“In spite of her remark about killing him, you’re convinced that it was an accident?” he asked.
“Of course it was an accident. I have told you that the threat was just an expression of childish hostility.”
“What caused the hostility?”
“Nothing specifically. I mean, no particular incident. Nettie didn’t approve of my marriage to Gary. She resented him as an intruder.”
“I see. But the rifle was loaded, Mrs. Singer. That bothers me. Do you think it was already loaded when Nettie took it from the rack?”
“I doubt it very much. Cory never left his firearms loaded.”
“Well, then. You can surely see that Nettie must have loaded it herself. Were bullets available?”
“There were bullets for all the firearms somewhere. I’m not sure just where Cory kept them.”
“Do you think that Nettie could have found the bullets?”
“It’s entirely possible, but I’m sure that she didn’t.”
“Oh? What makes you say that?”
Again Stella was silent, again remembering. Now she was hearing Nettie’s words, almost lost in the echo of a shot and the trauma of horror.
“Something she said just after she shot Cory.”
“What did she say?”
“She said, ‘Gavin told me it was a blank.’”
He stared at her through the shadows, trying to read the expression on her face. There was no expression to read. He began to appreciate the terrible exercise of control behind her apparent quietude.
“Who,” he asked, “is Gavin?”
“Gavin Brander. A neighbor. He lives half a mile or so up the road.”
“What did Nettie mean?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve been thinking and thinking about it, but I’m just not sure.”
“Have you asked Nettie?”
“No. She had a terrible experience, you understand. She’s resting in her room. I don’t know if she’s capable of answering questions.”
“We had better try. I’ll be as considerate as possible. Will you fetch her?”
“If you insist.”
“I’m afraid I must. I’m sorry.”
Alone, he listened to the diminishing sound of her footsteps crossing the hall and ascending the stairs. There was an old-fashioned grandfather’s clock in the shadows behind him, and he listened to the mechanical measurement of time. Time passed, measure by measure, and pretty soon he was aware of footsteps in the hall again. Nettie entered, followed by Stella. Nettie made an odd little bow to Underhill, who had risen, and sat down in the high-backed chair that Stella had left. She seemed completely composed. Serene was the word that occurred to Underhill. If she had suffered a trauma, she had recovered with remarkable rapidity.
“Nettie,” Stella said, “this is Mr. Underhill. He wants to ask you some questions. You must do your best to answer them.”
Nettie nodded, staring with grave composure at Underhill, who resumed his seat and leaned forward hands on-knees.
“Nettie,” he said, “why did you take your stepfather’s rifle?”
“I wanted to play a trick on him.”
“Oh? What kind of trick?”
“I was going to pretend to shoot him.”
Her confession of malice had somehow an air of innocence, as if she had admitted to soaping windows on Halloween. Paying silent tribute to her composure, he took a moment to recover his own.
“Why did you want to do that?”
“Because I hated him. I wanted him to go away, and to stay away.”
“Was the rifle loaded when you took it?”
“No.”
“Where did you get the bullet?”
“Gavin gave it to me. He said it was a blank.”
“Don’t you know the difference between a live bullet and a blank?”
“Of course. A live bullet will kill you. A blank won’t.”
“I mean in appearance. Can’t you tell the difference by looking at them?”
“I suppose I could if I really thought about it. But I didn’t. I hardly looked at it. The bullet Gavin gave me, that is. I put it right into my pocket and later I put it right into the rifle.”
Underhill leaned a little farther forward, his grip tightening on his knees. His words were as precisely spaced as the ticks of the clock.
“Listen to me, Nettie. I want you to be very careful how you answer. Do you think that Gavin Brander purposely gave you a live bullet in the hope that you would kill your stepfather with it?”
“He must have, mustn’t he? How else can you explain what happened?”
“Oh!” Underhill stood up, struck a fist in a palm, and sat slowly down again. “But why? Why would he want Cory Singer dead?”
Nettie seemed to draw a little farther away into the shadows. Her voice was suddenly small and cold.
“I wouldn’t want to say.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not my place to do so.”
Stella, standing behind Nettie’s chair, released her breath in a long sigh, and Underwood lifted his eyes. Her face was drained of color and stiff as wood. Nothing in it moved except her lips.
“She means that it’s my place, and I suppose it is. Gavin Brander is in love with me. And I, God help me, was in love with him.”
“Was, Mrs. Singer?”
“You can’t go on loving a man who is capable of using a child to commit a murder.”
“It would be difficult, to say the least.” Underhill’s voice was light and dry, but his heart was turgid with restrained rage. “I think, if you will excuse me, that I’d better go see Mr. Brander at once.”
* * * *
Gavin Brander opened the door. Underhill, standing outside, introduced himself, and Brander’s eyebrows expressed surprise. He stepped back and gestured Underhill in. They went from the hall into the living room, Underhill preceding.
“I’ve just had my dinner,” Brander said. “May I offer you a drink? I’m about to have one.”
“No, thanks.” Underhill, in a chair, held his hat in his lap. “I’m on duty.”
“Oh? Well, I suppose you fellows must work all hours.” Brander, postponing his own drink, claimed another chair. “What, precisely, is the nature of your business?”
“I’m investigating a death. A neighbor of yours. Cory Singer.”
He was
