I Know What You Did Last Summer (7 page)

Mrs. James, who was kneeling on the floor, cutting around
a dress pattern, straightened up with a gasp.

"Why, Julie, how awful! Barry Cox? The boy who goes with
Helen?"

"That was Ray on the phone," Julie told her. "He heard it on the
radio. No, I guess he said it was his dad who heard it. It happened
over at the U, on the athletic field. They don't know who did
it."

Her voice was flat and emotionless with shock.

"I was afraid there might be some trouble over there tonight,"
Mrs. James said. "That Memorial Day fireworks display should never
have been held on campus, not with student unrest the way it is
today. The six o'clock news mentioned the fact that some of the
students were gathering for a demonstration. But for them to
have taken it this far-to have had one of your friends injured-why,
it's just incredible! Is he badly hurt?"

"Ray didn't know. He called the hospital, and they wouldn't tell
him anything." Julie dropped to her knees beside her mother.

The dress on the floor was to be for her. It was pink. The
bright material swam before her eyes.

"Do you think it was a demonstration?" she asked. "Do you really
think it was that? Could somebody have had a gun at the
demonstration?"

"What other answer could there be?" her mother asked her.

chapter 8

Helen awoke to the sound of a motor running. The waking was
gradual; at first the sound was there at the back of her
consciousness as part of a dream, and then it seemed to grow louder
and louder so that the dream itself was lost in the roar. Then she
became aware of the fact that she was in bed and that the
sound was not within her head at all but from someplace outside of
herself.

She opened her eyes to find the room flooded with morning
sunlight. Below her bedroom window the Four Seasons caretaker was
cutting the grass with a power mower.

I slept, Helen thought in amazement. How could I have slept so
hard when
Barry
-

Just the thought of his name brought her to a sitting position.
The happy-face alarm clock on the bedside table showed
ten-fifteen.

Why, the morning's half over, Helen thought incredulously.
I've been asleep for over six hours!

It had been three in the morning when Barry had been moved from
the operating to the recovery room and the Coxes and their friends
had stepped from the elevator into the lobby. Helen, who had been
seated in a chair opposite the elevator door, had sprung to her
feet.

"What-how-"

"They got the bullet," Mr. Cox told her wearily. "It was lodged
in the spine. How much damage it did they can't tell yet"

"But he's going to live?"

"Prognosis is good. He came through the operation well.
He's a strong boy; the doctor seems to think he's going to make it
all right"

"Oh, thank heaven!" Weak with relief, Helen put out a hand to
steady herself against the back of the chair. "I've been praying. I
haven't stopped praying since I heard the news at the TV
studio."

"Thank you," Mr. Cox said. "We're grateful for your
concern."

Mrs. Cox and the Crawfords had crossed to the far side of the
lobby. Mrs. Cox's face was white and drawn, and for the first time
since she had met her, Helen thought the woman looked older than
her husband.

"You're going home now?" Helen asked.

"Yes. My wife is exhausted. The doctor says there is no reason
to remain here; it will be hours before Barry's anaesthetic wears
off and a good deal longer than that before he can have visitors.
He suggests that we try to get some sleep, and that should apply to
you too." He turned to Collie who had risen to stand at Helen's
side. "You'll see she gets home, Mr. Wilson?"

"Of course," Collie said. "I brought her down here."

"I won't be able to sleep," Helen said. "I don't think I'll ever
sleep again."

But she had. The golden light of midmorning proved that. She had
slept so hard that her body ached from having been so long in one
position, and when she got out of bed her legs felt rubbery, as
though they might give way at any moment.

She went out to the telephone in the living room and dialed the
number of the hospital. The voice that answered told her that Barry
Cox was "resting comfortably." He had been removed from the
recovery room and was now in room 414-B. For the time being
he was to be allowed no visitors except for family.

"But I'm sure he will want to see me," Helen insisted. "You'll
ask him, won't you? Tell him it's Helen."

"Are you a member of the immediate family?"

"Not exactly."

