Keeping Secrets (52 page)

He looked across at me and smiled. “The Lord has used me as His instrument. I learned all about how He works through us to help others. He'll forgive all the bad I've done because I confessed my sins and accepted Him as my savior, and I let Him use me to help someone who couldn't help herself.”

All at once everything about Nathan began to make sense. I didn't know how much of his rambling about Cabot was true, but I did see how twisted his conception of Cabot's relationship with Electra had been. If not for the fact he mentioned the Tetzel party, I would not have understood, but that gave me the necessary clue. I sat there wondering what to do. His eyes were closed again now, and he had his Bible on his lap. It seemed evident he intended turning those ledgers over to the authorities while Cabot was away in Mexico. Apparently he'd fixed them to reflect some cheating over a long period—I could only guess, not having seen them. He truly felt Electra only awaited a chance to get away from the wicked husband she was married to. I could imagine every time he saw the shadow of fear or distress cross her face, he was certain Cabot had put it there. He knew nothing of her past, and of the obsession she must have had about keeping it quiet. He knew nothing of the dangerous activities she might be carrying on at present.

It occurred to me then that he may have felt if he turned on Cabot while he was in Mexico, he just might be able to get away before Cabot returned. He would have time to leave the country, and run far enough that he might never be found. Badly as I wanted the ledgers, I didn't want to risk taking them until I spoke with Edwin because of the predicament it might put me in.

Finally his head fell on his chest. I couldn't go upstairs and waken the Cabots without taking a chance of revealing myself … yet I almost did. I thought of playing on them the same trick I'd used on Nathan, even if it did seem a bit absurd. It would be easier and safer just to take the gun with me, I finally decided. When Nathan awoke tomorrow morning he would no doubt have regained some of his senses. At least I could save him through the night and by morning think of something better. I reached across gingerly and picked up the weapon. I'd never held a handgun before. It felt big and awesomely powerful in my hand. I left the house with it and went to my apartment, looking at several places along the way for access to a telephone. Yet everywhere I looked was locked up tight. It was one-thirty in the morning. When I got home I found a note under my door that proved the futility of calling Edwin. He had gone to Washington early in the morning of the twenty-eighth, and would call me sometime during the day on March first, when he arrived, to let me know his number. He added, “Apparently Carranza not playing ball—looks like Germany might be depending upon Barrista after all. If so, Tetzel might be ‘in' again. Check our agent Allan at Western Union for messages.”

Exhausted, I fell into bed consoling myself I'd kept anything horrible from happening. Had I been less tired I might have been able to reason out other eventualities, but there was one thing I would never have thought of because I had never been exposed to drinking very much and didn't know its effects.

Nathan would sleep, but not all night.

27

After going to bed I tried again to sort out Nathan's bemusing words, but the more I went over them in my mind the more confused I became. Finally, the obvious occurred to me as I went back again to the beginning and considered the way he fondled that gun. He handled it in a gentle, almost loving fashion. He was contemplating suicide, but not until Cabot was on the train to Mexico. Then he could turn over the ledgers to the authorities, his final act. “All balanced and reconciled … just like me,” he had said. Once I had figured that out, I knew I had done what was right. I could explain away the fact I had taken the gun. It would have been very awkward explaining my theft of the ledgers. I had effectively bought some time … time to check with Edwin about the next step.…

I slept until after eight the next morning and, still exhausted to the point of fogginess, I decided not to jump into my clothes and rush to the office. I was already late. A few more minutes wouldn't matter. I went to the River Avenue balcony for some fresh air, hoping to clear my mind. Yawning, I stepped out into the sunshine and bracing chill. It was second nature to look down toward the Butler store by now, often to see Keith loading the truck for deliveries of the day.

Instead I saw him dash suddenly out the door. His blue eyes were ablaze as he glanced down the street below me. He jumped in the truck, and shot off in a wave of exhaust fumes. His father followed him outside, holding a newspaper under his arm. My first thought was, Zimmermann's telegram had finally been released to the press. Yet even if I was correct about that, it didn't explain Keith's behavior. I went back inside, quickly dressed for work, and took a detour by the store.

