The Dark House (32 page)

“What?” Rollins asked.

“Might harm herself. She bore so much guilt, don't you see? She could be—so
black
. Oh, it was so terrible, thinking these things.”

“What did you find?”

Another long pause. “Her bed was still made, as if she hadn't slept in it. Everything was in its place. From what I could tell, only her raincoat and a pair of boots were missing. It seemed she'd gone out in the rain the night before, and not come back.” She started to cough again. Marj reached quickly for the water glass and handed it to her. Elizabeth took a sip and went on: “I went out searching for her, calling her name. I went out into the woods. I checked the pond. I didn't know what I'd find. She'd been so unhappy those last months…. Finally, I went out onto the road. I was the one to find her footprints. I saw where the trail ended. That's when I called the police.”

“Who took her, do you know?” Rollins asked.

Elizabeth took several breaths, then fastened her eyes on Rollins'. “I thought you might know.”

Behind him, Marj reached for his shoulder.

“Me? How could
I
know?” Rollins asked.

Elizabeth's gimlet eyes pierced him, but she said nothing.

The nurse came into the room again. “I'm sorry. It's time, Elizabeth. You need to rest now.”

“Just a moment, please,” Rollins implored her.

The nurse looked at Elizabeth, who nodded. The nurse bowed her head. “Two minutes. No more.”

“Those faxes,” Elizabeth whispered. “They did their work.”

“What do you mean?” Rollins demanded.

“I need to give you something—something that fills in a part of the mystery that was Cornelia.” Elizabeth shifted in the bed and turned to Marj. “Do you see my shoes there?”

Rollins watched as Marj's eyes found a pair of black shoes on the floor by the bureau.

“Reach into the left one for me, would you?”

Marj bent down to the shoe and pulled out an envelope that had been curled up inside. “This?” she asked, holding up the envelope.

Elizabeth nodded, and Marj passed it to her. Elizabeth held the envelope in her hand. “This will explain—a part of her. This is why I wanted you to come. This is also why I wasn't sure I dared. But I think it's safe now.” She handed the envelope to Rollins. He pressed it down on the side of the bed, and smoothed it out with his palm. The envelope said
Rollins
in blue ink. It was the same handwriting as the original note with the fax number.

“I found it in a book of poems I'd given to Cornelia. John Donne. ‘A Valediction Forbidding Mourning' was always one of her favorites. Do you know it?”

She recited, quietly, as if singing to herself: “‘Dull sublunary lovers love/ (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit/ Absence…'” She stopped, wiped away a tear with a finger. “Ever since Cornelia left, I've thought of those lines again and again and again. I meant for her to keep the book, but she returned it to me one night after an argument. I put it in the bookcase and didn't look at again until a few months ago, when I was sorting out my things before coming here. Cornelia had left a poem in it. Just a little scrap. From the date, she must have written it just before she left us.”

Rollins started to open the envelope, but Elizabeth stopped him. “Please, not now. Keep it for later. We don't have time for that. You'll want to have some time to yourself, to reflect.”

Reluctantly, Rollins slid the envelope into his pocket.

“But listen. There is something I'd like you to do for me in return. I've been thinking about Cornelia's poem while I've been lying here. It reminded me—we buried some things of hers in her garden, years ago. They're in a strongbox. I need you to bring it to me.”

“But the house has been sold.”

“Sold?” A look of astonishment came over her face. “But—her will! That house was to come to me. She promised it to me. It couldn't have
gone to—not without—” She coughed, a terrible wracking cough. Rollins quickly brought some water to her lips, and she sipped a little. “No matter. There's no time for that. I'll never live there now anyway. Dig up the box, would you? I can't get there, can't dig—but you can. The box will still be there. You'll find it.”

“But where?”

“It's in with the peonies in the far right-hand corner of the garden. You understand?” She reached for his hand, held it. “The peonies.”

Rollins nodded.

“But you'll have to dig deep.”

“What's in it?”