"What is your relationship to the patient?"

"I'm a-a friend," Helen said. "A very good friend."

"The orders are that Mr. Cox is to have no visitors
outside of the immediate family."

"Oh, damn," Helen muttered as she replaced the receiver. "I can
imagine who made that rule-dear Mama Cox herself."

The events of the night before rose in her mind with the odd,
unfocused quality of a nightmare- the announcement at the
television station, Collie's arrival, the drive to the hospital,
the cold, sharp hatred in the eyes of Barry's mother.

"If she hadn't phoned him," she had cried, "If she hadn't
insisted on dragging him out to meet her-"

"But I didn't!" Helen had told her. "I didn't!"

They had not heard her, or they had heard but not listened.

"We're not blaming you, Helen," Mr. Cox had said, but in fact
they were blaming her, both of them. Even though Mr. Cox had
stopped to speak to her in the lobby, she had seen the blame in bis
eyes.

"I didn't," Helen said aloud now, her voice coming strange
in the empty apartment. "I didn't call Barry to meet me out on the
playing field. I didn't talk to him at all last night."

But there had been a phone call. A statement from one of Barry's
fraternity brothers had confirmed that. Someone had called
and talked to Barry and set up an appointment, someone whose
request had seemed important enough to draw him out of the house in
immediate response.

Who was it who had called-and why? Was it a girl? Could Barry
have another girl, someone he was seeing when he wasn't with
her?

"No," Helen answered herself firmly. "No, of course not."
She
was Barry's girl, his only girl. If she couldn't trust
Barry, then who on earth could she trust? And yet there had been
things over the past year, odd, assorted little things, none too
important in themselves, yet added together enough to be
slightly disturbing to someone less sure of her love than
Helen.

There was that conversation with Elsa the night of the accident
Helen always thought of it that way, as "the accident,"
unpreventable, arranged somehow by the hand of Fate. One moment
they had been riding along, relaxed and happy, her head on Barry's
shoulder, the car radio wrapping them in soft music, and the next
moment the child had been there in front of the car. There was
nothing Barry could have done about it There had been no time for
him to get his right arm back from around her and his right hand
onto the steering wheel. Even if both hands had been on the wheel
in the first place, it was doubtful that he could have swerved in
time. They had done the best they could-they had gone straight to a
telephone, driving so fast that it was only luck mat they had not
all been killed on one of the curves, and had called for help. It
was not Barry's fault that the boy had been injured beyond help; no
child of ten had any business riding his bicycle on a mountain road
in the middle of the night

It was not Barry's fault, it was none of their faults. Still it
had been a terrifying and dreadfully upsetting experience. She had
cried a lot on the way home, and when she had come into the house,
softly so as not to disturb her parents, she had not been prepared
to find Elsa still awake with the light on, reading.

She had glanced up from her movie magazine, and her eyes had
narrowed behind her glasses.

"You've been crying!"

"No, I haven't," Helen had said.

"You sure have; your eyes are red as beets!" Elsa had laid aside
the magazine with an air of somebody close to triumph. "What did he
do, break up with you? I've been wondering how long it would take
for him to get around to it."

"Don't be silly," Helen said. "Everything's just fine between
Barry and me."

"Then why have you been crying?"

"I told you, I haven't been. It was just-smoke in the car."
Helen went to her side of the bureau and took her nightgown out of
the top drawer. She could feel Elsa's eyes focused on her back.

After a moment Elsa said, "If it didn't happen tonight, it will
soon, you know."

"I don't know what you mean."

"You don't think Barry's going to stick with you now, do you?
He's starting college in a couple of months."

"I don't know what difference that should make," Helen said,
turning to face her sister. "He's going to the University, right
here in town. He can see me every night if he wants to."

"But why should he want to?" Elsa asked her. "Face it, Helen,
Barry's a catch for somebody. He's good-looking, his family has
money, he's a big football hero-every girl's dreamboat. There
are a lot of sharp girls going to the University, real smoothies
with brains and background. How do you think you're going to stack
up?"

