“Nettie’s not really young at all. She’s ageless.”
“I don’t believe that I like that remark. What do you mean by it?”
“You know what I mean. She’s deliberately trying to destroy our marriage. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do to accomplish it Perhaps she already has.”
“Stop it, Cory. I won’t listen to you say such things. It’s obscene for a grown man to feel such hatred for a child.”
“I don’t hate her. She hates me. Frankly, I’m afraid of her.”
“Oh, don’t be such a coward.”
“Call me what you like, but there’s something abnormal about the girl. She’s completely enclosed. Nothing reaches her.”
“She’s extraordinarily bright. You can hardly expect her to have the same interests as mediocre children.”
“It’s more than that.” He stood up and jammed his hands into his jacket pockets. “I want to speak with her, if you don’t mind.”
“About the missing rifle?”
“Yes.”
“Then I do mind.”
“Nevertheless, I insist. If you won’t bring her here, I’ll go look for her.”
“Very well. Have your own way. I’ll get her.”
She left the room and walked down the hall to Nettie’s door. Trying the knob, she found the door locked, and there was, after she knocked, such a long interval of silence that she began to think that Nettie was asleep inside or had gone out somewhere, locking the door after her and carrying away the key.
Then, when she was about to leave, Nettie’s voice sounded suddenly on the other side of the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Mother. I want you to come with me to my room. There’s something we need to settle at once.”
A key turned, and the door opened. Nettie was wearing, as she had been yesterday, a white blouse and jeans. Behind her, an open book lay in a swath of sunlight on the floor.
“I was lying on the floor reading,” she said. “What needs to be settled? Something new about me?”
“You’ll see. It’s nothing to worry about. Come along, dear.”
Together, they returned to Stella’s room. Cory, waiting, was still standing by the bed with his hands jammed into his jacket pockets. Stella had a feeling that the hands were clenched, and she was momentarily aware, with the slightest sense of compassion, of the depth of his desperation. She turned to Nettie, who was looking steadily at Cory with eyes that had acquired instantly the peculiar gloss of blindness.
“Cory wants to ask you something,” she said. “Please answer him truthfully.”
Nettie didn’t acknowledge the directive, and Cory, after waiting until it was apparent that she would not, spoke with a kind of rush, his words trailing away as if he barely had breath to utter them.
“My .22 rifle is gone, Nettie. Did you take it?”
From his voice she gauged the measure of his concern, and her own voice, when she answered, was bright with mockery.
“Yes,” she said. “I took it.”
Her candor was dearly a shock. Stella, who had expected denials, and Cory, who had expected a more trying inquisition, stared at her with slack faces that were almost comic and incomprehensible.
“What on earth for?” Stella asked. “You know you’re not allowed to use the rifle without supervision.”
“I’m not sure,” Nettie said. “Perhaps I intended to kill Cory.”
Stella sank down upon the bench in front of her dressing table. Cory did not move.
“You mustn’t say such dreadful things.” Stella’s inflection suggested that she was protesting the innocent use of obscenity that had been spoken without understanding. “Where is the rifle now?”
“In my room. I put it in the closet.”
“Go and get it and bring it here.”
Without a word, Nettie turned and went out. When she was gone, Stella sat staring at the floor, ignoring Cory, and Cory, hands in pockets, remained unmoving by the bed. There was nothing to be said that either was prepared to say, and they waited in silence for Nettie’s return. She came, in a minute or two, with the rifle under her arm. Stella, watching her walk toward Cory, was suddenly aware that the rifle was pointing straight at Cory’s chest. Half-rising, she extended one arm in a gesture of alarm or supplication.
“Perhaps,” Nettie said, “I’ll kill Cory now.”
Thereafter, action followed action in an odd and deliberate sequence, as if every sound and movement were carefully modified and measured. The report of the rifle was hardly more, it seemed, than the popping of a cork. Stella, arm outstretched, sank down again upon the bench. Cory, dying with his hands in his pockets, looked down with a kind of wonder, just before falling, at the small hole opened above his heart. Nettie turned to Stella, as children in need have always turned to mothers.
“But it was a blank,” she said. “Gavin told me it was a blank!”
* * * *
Martin Underhill, a detective on the sheriff’s staff, after descending the stairs, crossed the hall and entered the library. The room was darkening, and it was several seconds before his eyes, adjusting to the shadows, found Stella sitting in a high-backed chair turned away from a window. She did not rise to meet him, did not move at all. He walked across the room and sat down in another chair facing her. In his manner there was a reassuring touch of deference which she assumed to be an offering to her position in the county, but in fact, it was detectable in his contacts with people of all stations.
“How are you feeling, Mrs. Singer?” he asked.
“I’m quite all right, thank you,” she said.
“I’m afraid there are a number of points to clarify. Are you up to it?”
“I’m prepared to tell you anything you need to know.”
“Good. Suppose you begin by telling me again just what happened.”
“As I’ve said, Cory’s rifle was missing. The .22 that you saw upstairs. It had been taken from the rack over there, and he was very disturbed about it. He suspected Nettie of taking it and, as it developed, he was right. Nettie admitted it. I sent her to get it and bring it back. She
