“Well, then,” Mrs. Lord said, “there’s the matter of the disappearing body. Bodies don’t disappear on their own. I tell you, when I heard that on the morning news, I nearly passed right out. I nearly did. Can you imagine something like that in Mattatuck? Really. And I was thinking. It had to be at least two people involved, don’t you think? I mean, a single person couldn’t carry a dead weight like that out of the basement of Feldman’s without being seen by somebody. I’m surprised the two of them weren’t seen by somebody. Feldman’s is a busy place. Oh, no, dear. I’m sure there’s nothing like suicide involved in this thing. I’m sure it was murder, and the police know it. You just have to ask yourself who you know who’s likely to do a thing like that.”
Darvelle didn’t have to ask herself who was likely to do a thing like that. She could think of a dozen people she’d be perfectly willing to murder herself, starting with Mrs. Lord. She sat behind the wheel and counted to ten in her head. She wished the muscles in her arms and back didn’t feel as if they had all the plasticity of petrified wood. Then she popped the driver’s side door and got out onto the driveway.
“It’s an excellent value in a house,” she said firmly. “And they aren’t building split-levels anymore, so this is a very rare chance to get something in a style I know you like. And unlike most split-levels, this is especially large, over three thousand square feet, so you’ll have more than enough room for anything you want to do. And it’s designed for entertaining, with an L-shaped living-dining room space that allows a free flow of traffic for really large groups of people. Think of your annual Christmas party, the one you were telling me about—”
Mrs. Lord stepped out of the car and looked around, but Darvelle didn’t see her. She was looking at the end of the driveway. That was Charlene Morton standing there. Yes, of course, Charlene lived across the street, but Darvelle hadn’t expected her to actually show up. Or even to know that Darvelle was there.
On the other hand, she should have expected it. Charlene always knew where she was and what she was doing. It had been that way for twelve years. Charlene had known the house Darvelle was buying before she bought it. Charlene had known every car Darvelle bought before she bought it. Darvelle sometimes thought Charlene lived inside her head.
Mrs. Lord looked at the end of the driveway and brightened up. “Oh, that’s Mrs. Morton, isn’t it? Does she live around here? I mean, I knew she lived in Mattatuck, of course, that’s been on the news, but I never realized she was right in the neighborhood. Oh, the poor thing! Look how distraught she is!”
Distraught my ass, Darvelle thought. She slammed the car door shut and turned her back on Charlene, as if Charlene weren’t really there, as if she was one of those hallucinations from the Beautiful Mind movie.
“The foyer,” she said firmly, “is really entirely unlike anything else I’ve shown you so far. It’s one of those custom touches I was talking about. It’s got a cathedral effect, and skylights. You feel like you’re walking into a palace instead of a split-level.”
“I’m not going to let you get away with it,” Charlene said.
Charlene wasn’t shouting, but it sounded like a shout. Maybe the street was unusually quite. It was a very quiet day. There was no traffic. Of course, there wouldn’t be a lot of traffic on a residential street in Sherwood Forest. She started up the cobblestone walk to the front door.
“Look at this walk,” she told Mrs. Lord, just as if Mrs. Lord was following her. “I really like the cobblestone effect, don’t you? A lot of care and planning was put into this house.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Lord said, “aren’t you going to—”
“I’m not going to let you get away with it,” Charlene said again. “Do you think you can just walk off and pretend you don’t hear me? You hear me. I don’t know what you did with my son’s body, but I’m going to find out. I’m going to find out how you murdered him, too. Don’t think you’re going to get away with it.”
Darvelle could feel the strength of whatever it was that maintained her self control snapping inside her, like ropes tying down a beast whose wildness was beyond their capacity. Her brain felt as if it were pulsing inside her skull, hard enough to crack the bone. She wheeled around and looked Charlene in the face. Then she marched to the end of the drive and forced Charlene into the street.
“For God’s sake!” she said. She was screeching. She could hear herself. “For God’s sake, Charlene, I didn’t murder him. Nobody murdered him. He ran away from here to get away from you and he stayed away for twelve years. And when he came back, when he got home, well, then what, Charlene? Then he killed himself rather than get stuck with you again. And I don’t blame him. I don’t blame him. If you were my mother, I’d have murdered myself at birth.”