The Trespassers (16 page)

“Gone?” Neely said. “Where? Where’d he go?”

“To this kind of mental-health place in San Francisco, with some other people who go to his shrink. They’re having, like, this group session kind of thing where they all sit around and talk about their problems.”

“Oh.” Neely nodded. “Well, that sounds good. Lucie, you know, my sister, said they did something like that in one of her psychology classes. They all sat around and talked about stuff like that. She said it was kind of fun.”

“Yeah, sure,” Curtis said. “Lots of fun.”

No one said anything more for a while, but a little later Curtis stopped hitting things with his stick and by the time they got to the house he seemed to be in a little better mood. As they were going up the wide stone steps of the veranda he asked Neely if she wanted to play pool. She didn’t really, but since he was in such a bad mood she decided she’d better not make it worse by arguing. She would play pool, that is, if she could talk Grub into staying in the game room, too, instead of going on alone to the nursery. And that, she knew, wouldn’t be easy.

It took some fast talking, first of all, to get Curtis to agree to let Grub try his hand at playing pool, and some even faster talking to get Grub to think he wanted to.

“We’ll all take turns playing pool for a while,” she told them, “and then we’ll all three go up to the nursery. Okay?”

At last she got some grudging okays, but it soon became obvious that neither Grub nor Curtis was having a very good time. Grub was really too short to use the cue stick very well and Curtis refused to teach him how to do it, as he had with Neely. Instead, he kept making disgusted snorting noises when Neely tried to show Grub how to hold the stick. Neely was about to give up and suggest they all go upstairs when she realized that this might be her best chance to have a private conversation with Carmen. Particularly since it might be better to leave Grub in the game room rather than in the nursery. So the next time it was Grub’s turn to play against Curtis, Neely announced that she was terribly thirsty.

“You two guys play for a while,” she said. “I’ll be back as soon as I get a drink. I’ll just run down to the kitchen. Is Carmen there, Curtis?”

Curtis was so busy watching Grub that he didn’t hear Neely’s question, at least not right away. Grub was standing on tiptoe and the end of the cue stick was almost touching the end of his nose. It did look pretty funny but Curtis wasn’t laughing. Staring through narrowed eyes, he seemed to be so intent on what Grub was doing that Neely had to ask again about Carmen before he heard her and answered.

“Yeah, sure,” he said finally. “She’s in the kitchen.”

But when Neely got to the kitchen Carmen was nowhere in sight. Neely wandered around for a few minutes, looking out the windows to see if Carmen had gone out to the garbage pail, or maybe to feed Lion. But there was no sign of her there either.

Right at that moment, standing there in the middle of the kitchen, Neely considered giving up and going back to the game room. Which might very well be giving up on her last chance to talk to Carmen about Grub—and about Monica as well. She hated to give up, but what else could she do. Unless...

Having suddenly decided to see if Carmen was in her room, she ran up the back stairs and down the long, dim hall—but when she knocked on Carmen’s door there was no answer. After knocking twice more Neely reluctantly gave up and went back downstairs, wondering why people who were almost always around insisted on disappearing when you most desperately needed to see them. She was in the lower hallway and starting toward the game room when she decided to take one last look in the kitchen.

This time, as she entered the room, Carmen was coming through the door from the pantries. She was wearing a big apron and yellow rubber gloves, and carrying a large tin pail full of soapy water.

“Hi, Carmen,” Neely said. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I guess you’re pretty busy but I wonder if I could talk to you?”

“Why, hello, Neely,” Carmen said. “I didn’t know you were here.” She glanced around and then said, “And Grub. Is Grub here too?”

“Oh, he’s all right,” Neely said. “He’s not in the nursery. He’s in the game room. And Curtis is with him.”

Carmen nodded. “With Curtis?”

“Yes,” Neely said. “They’re playing pool, more or less.”

Carmen was frowning. “More or less?” she asked.

Neely grinned. “Yeah. Grub hasn’t ever played and he’s not too good at it, and Curtis isn’t exactly in one of his better moods.”

Carmen’s answering smile was distant, preoccupied, and as Neely watched it changed into something that looked like sudden fear. Carmen started across the kitchen and as she passed the table she reached out to put down the bucket of soapy water—but she didn’t reach quite far enough. Neely made a dive to catch the falling bucket but she was too late. It hit the floor with a loud clatter and a great splash of soapy water. Carmen didn’t even look back.