Mr. Butler was leaning against the doorway, reading the newspaper headlines, mumbling, “… those dirty Germans” under his breath. He showed it to me and I read, at last, the full text of what the BNA had learned of weeks earlier, the message intended for the eyes of von Eckhardt:

We intend to begin unrestricted submarine warfare on the first of February. We shall endeavor in spite of this to keep the United States neutral. In the event of this not succeeding, we make Mexico a proposal of alliance on the following basis: make war together, make peace together, generous financial support, and an understanding on our part that Mexico is to reconquer the lost territory in Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. The settlement in detail is left to you.

You will inform the President (of Mexico) of the above most secretly as soon as the outbreak of war with the United States is certain and add the suggestion that he should, on his own initiative, invite Japan to immediate adherence and at the same time mediate between Japan and ourselves.

Please call the President's attention to the fact that the unrestricted employment of our submarines now offers the prospect of compelling England to make peace within a few months. Acknowledge receipt.

Zimmermann.

Somehow it appeared even more sinister than I had imagined. “Make war together; make peace together.” It gave me the shivers. I handed it back to him. “Where's Keith?” I asked.

“Gone down to the river. They found a body caught in the brush down near Guenther Mill—no, that's Pioneer—I always say it wrong.”

I brought a hand to my mouth. Mr. Butler thought he had shocked my feminine sensibilities by his bluntness, and offered me a chair close to the door.

“No,” I said, gulping, then took off toward East Guenther Street, at the foot of King William. With every step I tried convincing myself it wasn't Nathan. Someone else could have lost his footing and slid down the viney slope, someone who couldn't swim. Could even be a woman—Mr. Butler hadn't said. Oh, but if it was Nathan, the fault was mine. I'd taken the gun. Oh, what a magnanimous gesture to save someone bound for suicide. Around Alamo Plaza, then on down South Alamo, it seemed a longer distance than ever to the quiet little bend in the river around the mill. Across Nueva and up Garden, then finally left onto King William past the house with the square tower, then the triangular park, I wasn't conscious then of my legs tiring, or of my raised skirt hem, which must have shocked people of the neighborhood who watched as I sprinted by. I wasn't even conscious of the fact that this impetuous reaction might tell more than I wanted known about my activities of late. It didn't matter. All I wanted to know was whether I'd helped to seal the fate of a poor, mixed-up young man who thought he was friendless and had only one route of escape from torture I didn't understand and couldn't quite piece together. Along the way I was reminded of Tetzel's remark when I first met him. “It is very deep there,” he had said of the river, near the mill. “We used to say the river had no bottom.…”

Down four long blocks of King William Street, I finally reached East Guenther, and shortly after came to a halt. I saw many automobiles, including police cars, and Keith's delivery truck near the corner. Then I thought of the Cabots—I should have gone down Washington instead, to pass their house and see if they were up and about. Yet Washington ran out and the river curved and left it, making King William the most direct route.

There was much talking, and someone near me asked, “Did they ever get his hand open?” Finally, I was able to see between the spectators. The body was on a litter, covered end to end with a white cloth. The medical attendants were about to carry it off. I pushed my way through the crowd, still with only one aim—finding out if it was Nathan. I guess I would have lifted the cover myself, but suddenly Keith was in front, blocking my way. “Camille, what are you doing here?”

“Let go. I've got to see who it is.”

“Are you out of your mind? You don't want to see a dead body. Come on, get into the truck. I'll take you away from here. I can't understand your morbid—”

“Does anyone know who it is?”

“Yes. One of the neighbors identified him. His name is Emory Cabot. He lived up on—Camille, you're going to faint. Sit down on the ground.”

28

I crouched on the ground with my head down. I was vaguely aware of Keith telling someone, “She'll be all right, I think. Could someone go for a cool rag?” I was holding on to his forearms, strong as logs in a swift stream. My head was spinning.

I recovered before I let him know, and kept my head down to think. I had somehow to get back to the Cabot house to find out what happened. I had to get rid of Keith. I had to go to the bank. I had to contact Edwin. First I had to get rid of Keith. He wasn't about to leave me alone down here. I'd have to let him take me home. That was it. In his truck it wouldn't take much time. But the police would be at the Cabots' by now, probably, oh Lord, I would just have to tell Keith something.

