the tear, found it under one arm. A bit of her skin showed through the frayed material at her armpit. She tried to kick Owen but he kept out of her way. She wasn’t screaming any more, but breathed with a slight snarl, like a cornered lioness. There was a chilling blank look in her eyes, as if she saw nothing.
Macy went into the bedroom. I stood in the doorway.
“Look at it!” Owen screamed. “Look at it! You ruined it! Bitch. Bitch!” He lunged forward and his small fat palm flew upward in a big arc to crack across her face with a nasty meaty sound. It snapped her head back and knocked her halfway around. She would have fallen if Owen hadn’t held her wrist. There was blood on his lower lip where he had bitten it in rage.
“She slashed my painting,” Owen sobbed indignantly, jerking at the moaning Diane. “She—”
I heard someone behind me but had no chance to move before a big hand shoved me out of the doorway. I pitched inside and Taggart shouldered past me. “He hit her!” Taggart groaned. He reached for Owen and threw him against the wall. Diane slumped to the floor. Taggart put his economy-sized hands around Owen’s throat. Tendons stretched like cables as the fingers squeezed. I saw helpless fear widen Owen’s eyes as his mouth spread open.
I wedged myself between Owen and Taggart, shoved his powerful arms up and apart, then pushed my neck and shoulders hard into his stomach, bracing myself with a foot against the wall. I sensed the hands coming loose from Owen’s throat and threw myself against Taggart. We hit the floor together. I was on top. He pushed me away, got up slowly, one knee down. I belted him in the gut. It stopped him for maybe a couple of seconds. Then he pulled the other leg up and started for Owen, who gibbered with fright at the approach of the big man.
“He hit her,” Taggart said. “I’ll kill him!” He got one of the hands around Owen’s throat again. He used the other to hold me off.
“Stop it,” Macy said. “Diane, tell him to stop it!”
“Tag,” Diane said weakly. It was a small sound but he heard it. He eased his hand away and Owen slid to the floor. He put his head down and crawled away from us into the hall.
Taggart looked at me for a few charged seconds, then made a gesture that indicated I was of no consequence. He glanced at Diane. I thought he was going to go to her but he just watched her get off the floor.
“What is this?” Macy said. “What the hell happened here?” He looked from Owen to Diane.
Owen leaned against the doorframe, sobbing for breath. “I caught her coming... out of my room,” he said. He pointed to one of the many oil paintings on the wall. “She... slashed it. The dirty goddam bitch slashed my... painting.” He started to cry.
We looked at the picture he was talking about. It was a seascape. Somebody had taken a knife or razor blade to it. The canvas was in tatters.
“You come in here and do that?” Macy said threateningly.
Diane turned her head to look at the picture. Her face was beginning to get that smooth motionless look. Owen’s slap had snapped her loose from something that had been building up within her. “I came in here. I just wanted to look at them. I wasn’t going to hurt anything.”
I saw Charley Rinke standing behind him in the hall, watching with an oddly fascinated expression.
“I didn’t touch your picture,” Diane said, with a trace of contempt. “I don’t have anything to cut with.” Her voice was becoming remote. She looked at the blood on her ankle.
“You gonna believe her? I caught her coming out! She did it! Shediditshediditshe—”
Macy walked up to his brother and hit him across the face with the back of his hand. Owen shut up. There was a look of bewilderment in his eyes. He put out a hand, gropingly.
“Macy...”
“Shut up, you fool,” Macy said in a deadly calm voice.
Owen’s face changed gradually, stiffening into hate that was deep and aching. He straightened up and his breathing slowed. He looked coldly at Macy. It was a look that had taken him all his life to achieve, and in a way it was a frightening thing. He saved some of it for Diane. She looked back without flinching. Owen turned and walked down the hall, his body stiff, his legs wobbling slightly. He looked straight ahead. In a few seconds the front door slammed, but not loudly.
Macy’s gaze shifted to the ruined painting, and his mouth softened. “Goddam fool,” he muttered almost tenderly. “All right,” he said, looking about him. “What the hell are you all standing around for? Clear out. You, Taggart, get out of here. Rinke, get back to the books.”
They drifted away slowly, and the knotted tension slackened. Diane didn’t move until the others had gone.
“You get, too,” Macy said to her. “Clean yourself up. You look like you been raped in a telephone booth.”
Diane didn’t look at either of us. She went out, taking care not to step too hard on the ankle that had been hurt. The cut didn’t look deep. I could see through the tear in her blouse at the armpit. She held that arm close to her side.
Macy looked at the torn painting again. “Now what the hell got into that crazy dame?” he said.
“You think she cut it?” I asked him.
“Sure I think she cut it.” He made a fist and put his other hand over it. “Oh, well. They ain’t worth nothing anyway.”
“Owen seemed pretty upset.”
“My little brother,” Macy said scornfully. “Aw, he’ll get over it. I guess I’d better go upstairs and see if the ruckus woke Aimee up. She ain’t feeling so good. Come on.”
Aimee was lying awake in bed when we came in. She blinked at the sudden light. There were drying tears on her cheeks. The bed sheets were twisted.
“Was Diane yelling?” she said, and began to cry again. Macy picked her up and held her gently.
“It wasn’t anything,” he said. “Diane’s all right. She’ll come upstairs and go to bed with you pretty soon.”
“I can’t sleep,” Aimee moaned.
“Your stomach still upset?”
Aimee nodded. She chewed on the knuckles of one fist.
Macy looked at me. “Get her some water, will you, Pete? There’s some capsules in there, too. Bring one.”
I went into the bathroom. I could hear him talking to her, soothingly, in a voice I had rarely heard him use. I ran water into a glass and picked up one of the capsules.
Macy put it between Aimee’s stiff lips, gave her some water. She swallowed dutifully. “That’ll help,” Macy said encouragingly. “Your tummy will feel better.”
“Are we going to go boat riding tomorrow?” Aimee whimpered.
“Well... I don’t think so, baby. Daddy’s still busy. I’ll tell you what. One day soon we’re going to go on a long boat ride. For months and months. Would you like that?”
I hoped the boat ride he had in mind wouldn’t be across the Styx.
She nodded enthusiastically. “Where we goin’, Daddy?”
“I’m not sure yet. But we’re going. I promise you that. We’ll go places we’ve never been to, and we’ll have a good time together.”
“Can Diane go, too?”
“Sure,” Macy said, after a quick pause. “Diane can go, too.”
He put Aimee back into bed and tucked the sheet around her. He took a book from the bedside table and began to read to her. He had to hold the book fairly close to his face so he could see the print. I hung around feeling useless until Diane came in. She had washed her face and combed her hair, but the blouse was still torn. There was a puffiness about her eyes. She took a clean blouse from her dresser and went into the bathroom to change.