T
HE GAME ROOM WAS EMPTY, THE CUE STICKS WERE STILL
lying on the table among scattered balls, but there was no sign of Grub or Curtis. Carmen looked around quickly and then hurried across the room and into the library. As Neely followed close behind her, she found herself fighting against a slowly rising tide of anxiety. There was no one in the library. From above the mantel Monica and her family looked out across a silent, empty room.

Back in the game room Carmen leaned for a moment against the pool table. She was breathing hard, her hands still in the yellow rubber gloves, clutching the table railing. Neely stared at the gloved hands, her mind racing in confused circles. Something about the strangeness of the wet rubber gloves on the beautiful inlaid wood was terribly frightening, turning the trickle of anxiety into a sudden flood of terror.

“What is it?” she asked frantically. “What’s the matter, Carmen?”

“Where are they?” Carmen said, but not to Neely. Her eyes were rolled upward and somehow the question sounded like a prayer. “Where could they have... Her voice died away, and turning suddenly she almost ran across the room to the corner beyond the fireplace. Following close behind her, Neely watched as if in a trance while a yellow-gloved hand reached out to touch the open latch of the gun cabinet. The padlock was missing. Neely stared at Carmen—and then followed her horrified gaze to where three guns hung against the back wall of the cabinet. Only three. One of the handguns was missing.

“Curtis!” Carmen shouted so loudly and so suddenly that Neely recoiled with shock. There was no answer. Hurrying, almost running, Carmen retraced her steps, back across the room, through the entry hall and out onto the veranda, while Neely ran beside her still asking, “What is it? What’s the matter? What’s happening, Carmen?”

But Carmen didn’t answer. Standing on the steps, she cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted first in one direction and then in another. “Curtis! Curtis, you come here. You come here this minute.”

“Carmen! What’s the matter?” Someone else was calling now from inside the house, and through the open doorway Neely was able to see Joyce Hutchinson teetering down the stairs in her high-heeled slippers...down the stairs and across the veranda, blinking in the sunlight, her old/young face looking smeared and frightened. She grabbed Carmen’s arm and shook her. “What’s the matter, Carmen? What is the matter?”

“It’s Curtis,” Carmen said. “He has a gun. And Grub. Grub’s with him.”

“A gun.” Joyce Hutchinson’s face looked frozen. “How could he have a gun? The cabinet is locked.”

“No. It was open. He must have found the key.”

“Oh no.” Joyce’s hands went up to her mouth. “Oh no,” she said again, and then something halfway muffled that sounded like “not again.” Stumbling down the stairs, she ran clumsily out across the lawn, her long robe floating out behind her. As she ran she shouted, “Curtis. Curtis. Where are you, baby?” And Carmen ran, too, in the opposite direction.

Left alone on the veranda, Neely started after Carmen and then Joyce...and then stopped altogether. After a moment’s thought she turned back to the house. Back to the house and up the stairs, three steps at a time, all the way up the first flight and the second and into the ballroom. Into an empty ballroom where, to her immense relief, the window behind the bandstand still seemed to be sealed shut, the glass unbroken.

But she had to be sure. Running down the long floor, Neely staggered across the bandstand, gasping for breath, and leaned on the top bar—the bar that had been put in place after Monica fell...Monica. Neely stared down the steep drop to the rocks below and whispered, “Monica.” And standing there by the window, saying Monica’s name, she suddenly knew what she could do. Knew, as suddenly and as surely as if someone had whispered it in her ear, exactly what to do to find Grub.

She ran again then, back across the ballroom, down two flights of stairs, through the back hall and kitchen, dashing across slippery hardwood floors and taking stairs in flying leaps. And then out the kitchen door to where Lion strained against his chain, facing down the path that led to the rose garden. The moment that Neely unsnapped the chain from his collar he sprang forward, growling as he ran, and disappeared down the path.

Neely followed him, gasping and panting now, but still running as hard as she could. But Lion was much faster and she was soon left far behind. She had just left the rose garden and was turning toward the stable when she heard the shot.

