Usher's Passing (24 page)

"She
smells!"
Margaret moaned. "Oh Lord, get her out of here!"

"Come on!" Boone grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm, trying to drag her through the door. She fought him wildly, her free hand flashing toward his face. He ducked her fingernails, but she broke free and staggered against the table, knocking a glass of iced tea to the floor. Boone, livid with rage, gripped her hair and pulled at her gown as Margaret rose to her feet, screaming for help.

"Leave her alone!" Rix shouted. He was coming around the table. "Get away from her, Boone!"

"Oh Jesus!" Katt said disgustedly, and laid her fork down on her plate.

Boone and Puddin' grappled. He flung her against the table so hard that the breath whooshed out of her. Then he grabbed her around the neck and started dragging her out; she clung to the tablecloth and pulled plates, glasses, and utensils off in a mad clatter. A maid appeared at the door but didn't know what to do.

"Edwin!" Margaret screamed at the top of her lungs.

Rix caught his brother's shoulder. "Cut it out, Boone! Come on, damn it! Cut it—"

Boone snorted like an animal and backhanded Rix across the side of the face so fast he had no time to duck. The blow stunned him and made his eyes water; he was knocked backward a few steps.

"Bastard!" Puddin' was shrieking. "You cockless, freak-lovin' bastard!"

White-hot anger crackled through Rix! He felt something under his right hand, and he closed his fist around it. Then he brought it swiftly up. Even though he knew it was only a table knife, he meant to drive it into Boone's back with all his strength.

"Rix!"
It was Katt's voice, penetrating through the din.
"Don't!"

Something in Katt's shout made Boone twist wildly to one side. The knife snagged his coat, but was too dull to do much damage. Then Boone, still holding on to a writhing and cursing Puddin', saw the knife and the look in his brother's eyes. He swung his wife in front of him as a shield and started backing away. "He's tryin' to kill me, Momma!" he yelled, his voice shaking. "Get him away from me!"

In another instant, Rix's anger had evaporated. He stared at the knife in his hand, amazed at how quickly the urge to kill had come over him. Boone kept shouting, even as Rix opened his hand. The knife fell to the floor.

Cass pushed the frightened maid aside and stood in the doorway. "What's going on? Who's trying to kill who?"

"Take that insane woman out of here!" Margaret commanded. There was iced tea all over her lap as she stood up. "She's out of her mind!"

"Rix!" Puddin' said, and terror sparked in her watery eyes. "Don't let him take me upstairs! He'll strop me with his belt, Rix! Don't let him do it!"

But Rix was staring at his empty hand, working it into a fist and then opening it again.

"Cass?" Katt asked calmly. "Will you help my brother with his wife, please? I think she needs a cold shower."

"Yes, ma'am. Come on, Puddin'. No one's going to hurt you."

Puddin' tried to fight free again, but this time Boone had a firmer hold. "Y'all ask him about that talent agency!" she cried out as Cass and Boone wrestled her out of the room. "Just
ask
him what kind of—" And then Boone clamped his hand over her mouth; her shouting became incomprehensible.

Margaret slammed the door shut and stood trembling, unable to speak. Finally she patted her hair into place and smoothed her stained dress before she turned toward her children. "That woman," she announced, "belongs in an insane asylum."

Rix closed his hand, opened it, closed it again. Pain stirred in his head. He stared at the knife on the floor, unable to believe that a moment ago he'd tried to stab his brother. My God! he thought, as the cold sweat gathered on his face. I tried to kill Boone! If that knife had been sharper, it might've gone right through Boone's coat and into his back!

"Rix?" Katt asked carefully. "Are you all right?"

I wasn't really going to stab him, Rix thought. I was only going to scare Boone. I knew the knife wasn't sharp. I knew it. He bent, retrieved the knife, and laid it on the table. Margaret was watching him with an incriminating stare. Was I really going to stab my brother in the back? he asked himself.

Yes . . .

Rix trembled. The answer had come in a soft, sibilant whisper that flowed like freezing water through his veins.

"Rix?" Katt asked.

"I'm okay," he said, still looking at the knife. He feared the pain in his head was going to strengthen, but instead it was ebbing. He picked up a napkin and wiped the beads of sweat from his cheeks and forehead. "I'm okay," he repeated.

Margaret moaned, "My dress is
ruined!
Just look at it! Oh, that foulmouthed little lunatic!"

Someone knocked at the dining room door, and when Margaret opened it, one of the elderly black butlers said quietly, "Excuse me, Miz Usher, but Mr. Usher say he'd like to see Miss Kattrina."

"I'll go up in a minute, Marcus," Katt told him, and the dignified old man went off along the corridor. "Well," she said, looking at the shambles of the dining room, "I guess I'd better go up and see Dad."

"You haven't eaten your lunch yet!"

"He wouldn't like to wait," Katt reminded her. She came up close to Rix and searched his face. "You sure you're all right?"

"Yeah." He smiled tightly. "Peachy."

Katt left the room. When his mother started raging about her ruined dress again, Rix hurried after Katt. "Has everybody in this house forgotten what it means to be
civilized
?" Margaret called from the doorway.

Rix and Katt climbed the stairs together. An occasional whiff of decay floated past.

"I don't know why I did that," Rix said. "Jesus Christ! I really wanted to hurt him!"