“Keith, I'm all right, really,” I said, and rose. “Listen, I can't go back with you now. I'll explain later, all right? Just go on. Call the bank and say I'm ill this morning and will go in later. If Mr. Tetzel is there—oh—if he's there—just tell them I'll be in later.”

After many protests, I finally won, and sent him away, his expression doubtful and concerned. Poor Keith. Then I walked up to the corner of Washington and Beauregard. Cabot's pearl-gray Overland was still in the garage. The police were then knocking on the front door. I hurried toward them. “I know the Cabots,” I said, “Mrs. Cabot left on a trip yesterday, and I believe their lodger Mr. Hope is—away, too.”

One of the officers said, “We'll have to have a permit to go in there anyway even in a case of foul play like this one. Let's go on. Do you know where Mrs. Cabot can be reached?”

“She's in Corpus Christi in a hotel, I believe. You might check down at Mr. Cabot's office if anyone's there. They might know where she's staying. Otherwise you could just check the bigger resort hotels for her name.”

“Hey, a little police work, eh?” some officer said, smiling at me. Then they laughed and went off. I expected people to stay around the house through the day, and had no idea how I'd ever get in there. Yet within a few minutes they dispersed. Now the grapevine would take root and travel before others, curiosity roused, came by. No doubt the Stuttgarts would be around soon, yet she had the new baby so maybe they wouldn't after all.…

I walked around to the back of the house and waited till everyone had gone. Then I doubled back to the window where Edwin had once tacked recording machine wire. I didn't see any faces staring at me from the windows of other houses as I crept in. Apparently no one saw.

I heard Scoop's whimpering from the kitchen as soon as my feet touched the floor. He'd been left there all night, no doubt. Yet I couldn't deal with him yet. When I was standing in Electra's sitting room it occurred to me that it was odd how normal everything could seem. Her house plants were thriving as usual, her shawl thrown over the chair, the smell of Cabot's cigar lingering, magazines lying on the table by the door, a copy of the
Mexican Mining Journal
on top. I had moved too quickly to reason things out; otherwise I probably would have knocked on Nathan's door first, thinking him still in a heavy alcohol-induced sleep.

Yet I passed his rooms by and went carefully to the stairs. It seemed absurd to be so quiet, yet I hardly dared breathe for fear of making noise. On my way up I saw muddy footprints that preceded me like those of a host leading a guest to a chosen room. I checked two upstairs chambers before I finally found the right door, and pushed it timidly open. The first thing that caught my eye was the sight of blood spattered all over the wall behind the bed. “Foul play,” the officers had termed it. My God. I was biting my hand to fend off dizziness. I approached a little nearer. The bed was disheveled, and empty.

I looked around at the otherwise orderly room, left as though its occupants had a penchant for neatness. No clothing scattered about, or stockings on the floor, or shoes. Had Cabot brought a prostitute home with him, surely they wouldn't have taken care to put away their things before they got into bed. Yet if Electra had been with Cabot, where was she now?

I stole quietly again down the stairs, poor Scoop whimpering away hoarsely—he must have been at it for hours—and scratching at the kitchen door. I could not make sense out of anything at all. I knocked dumbly at Nathan's door for a long time before I fully realized he either wasn't in there or in too deep a sleep to be roused, or …

I saw only enough to tell me what I had to know. As the door opened his stockinged feet came into view, hanging freely around three feet above the floor. The chair I'd sat in the night before lay on its side close by. I shut the door without gazing farther up, and leaned against it to get my breath. Then I realized I had to look again, to see if Electra was in there. I gripped the knob and pulled it slowly open again. I still avoided looking up too far, afraid of the sight of Nathan's whole body, but went all around the periphery of the room twice. Nathan's bathroom door was open and I could see enough of its interior to know Electra wasn't there. Just before I pushed the hall door shut again I noticed tracks across the floor. I traced them to the corner, where Nathan's normally immaculate shoes stood together, caked with mud.