"Barry loves me," Helen said defensively.

"Has he ever told you that?"

"Well-not in those words exactly. But there were plenty of other
girls in high school, too. I'm the one he picked."

"High school's different," Elsa said. "Guys look for different
things then, kid things. Big boobs and a rinse on your hair, that's
cool stuff in high school. College guys are different. They're
looking for quality."

"You're cruel," Helen said softly. She stood, staring down
at her sister's heavy, doughish face, at the pursed little mouth
already indented at the corners with grooves of discontent "You're
just jealous. Boys don't like you-they never have. You never had
anybody like Barry. You're jealous because I do."

"I'm not jealous of you-I'm sorry for you."

"That's a lie," Helen said. "Barry's not going to drop me. I may
not have a high society background and folks with money and things
like that but I've got a lot to offer that other girls don't"

Elsa regarded her coolly. "Like what, for instance?"

"Like-like-" Helen floundered for words.

"Dream on," Elsa said and picked up her magazine. "You
just keep dreaming on."

The next day Helen had taken her Junior Class picture, a good
picture that showed her fine bones and shining hair and bright,
perfect smile, and entered
it
in the Channel Five Golden
Girl Contest It turned out to be the smartest thing she had ever
done.

There was a rap at the door. Helen snapped out of her reverie
with a jolt "Who is it?"

"Collie. Just checking to see how you got through the
night."

"Wait a minute, will you? I'm just getting up." Hurriedly, Helen
went to the bedroom and got a robe out of the closet. A glance in
the mirror as she passed it caused her to stop to comb her hair and
apply some lipstick. Collie might be no more than a platonic
friend, but he was, after all, a male friend.

That fact was reflected in his eyes when she opened the door to
him.

"I was going to ask you if you slept," he said. "I thought you'd
be haggard and baggy-eyed. I sure thought wrong."

"I did sleep," Helen told him with a touch of apology in her
voice. "I don't know how I could, but I did. I'm just going to make
some coffee. Would you like some?"

I've already eaten, thanks. I'm on my way out to my folks'
place. Did you have a chance yet to call the hospital?"

"Barry's out of recovery and into a private room. They say he's
'resting comfortably,' whatever that means."

"I guess it means just that." He hooked his thumbs into his
pants pockets. "I guess you'll be going over there after your disc
jockey show?"

"They're not permitting visitors."

"Then he's still on the critical list?"

"I don't know," said Helen, suddenly unaccountably
irritated. "I don't know anything. Nobody tells me anything. I'd
call the Coxes, but I'm just sure Mrs. Cox would be the one to
answer, and I bet she'd hang up on me."

"Don't blame the old girl too much," Collie said. "She wasn't
all there last night. Women get like that when something happens to
a kid. My own mom's that way."

"Well, I was upset too," Helen reminded him. "I'll bet I was as
upset as she was. They're letting the
family
go in to see
him. I'm tempted to go down there and pass myself off as his
sister."

"No chance-anybody who owns a TV set will know who you are
before you open your mouth." He was frowning a little. "Look,
Helen-there's something I want to ask you."

"Yes?"

"Last night on the way over to the hospital, you told me Barry
was a
gay who
didn't have any enemies. We ruled out
a couple of other things too- robbery, dope. It kind of leaves us
with nothing, doesn't it? I mean, no reason for the shooting at
all?"

"I don't even want to think about it," Helen said shortly.

"I think you
ought
to think about it. You know Barry
better than anybody. If he was mixed up in something
shady-something illegal-maybe peddling pills or-"

"He wasn't. There's not even a question in my mind."

"I'm not saying it had to be that. It was just the first
suggestion that came into my head. Maybe it was something entirely
different, but people don't usually get shot for nothing, Helen.
Oh, once in awhile a gun goes off while somebody's cleaning it or a
hunter fires at a deer and finds out it's another hunter, but
something like this, where a guy gets lured out of the house by a
phone call-well, it's
planned.
It has to have been."