"No, you didn't. I saw you turn your arm so you wouldn't stab him. I think you wanted to scare him, and it worked. His eyes were as big as dinner plates."

"I'm not a violent person. But he taunts me, Katt. You know how he's taunted me before. I just can't take it anymore. Christ, I don't know why I came back here! I thought things would be different. But they never change here, do they?"

"Things
will
change here," Katt said as they reached the second floor. "Very soon."

Her tone of voice was firm and knowing. Rix asked, "What do you mean?"

"Dad and I have been talking, probably more lately than we've talked in our entire lives. I think he wants me to take over the business. Oh, he hasn't come out and said so, but that's my impression. He's been letting me know about some of the current projects. If I do get control of the business, I'm going to make some changes."

"Like what?"

"With the business comes ownership of the estate," she said as they walked along the corridor. "I'm going to send Boone packing. Then I'm going to start research in some new directions."

"But I thought you enjoyed what you were doing! You don't seriously want the responsibility of the business, do you?"

"The vice-presidents and research teams would have to run the show for a while, until I could figure out what was going on. But I like challenges, Rix. I like to go where I don't belong. And who else is there to take it over? Not Boone; the way he manages his own money, he'd break Usher Armaments within five years. And you certainly don't want it."

Rix couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You don't want to be responsible for more death and destruction, do you?"

She stopped at the foot of the stairs that led to the Quiet Room, and turned toward him. In her angelic face, her eyes seemed dark and haunted. "Rix, you're not being very realistic, are you? I wish to God that our family made toys or thimbles or electric plugs. But that's not how things are. You and Boone seem to think of yourselves as the only Ushers, but you're wrong. I'm an Usher, too. I regret what the family business is, but I'm not ashamed of it. Someone has to make the weapons. If
we
don't, another company will."

"There are better ways to make money."

"Yes, there are," she agreed. "But not for us."

At that instant, Rix looked at his sister as if she were a stranger. He'd never suspected she was even remotely interested in Usher Armaments, and now he wondered how well he really knew her. What had happened to the little girl who used to tag along behind him and drive him crazy with silly questions? "I never knew you felt that way," he said.

"There are probably a lot of things you don't know about me." She held his gaze for a few seconds longer, then said, "I'd better go up and see him now." She climbed the stairs to the Quiet Room, paused to put on a surgical mask and a pair of rubber gloves, and entered the chamber.

Rix got away from the staircase before a fresh wave of his father's stench could reach him. He walked along the corridor toward his room, pondering Katt's attitude. There was a hidden part of her, he realized—a dark part that he'd never seen. Nobody in his right mind would want to create the kind of destruction that Usher Armaments manufactured!

Ahead of him, a telephone on a table in the hallway began to ring. The elderly butler, Marcus, was coming toward him, and stopped to pick up the receiver on the second ring. "Usher residence."

Rix had started to pass by when Marcus said, "I'm sorry, miss, but I'm not to relay any of your calls to the family." He began lowering the receiver.

Dunstan's daughter, Rix thought. And suddenly he turned to grasp the phone before Marcus could hang up. "I'll take it," he said quietly, and then, into the phone, "This is Rix Usher. Why do you keep harassing my family?"

There was shocked silence on the other end.

"Well?" Rix prompted. "I'm listening."

"I'm sorry," the woman said, with a smoky Southern accent. "I didn't expect an Usher to answer the phone."

"I'll take care of it," Rix told Marcus, and the old man moved away. "What can I do for you, Miss Dunstan?" he asked, when Marcus had gone.

"I'm surprised you know who I am. You've been living away from Usherland for seven or eight years, haven't you?"

"I'm sure you didn't call here to ask about me. You know, there's a law about harassing people over the telephone."

"All I want is the answer to one question: What's Walen Usher's condition?"

"His condition? What are you talking about? My father's fine."

"That's strange to hear," she said, "especially since Walen hasn't gone to the plant in almost two months. A silver-gray Cadillac, rented to a Dr. John Francis from Boston, goes back and forth from Usherland three or four times a week. Dr. Francis is a cell-disease specialist. If Walen Usher isn't ill, who is?"

Hang up on her, he told himself. But as he started to put the receiver down, he realized the power of his position. This was the daughter of the man who'd been working on an Usher history for six years. She needed information, and Rix did, too. The chance might not come again. Rix asked quietly, "Is there a place we can meet?"

Again, she was cautiously silent.

"Hurry and decide. I'm taking a hell of a risk as it is."

"The Broadleaf Cafe," she said. "In Foxton. Can you meet me this afternoon?"

"If I'm not there by three, I won't be coming. Good-bye." He returned the receiver to its cradle, and instantly felt a twinge of shame. Was what he was about to do a betrayal of his family's trust, or simple cold practicality? Information about Walen's condition might be the key he needed to get close to Wheeler Dunstan, to find out how he was researching the book and how much of it was finished. He wanted to see that manuscript, and if he had to divulge something that would have to come out sooner or later anyway—so be it.

As he passed Boone's door, he heard Puddin' sobbing. Boone cursed—a muffled, brutal sound—and then there was the crack of flesh striking flesh.

Bastard! Rix thought grimly. Boone was going to get his own reward one of these days—and Rix ardently hoped he'd be around to see it happen.

What was it Puddin' had said downstairs? Rix asked himself. Something about Boone's talent agency? Maybe all wasn't as it seemed, he thought. And maybe it would be to his advantage to find out.