A
S NEELY BURST THROUGH
the stable door, out of the sunshine and into the dim light of the central corridor, she could see only that something was moving toward her. Something that growled and, at the same time, sobbed and pleaded, “Come on, Lion. Let’s go. Come on.”

As the large, confused shape moved closer and her eyes became accustomed to the light, she saw with a great rush of relief that it was Grub. Grub, tugging on Lion’s collar while Lion, growling fiercely, tried to pull away and go back. Neely grabbed for the collar and together they managed to pull the big dog down the corridor and out through the stable door. Outside, in the bright sunlight, Neely could see that Grub’s face was pale, his eyes huge and wet with tears.

“Grub,” she gasped. “What happened? Where’s Curtis?”

“Back there,” Grub whispered. He let go of Lion’s collar, closed the stable door, and leaned against it. “In one of the stalls. He tried to shoot Lion but he missed and then he tried again but it didn’t go off, and then he hid in one of the stalls.” Hearing his name, Lion pressed against Grub, trying to lick his face.

“Oh, Grub.” Neely suddenly found her voice so shaky she could barely talk. She pushed Lion aside and clutched Grub’s shoulders, shaking and hugging him at the same time. She was still hugging when suddenly Carmen was there, too, and a moment later Joyce.

Carmen’s gray hair had fallen down around her flushed face and she was gasping with exhaustion. “Grub,” she whispered and suddenly reeled, staggered and almost fell. Neely let go of Grub and jumped to help Carmen regain her balance.

“Grub,” Carmen whispered again, reaching out for him with her yellow-gloved hands. “Thank God.” And then, “Curtis? Where’s Curtis?”

Neely pointed. “In there. In one of the stalls. He’s all right.”

Still gasping and panting, Carmen staggered into the stable, and Joyce, who had said nothing at all except for some strange whimpering noises, followed her.

Left alone, Neely and Grub stared at each other. “Grub,” Neely said, “what happened? Why did Curtis have the gun?”

Grub shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know why. But I think he was—”

“What’s going on here?” It was Reuben, his wrinkled face tightened and pinched with concern. “What happened? Thought I heard a shot.”

“Yes,” Neely said. “It was Curtis. Curtis had a gun. But nobody got shot.”

“He missed,” Grub said. “He missed Lion.”

Reuben stared at Grub. Then he knelt down and ran his hands over Lion’s head and body. When he stood back up he turned to look at the stable door. “Crazy kid,” he said. “Ought to be locked up.” Taking off his belt he looped it through Lion’s collar and led him back down the path toward the house.

It was quiet then and from inside the stable there was the sound of voices. Carmen’s and then Joyce’s speaking softly and pleadingly. And then there was shouting. Curtis shouting, “No, no. I won’t come out. He’ll kill me. That dog will kill me.”

Neely pushed the door open and went in. “Stay here,” she told Grub. “I’ll be right back.” She was well into the stable before she could see Carmen and Joyce standing in front of a stall door. And she was even closer before she saw Curtis’s hands clutching the top of the door.

“He’s gone,” Neely said. “Lion’s gone. Reuben came and took him away. You can come out now.”

The door opened slowly and Curtis came out. He was clutching his chest, his head hanging. “That dog tried to kill me,” he said in a high-pitched voice. “He tried to kill me.

“Curtis,” his mother said, “where is the gun?”

“In there,” Curtis nodded back toward the stall. “It didn’t work. The stupid thing didn’t work.”

Carmen tried to put her arms around Curtis but he shoved her away. “The gun, Curtis.” Her voice was sad and stern. “Why did you have the gun?”

Curtis’s head came up slowly. He was smiling. “I found the key,” he said. “Dad thought he had it hid where I’d never find it, but I did.”

“But why?” his mother asked in a shaky voice. “Why did you have the gun? What were you going to do with it?”

Curtis looked around. His eyes focused on Grub, who was standing in the stable door, silhouetted against the light. Lowering his voice to a whisper he said, “It was Grub. He wanted to see it. He begged and begged me to show him how to shoot it. So I was going to show him, but then someone let that stupid dog loose and it almost killed me.” Curtis put his arms around his mother and leaned against her, hiding his face. “He was going to kill me, Mom,” he said.

Joyce Hutchinson patted her son’s head. Then she turned to Carmen and said, “See? It’s all right. He’s all right. He was just trying to be nice to the little boy.”