He said, pretending that nothing was wrong: 'Why do you eat all this crap?'
She was obviously confused, the way he kept jumping from one subject to another all the time.
'II have an illness. An eating disorder.'
'So you eat all this junk food?'
'Yes.'
'It's not good for you.'
'I know.'
God, he was so crazy.
'You're not telling me the truth, are you?'
'I am. Honest. Really, I am.'
She started to cry. She looked like a little girl. She looked so sad and helpless.
He kept the cold steel of the blade angled at her nipple. He could slice it away any time he wanted. He enjoyed that feeling.
'You know what I just did?' she said, crying even harder now.
'What?'
'I wet my pants. Just now. Because I'm so scared.'
'You really didn't tell anybody about seeing me that night in the office?'
'No. Honest, I didn't.'
'Good,' he said.
He grabbed her hair, threw her head back and slashed the knife across her throat in a single efficient motion.
She was a long time dying, gasping, choking, pleading for reprieveand he enjoyed every moment of it.
CHAPTER 58
All her life, Doris' mother Evelyn had suffered from fits. There was no other way to describe them. She would awaken with a sense of dread virtually paralyzing her, certain that some terrible fate was about to take one or both of her children again.
Whoever could have predicted that a rattlesnake would climb into the playpen of her firstborn?
On these days, no matter what the season, no matter how much her children might want to play outside, Evelyn Daye Tappley made both Peter and Doris stay indoors. And she ordered the servants to keep all doors and windows bolted tight. And she herself looked in on her children every twenty minutes or so. You could never be sure…
Doris thought of this as she peered into the den and looked at her mother in the wingback chair. Evelyn had gotten smaller with the yearsstill formidable to be sure, especially when she was blustering aboutbut smaller nonetheless. She sat now reading the newspaper in a pair of black silk day pajamas, a small blanket thrown across her legs as her black slippered feet stretched to reach the ottoman.
Doris knew what she was reading: the latest installment of Jill Coffey's travails.
Doris also knew who had caused those travails… a man named Rick Corday… and her own mother.
Doris had already made up her mind about calling Jill this afternoon. She just wanted to make sure that her mother was safely ensconced in one place for a while. She didn't want Evelyn walking in on her phone call.
She stepped into the den and said, 'How're you feeling this morning, Mother?'
Evelyn glanced up from the newspaper. 'Feeling?'
'You said last night you had a scratchy throat.' That was another thing about her mother latelyshe was forgetful.
'Oh, I'm fine.' Evelyn glanced at the front page with Jill's photo on it and said, 'She must be going through hell.'
'Yes, and I'm sure you feel terrible for her, don't you?'
'If I'd ever taken that tone with my mother, she would have sent me to my room.'
It worked, Evelyn's little attempt to shame Doris. It shouldn't have worked. But it did. Even after all these years. Even after all these times.
Doris walked over to her mother. 'I'm sorry, Mother.'
'I admit I don't care for Jill, of course, but I certainly wouldn't wish this on her.'
'Of course not. I shouldn't have said it.'
Doris bent and kissed her mother on the cheek. The flesh was so loose now. There was a sad mortal feel to it. She hated this woman and yet loved her; cursed her for what she'd done to poor Jill and yet had at least an inkling of why she'd done it.
'I think I'll go lie down, Mother.'
Evelyn patted her daughter's hand. 'A nap? Maybe you're coming down with something. You never take naps.'
Doris tried not to look at Jill's photograph on the front page. She hated to think her ex-sister-in-law was having to deal with the nightmare of publicity all over again. It was easy to sit in your living room and gloat over the grief of others. It was another matter to endure those griefs.
'I'll probably be down in an hour or so.'
'Maybe you should take an aspirin or something.'
'I'll be fine,' Doris said, glancing out the mullioned window at the snowy pines and the white hills beyond them. She could see herself and Peter sliding down those hills on their sleds many, many years ago.
Her mother always went with them, of course, petrified they'd break their necks.
Poor Mother, she thought, loving and hating her, hating and loving her, as she had all her life.
'See you in a while.'
'Yes, dear,' Evelyn said.
Mr Corday lived in a hip-roofed ranch house that had no neighbors close by. Despite the sun and the blue sky, the wind was whipping up the snow into duststorms of sparkling diamonds.
Marcy drove by once and noticed that there was a two-stall garage to the right of the house. The overhead door was open and she could see the tail end of a blue Volvo. Then she got a glimpse of a tall man in a dark topcoat and a merry red scarf emerging from the house and walking to the garage. The man had white hair and looked like James Coburn. He was the man in Jill's photograph.
Just as she reached the corner, Marcy turned right and drove down half a block. She turned into a driveway and then backed out quickly. At the head of the block she pulled into the curb.
A few minutes later, Corday drove by. He was headed east. He gave no sign that he'd noticed her.
She gave him a full five minutes, just in case he had noticed her and was going to try something fancy.
She then took a left and drove back past his house. She continued a quarter mile down the road. The snow was a whirling dervish, blinding her momentarily.
She found a DX station, one of those that likely got abandoned during the last recession when all the big oil companies were finding direct sales unprofitable, parked on the snow-covered drive and started her trek back to Corday's house.
The headwinds were a bitch. She kept her head down. Her cheeks froze into numbness almost immediately. The Midwestern countryside was diabolically pretty on a day like this. It could kill you through exposure, but at least you'd die looking at beautiful scenery.
She hoped that she wouldn't find anybody home at Corday's place. That was the first universal rule of the private eye: Never illegally enter a house that is occupied.
It's a fast way to get yourself killed.
