottle of bourbon, and then in Uncle Slater. Enough to kill him and then some.”

Coley was quiet. Finally he said, “Did Grundy say who he thought did it?”

“No. But public opinion apparently favors a collaboration between Aunt Lallie and me.”

“That's utterly
weird
. By God, that's just the sort of insanity you'd expect a herd of O'Sheas to come up with.”

“There is a kind of logic in it, though,” sighed Prin. “Aunt Lallie had the motive, and I had access to the drug. I mean, I work in a drug store. It's something that would occur to anyone.”

“It didn't occur to
me
. It's obvious I'm going to have to put my mind to this if I'm to be of any use to you in this business. Don't worry, Prin. I'll set things straight if it's the last thing I do.”

“Well, I hope it isn't the
last
thing. I have some additional duties in mind that I'm rather looking forward to.”

“Me, too, so I have a selfish interest in seeing that you're not charged with something that you didn't do. Or, for that matter, that you did do.”

“Oh, Coley,” said Prin, burrowing into his shoulder.

“To begin with,” muttered Coley, “I'll go see that knucklehead Grundy. If he's left to his own devices, he's sure to come to all the wrong conclusions.”

“I'm not at all convinced he's a knucklehead, darling. I get the positive feeling that he's a lot smarter than he lets on. Besides, he likes me.”

Coley looked stormy. “Has the guy been making passes at you?”

“Don't be silly. It's just a feeling I get. He suspects me, of course, but he keeps hoping I'm innocent—that sort of thing. Isn't that an advantage?”

“I prefer something more substantial,” said Coley coldly, “such as catching the murderer. I still incline toward your Aunt Lallie. And I've just thought of something that may surprise a lot of people, including your smitten detective-lieutenant.”

“You
have?”
murmured Prin happily. “What, darling?”

“Never mind.” Coley's voice softened. He lifted her face and said, “What we should do now is think pleasant. Have you had anything to eat recently?”

“No, but I'm not hungry.”

“Would you like to go to a movie?”

“No, I would like you to kiss me again, and then take me home.”

“Do you feel better now?”

“Much, much better.”

So he kissed her again—and again, and again, and again and again and again and again—and then he took her home and they sat on the front steps and kissed some more and held hands, and it was a good interlude in a bad time that might have been worse.

That was worse, and was to get worse still.

Had they but known.

12

Although it was early, the lower floor of the house was dark except in the hall, where a night light burned at the foot of the stairs. There were brightly lit rooms on the upper floor, however—Prin had seen them from outdoors—indicating that the O'Shea tribe were dispersed among their various caves, for which she was glad. What she wanted more than anything else, now that she had been thoroughly kissed and comforted by Coley, was to avoid any contact with her brother or her cousins or her aunt … to get as quickly and quietly as possible to her room.

Intent upon this purpose, Prin scudded along the hall toward the stairs. Just as she passed the darkened living room, there was a sudden noise that almost lifted her from her feet and sent her heart sailing to her throat. She whirled, and there was Frankenstein's monster, with the darkness behind him and the dim light of the hall on his face.

“God damn it, Twig,” Prin said furiously, “must you always lurk in dark places and leap out at people? This is the second time recently that you've scared the hell out of me. I want you to quit it!”

“Are you frightened?” Twig asked rustily. “Of your own cousin?”

“I'd be frightened of Little Bo Peep if she jumped out at me from the dark.”

“I didn't jump. I have only been waiting for you to come home so I could talk to you.”

“No, thanks. I don't even want to
look
at you. I would consider it an act of mercy if you never came near me again.”

He contorted his incongruous features in what he evidently intended as a placating smile. “I notice you don't seem to feel any aversion to that Coley Collins.”

“Coley doesn't make my skin creep,” said Prin wildly. “You do.”

“It's all in your mind. You ran off to him right away, didn't you?”

“I most certainly did.”

“What did you tell him?”

“What I told him is none of your business.”

“I think it may be. Let me warn you against trusting a stranger. As I see it, you are hardly in a position to cozy up to any outsider.”

“What is my position exactly, if you please?”

“You know what it is. There's no use being devious with me.”

