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Kit was just outside the door. She knew who was talking. She went away and
came back again. She said, "I wanted to check on what clothes to wear for our
date. Will it be a slacks-type date or a ruffles and fluffies type? Where are
we going tomorrow night?"
I can't add! I can't add! Not without all my fingers and a machine that
nibbles the numbers off my fingertips like a hungry rat. Don't ask me to put
two and two together and get me, murderess! I won't believe it. I'm going to
hold on this time and not let the bell close. I'm going to find out where this
lost self belongs. I'm not going to let it wander any more up and down the
Dorm hall, hesitating at each door, wondering if that's home. It isn't fair!
My un-lost self knows me. Why can't I know her? I can't add! Honest, I can't.
Even in school I made marks on the paper. Little rows of three. Little squares
of four. Little dominoes of fives-
Do you suppose I fainted when I heard about Greta? I hope so. I don't want any
more bells to pry open. But twilight was on the edge of my window when I got
the news and now the street light is smudged along the sill. I don't feel
well. I have a queer tightness in my chest. I keep wanting to look over my
shoulder. I feel-I feel afraid! I'm scared! I must have been lost! My lost
self must have figured out something. Maybe I'm a murderess. But why should I
kill Greta? She was a nonentity-annoying sometimes, infuriating sometimes, but
what could she ever have done to me to make me want to kill her?
But if I did kill, my other self must be looking frantically for a way to get
rid of any witness. At least three of us and maybe all four were at the
pharmacy that day. On the other hand, if I'm not the murderess, then maybe I
know who is. Maybe someone is crouching on her bed now, trying to figure out
what to do about me. How to kill me! Am I going to have to walk around with
fear and suspicion like a heavy lump in my stomach, wincing from every word,
terrified at every movement? "We're having coffee. Too bad you're busy. I
brought you this cup."
"No thanks. It might be poisoned."
"We're hiking up to Picture Rock. You like to hike. Come along."
"No, thanks, one of you might push me over." See? See what an impossible
situation!
We're all gathered here in our usual after-supper coffee klatch. The sheriff
didn't make it today. A flashflood in the Tortellas mountains took out Dead
Horse bridge. He'll be out tomorrow. Meanwhile-I'm going to finish whatever
needs finishing. I'm going to tie all the ends neatly. Please God one of the
knots won't be around my own neck.
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"I wish he'd got here today." Cleo's face was gaunt with fear. "If he had come
today, it'd probably be all over with by now. We'd know by now-" Her voice
broke off abruptly and one shaking hand crept over her mouth. Her eyes moved
from one to another. Then her voice came faintly. "If she was murdered,
someone killed her!"
"My, you're sharp, Cleo," said Allison, coffee slopping soundlessly back and
forth in her cup. "It follows as night the day. If she was murdered, someone
killed her."
"It's not necessarily murder." Dorothea put her cup down slowly and clasped
her hands around her knees. "It could have been an accident. The wrong pill-"
"Maybe Our Pharmacist made a mistake," suggested Allison.
"He wouldn't- " Kit thumped her cup down on the floor and reddened. "Well, he
is accurate, whatever his other faults are-and they are many."
"You loved him!" Cleo took her cup up again. "Honest, you did, Kit. I could
tell by your eyes-
"I suppose my ears wiggled, too!" snapped Kit sullenly "Drop it, Cleo, drop
it. I'm in no mood for True Love that lasts just until the wind changes."
"The wind changed Tuesday the 12th."
"Tuesday the 12th!" Cleo's voice repeated the words, her shrill voice slitting
the silence that had closed in palpably.
"That must have been the day we all bumped another at the pharmacy." Allison
ran her hands through her hair. "We all made the pilgrimage there."
"Yes, we were all there." Dorothea rubbed one hand painfully against the
other. "That's probably why the wind changed."
"What's that got to do with Greta?" asked Allison. "We were talking about
Greta and the sheriff."
"It was an accident." Kit's cheek bones sharpened. "He'll find she died of her
own foolishness."
"I can't bear to talk about it," said Cleo, standing up, almost in tears. "I'm
going back to my room." She paused, looking back over her shoulder. "Whoever
killed her, whatever killed her, we'll know tomorrow. I've heard about this
sheriff. He would pry the marrow out of your bones if he thought it
necessary."
"That's an exit line if I ever heard one," said Dorothea. "Well, we can all
employ the next few hours contemplating the blood on our several hands." She
held her hands out, but snatched them back as they -began to shake
uncontrollably.
I heard three latches snap shut down the hall. We never lock our doors, but
tonight we are, for whatever reason. Maybe to lock Death out, since now we
know he has our address. Maybe for the necessary privacy for facing a guilty
soul and trying to rub the damned spot out. Maybe because fear has become a
tangible thing that could even creep under the door like a rolling fog. Maybe
because- But I haven't locked my door. If I am guilty, everything has happened
to me that can. You can't lock time out, and time will publish my guilt,
locked door or no locked door. If I'm not guilty, my door will open sometime
in the night and-
Now that my light is turned out, I have noticed something. There's no bright
rim around my door which is usually haloed all night long. The hall light has
either gone out or been turned out. My palms are wet. Has my lost self
prepared the way? Am I to walk the dark hall tonight, trying the locked doors
gently? No one seems to have remembered that my key is a master key. We found
it out last winter when we had a rash of locking ourselves out. Mine worked in
all the locks except Greta's. Except Greta's! If Greta got the poison in her
room, I couldn't have got in-silly straw! No one else could have either, but
we're in and out of each other's rooms all the time. The poison could have
been left there in one of those innumerable bottles or boxes any time since
the 12th. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]