“Something very personal. She wouldn't let me see. This was years ago. She'd been—troubled. Very troubled. Sleeping badly. Cross. Then one night she called and said she wanted to ‘bury her past.' Her words. When I arrived, she was holding a strongbox of her grandfather's, a battered old thing with his initials on it.” She stopped to catch her breath, loosened her grip on his hand. “It was dark out, but she had a candle and we made a kind of procession down to the garden. Silly, I suppose. But Cornelia took it very seriously. She could be very melodramatic. I did the digging. Cornelia was always hopeless with a shovel. It was like a funeral.”

“And that's in the poem?” Rollins asked.

“Obliquely, yes,” Elizabeth said. “That…and other things. But please—bring me the strongbox. I want to see it before I die.”

“I will.” Rollins got up to go. Clearly, it was time. It was past time. “Thank you for trusting me.” He touched her hand lightly.

“God provides,” Elizabeth said.

“He has for you,” Marj added.

Elizabeth looked puzzled for a moment. “Not financially.” She smiled wanly. “Cornelia was never wealthy. All she had was that house, and it's gone now.”

“Oh, but that was then,” Rollins added. He told her about Cornelia's grandmother's bequest. “There could be ten million in her estate now.”

Elizabeth looked startled. “That's quite a sum,” she said finally.

“I assume you've made some provision for it,” Rollins said delicately.

Elizabeth seemed quite agitated now. “Why—why yes. I finalized everything just a few days ago. Notaries, lawyers. This form, that form. I couldn't think why there'd be such a fuss about a tiny little estate. No one told me anything had changed. She was gone—how could it have? My heavens—I had no idea there was so much—”

Elizabeth's eyes turned from Rollins toward the door past the foot of the bed. Rollins was expecting the nurse, but a man was there. Even before he could tell who it was, Rollins felt a chill of fear. It was like hitting a film of ice on the highway. He'd lost traction. He was adrift, vulnerable. He prepared for impact.

“So much what?” the man asked. It was Jerry Sloane. He was smaller than Rollins remembered, somewhat slimmer, almost wiry, as if his body had been honed for action. It was stunning to see him here. And so breezily here, as if he'd been here before and belonged here now. Sloane had his salesman's cheery bonhomie, radiating happiness to be in the presence of the two people whose lives he had so unaccountably upended. Yet there was something about Sloane's very comfort here that kept Rollins from saying anything about him to Elizabeth. Seeing the two of them together, Rollins suddenly feared that Sloane's alliance with Elizabeth might run deeper than his own.

“So much money,” Elizabeth said finally, with some hesitation. “I had no idea that Cornelia had come into another inheritance. You didn't tell me that.”

“Didn't I?” Sloane replied innocently. “I thought I had.” Then, as to a child: “You've been under so much stress, my dear. It can affect your memory.” He brightened as he took in Rollins and Marj. “Well, look who we have here. Hello again.” He reached out a hand to Rollins, who was too startled to do anything but shake it. The hand did not feel human.

“And, Marj, isn't that the name?” He reached a hand toward her, but she didn't take it.

“As if you don't know.”

“You all—you all know each other?” Elizabeth asked, sinking deeper into her pillows.

“You know how it is in real estate,” Sloane said cheerfully. He came closer to her as if to reclaim her from the two strangers by her bedside.

Elizabeth recoiled from him. “Here for your money, are you, Jerry?” She practically spat out the words. “So that's why you've come around, acting so sweet, so attentive. I can't believe I fell for it. Ten million—is that what I'm worth to you? Is that it?”

“Please, Lizzie. Don't talk like that. The money has nothing to do with it. You know I've always cared about you.”

“You—!” Elizabeth's eyes flared. She gasped, then coughed—a terrible wracking cough as if she were trying to expel something that was lodged deep within her. Her face turned nearly purple, and the veins bulged out all over.

The nurse rushed in. “She needs air,” she shouted. She wheeled the oxygen tank over to the bed, turned a knob, and clapped an oxygen mask over her face. “Okay, now breathe, Elizabeth. Easy now. In and out.” Elizabeth relaxed back into the pillows. “Doctor!” the nurse shouted.

The ponytailed nurse rushed in, trailed by a bearded doctor in a white coat. “You'll have to leave now,” Daryl announced, reaching for Rollins and Marj with his hands. “Out, out. Both of you.”

