Part 32 (2/2)
”Just the truth. It doesn't matter what I want, or anybody else. Just tell me what you remember.”
”I'll try.”
”Did you hear the gun go off?”
”I heard it.” She screwed up her face as if she was hearing it now. ”I am--it frightened me.”
”Did you see anyone?”
”I didn't go downstairs right away. I was scared.”
”Did you see anyone out the window?”
”No. I heard a car drive away. Before that I heard her running.”
”You heard _who_ running?” Jerry said.
”I thought it was Aunt Alice at first, when she was talking to Mommy at the door. But it couldn't have been Aunt Alice. She wouldn't shoot Mommy. Besides, her gun was missing.”
”How do you know?”
”She said I took it from her room. She spanked me with a hairbrush for stealing it.”
”When did she spank you?”
”Sunday night, when she came home from church. Mommy said she had no right to spank me. Aunt Alice asked Mommy if _she_ took the gun.”
”Did she?”
”She didn't say--not while I was there. They sent me to bed.”
”_Did_ you take the gun?”
”No. I never touched it. I was afraid of it.”
”Why?”
”I was afraid of Aunt Alice.”
She was rosy and sweating. She tried to struggle up onto her elbows. The doctor eased her back into her supine position, and made an adjustment to the needle. The girl relaxed again, and Jerry said: ”Was it Aunt Alice talking to your Mommy at the door?”
”I thought it was at first. It sounded like her. She had a big scary voice. But it couldn't have been Aunt Alice.”
”Why couldn't it?”
”It just couldn't.”
She turned her head in a listening att.i.tude. A lock of hair fell over her half-closed eyes. Alex pushed it back with a gentle hand. She said: ”The lady at the door said it had to be true, about Mommy and Mr. Bradshaw. She said she got it from Daddy's own lips, and Daddy got it from me. And then she shot my Mommy and ran away.”
There was silence in the room, except for the girl's heavy breathing. A tear as slow as honey was exuded from the corner of one eye. It fell down her temple. Alex wiped the blueveined hollow with his handkerchief. Jerry leaned across her from the other side of the table: ”Why did you say your Daddy shot your Mommy?”
”Aunt Alice wanted me to. She didn't say so, but I could tell. And I was afraid she'd think that I did it. She spanked me for taking the gun, and I _didn't_ take it. I said it was Daddy. She made me say it over and over and over.”
There were more tears than one now. Tears for the child she had been, frightened and lying, and tears for the woman she was painfully becoming. Alex wiped her eyes. He looked close to tears himself.
”Why,” I said, ”did you try to tell us that you killed your mother?”
”Who are you?”
”I'm Alex's friend Lew Archer.”
”That's right,” Alex said.
She lifted her head and let it fall back. ”I forget what you asked me.”
”Why did you say you killed your mother?”
”Because it was all my fault. I told my Daddy about her and Mr. Bradshaw, and that's what started everything.”
”How do you know?”
”The lady at the door said so. She came to shoot Mommy because of what Daddy told her.”
”Do you know who she was?”
”No.”
”Was it your Aunt Alice?”
”No.”
”Was it anyone you knew?”
”No.”
”Did your mother know her?”
”I don't know. Maybe she did.”
”Did she talk as if she knew her?”
”She called her by name.”
”What name?”
”Tish. She called her Tish. I could tell Mommy didn't like her, though. She was afraid of her, too.”
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