“I'm
not
being devious! You think you're clever, Twig, but you're only malicious and dull. And now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed.”

She merely started for the stairs. For Twig raised a hand in a curiously commanding gesture, and Prin waited, wondering why she did so.

“Not quite yet, please,” said Twig.

“What?” said Prin. “What do you want now?”

“A good-night kiss.”

“Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” cried Prin. “I'd sooner kiss the Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

“Kiss me, Prin,” said Twig urgently. “The way you just kissed that Coley Collins on the front steps.”

“So you were spying on us again. Twig, are you a pervert or what?”

“Watch that tongue of yours,” said Twig, his voice thickening. “I'm willing to help you, but you've got to be nice to me.”

“Help
me?” Prin laughed. “What makes you think I need help? Or, if I needed any, that I'd accept it from
you?”

“You think I'm a fool? You think you can make me believe that that stupid old woman upstairs thought this through and did it all by herself? Aunt Lallie doesn't have the brains for this kind of job. It was a clever crime, even though it's been exposed, thanks to that meddling old ass Appleton.”

“Not that again,” said Prin wearily. “I'm the brains behind Aunt Lallie, is that it? Got her the drug, and all the rest of it?”

“Of course. And now you're in trouble, so you need help.”

“And you're going to give it to me.” Prin made a sudden decision. Her voice lowered, and she said, “How, Twig?”

He stood looking at her, light and shadow shifting on his tall head, which had a queer flatness, like a painting; and suddenly, after a moment, he crooked his index finger, beckoning her closer. She found herself obeying in a sort of trance.

“Aunt Lallie is weak and soft,” he whispered. “Once the police go to work on her she'll fall apart. She'll blab everything and try to put most of the blame on you.”

“If that's true, nothing can be done about it.”

“Yes, it can. She's guilty, and she knows everyone knows it, including Lieutenant Grundy. To avoid the worst, she'll commit suicide.”

“I see,” Prin whispered back. Horrid little ice-cold fingers were scurrying up and down her spine. “A suicide you'd
arrange.”

Again that dreadful imitation of a smile. “A suicide.”

“It's one thing to brag about it, another to do it.”

“You've always underestimated my ability, haven't you?”

“All
right,”
Prin said. “But what good would it do? I'd still be left.”

“You're tough, and you're smart. You gained nothing from the will. Once Aunt Lallie is past blabbing you'll be safe. And I'll see to it they accept her as the sole culprit.”

“I don't get it,” Prin prodded him. “All right, so Aunt Lallie goes, and I'm safe—but, as you've just pointed out, I've gained nothing under Uncle Slater's will. What are
you
going to get out of it?”

“You,” Twig said. “You, Princess! I want you. I've always wanted you. I want you for your body, and I want you for your spirit, and I want you because you don't want me. You'll be my lovely little luck-piece, too. How much we could do together that we can't do alone!”

Prin wanted to say something appropriate to her revulsion, but she could not think of anything. Instead, she began to laugh. And she could not stop. Her laughter was like an intense and leaping spasm, and she had the wildly helpless feeling that she was about to fly apart in a thousand pieces and every direction. Pressing her knuckles against her teeth, she tried to stuff the laughter back. But it was no use, and Twig's eyes widened and immediately narrowed to arrowhead slits.

“What the hell's the matter with you?” he snarled. “Stop that damn cackling!”

He took one step toward her, and the movement frightened her laughter to death.

She fled from him—across the hall, up the stairs. At the top of the stairs she twisted about for an instant to see if he was following. But there, at the foot of the stairs looking steadily up at her, was Cousin Twig. For a timeless moment they stared at each other, one down, one up; then Prin ran to her room and locked the door behind her with hasty, clumsy fingers. And she leaned against the door, thinking a wordless little prayer.

When finally she moved, and snapped on the light, it was with a crushing feeling that she had endured the limit of endurable experience that night. But then Prin simultaneously gave a little terrified squeak and sprang back. For there, in a chair beside her bed, sat Aunt Lallie. For a ghastly instant Prin thought that through some horrid wizardry Twig had already performed his murderous act, for Aunt Lallie sat quite rigid, looking unblinkingly at something that was not there.