Rollins stepped out to the corridor, followed quickly by Marj. They turned back toward the room only to see the door shut with Sloane still inside. The bald-headed woman came up, apparently drawn by all the commotion.

“That man who went in there with Elizabeth—” Rollins began.

“Jerry?”

Rollins nodded.

“He's over here all the time. I figured they were lovers. But Lizzie never said. Nice guy. Seems devoted to her.” She looked downcast. “I don't know what he'll do without her.”

“He'll manage very well,” Marj said.

The bald-headed woman gave Marj a strange look, then went on down the hall. Rollins and Marj were about to follow her to the exit
when the door opened again, and Jerry Sloane emerged and closed the door behind him. He came up to Rollins and Marj, then ushered them a ways down the hall, presumably to get well clear of Elizabeth's door.

“Listen to me, Rollins,” Sloane began quietly. “I'm only going to say this once.”

“So you do know my name,” Rollins said. He'd called himself Harris at their only previous meeting.

Sloane ignored that. “Back off. You got that? You're playing with fire here.” He turned toward Marj. “And you, too, sweetheart.”

“So you get the money,” Rollins said.

Sloane raised his voice. “I'm
warning
you—back
off
. Just walk down that hall there and never come back. That's my advice to you.”

“I'm going to fight you, Jerry. You're not going to get a penny.”

“You—fight me? You? That's good. I know all about you.”

Rollins did not back down. “Oh? And what do you know?”

For the first time, Sloane seemed uneasy. “I don't think I should tell you this in front of your girlfriend there.”

“Go ahead,” Marj said.

“Yeah?” Sloane moved right into Rollins' face. “You're nothing but a fucked-up little prick who doesn't know shit.”

With that, Rollins' right fist flew out and struck Sloane in the soft part just below his rib cage. His midsection gave like a pillow where the blow landed. Sloane produced a terrible gargling sound and doubled over.

Marj grabbed Rollins by the shoulders. “I think we better go.”

Sloane was still hunched way over, his arms around himself, gasping for breath. “You asshole,” he managed to rasp out.

“Nice talking to you, Jerry,” Marj told him. The two of them hurried out into the hall. A few other patients, some just in bathrobes and slippers, were headed slowly toward Lizzie's room, obviously drawn by the strange sounds. Rollins and Marj picked their way past them, then made it down the hall to the stairs. An elderly priest was just coming up the stairs. “You have a nice day now,” he told them as they went past.

Rollins and Marj had made it to the front hall when Schecter suddenly burst in the door. “Oh, good. You're there,” he yelled, seeing
Rollins and Marj. “Don't come out this way. Jeffries is out there.” Schecter turned to the nun at the front desk, who was gaping at him in terror. “Where's the back exit?”

“Through there.” The nun pointed at the double doors she'd forbidden Marj to pass through. “Down to the right.”

Schecter gave Rollins a shove. “Go! Now!” Then he pushed Marj that way, too. “Both of you! Quick!”

“What's going on?” the nun cried out.

“Lock the front door, would you please? Don't let anyone in! You got that, Sister? No one!” Schecter led Rollins and Marj through the double doors and down the hall, past a nurses' station and an administration area. Various professionals looked up at them in astonishment. The last room was a small kitchen, where an older woman held a teakettle in her hand. “Where's the rear exit?” Schecter demanded.

The woman pointed to the hallway, where some mops were leaned up against the wall. “Through there.”

Schecter charged past, and Rollins and Marj hurried after. Schecter turned the bolt to open the door. He stepped outside, then gestured for them to follow. The back door led into a narrow alley between fenced yards. Around them, a few dogs started to howl. Once they'd gotten clear, Schecter had them duck down by some trash cans along one high concrete wall, hiding them from the hospice while he figured out their next move.

Over their heads, Rollins could hear a window slide open. Then a voice boomed: “You out there, Rollins? I'm going to get you, and the girl, too. You'll pay for this. I'm going to get you!” It was Sloane.

“What a fucking dope,” Schecter muttered. “I've got to teach that guy the facts of life.”