He listened attentively while I told him about the hamburger and the gardener, and then he exclaimed, “But that’s absurd. I give her five hundred dollars a month to run this house. I’ll talk to her.”
I mentioned her implication that he was mishandling my money and he simply laughed, but when I got around to the phone call from Nellie he was furious.
“I’ll fire her right now, the b — I’m sorry, Aunt Tess, but—” He stood up and then sat down again. “No, it would be better to send her a letter from the office, enclosing a final check. I suppose she’s overhearing all this,” he added, glancing at the open door, “but no matter. In the meantime, I’ll check on that other woman who applied for the position as housekeeper. She sounded pretty good to me.”
“I’ll go by your recommendation this time,” I said meekly. “But I never thought that a sister of mine—”
“She has a small mind, thinks of nothing but money, a... a hamburger mind, you might say. Because she’s a penny-pincher and a cheat herself, she thinks everyone else is, too. But enough of that. I brought those pictures of the grandchildren with me today,” he said, pulling some snapshots out of his pocket.
They were darlings, those two little boys. We had a nice talk about the family and Tom. Harold is practically the only one I can talk to about Tom these days.
Finally he looked at his watch and rose. It was getting close to five and there were shadows coming into the corners. He picked up the ashtray and took it into the bathroom to empty it. When he came out he left the mirrored door ajar.
“Much as I’ve enjoyed this, Aunt Tess, I have to leave. Have to go home and dress for a charity dinner.”
“You do too much of that civic work. You should take it easier,” I said, handing him his hat.
“I know, I know. Next year I’m going to take it easier, say no to some of these jobs. In the meantime, though, I have to finish what I started.” He bent over and kissed my cheek. “See you next Thursday. First thing tomorrow morning I’ll attend to her,” he added, jerking his head in the direction of Rhoda’s bedroom.
He walked out, and I lay back in my chair and shut my eyes. Visitors do tire me, much as I enjoy them. I wasn’t even up to walking over to shut the bathroom door, although I’m usually pretty particular about such things. Then I heard the door of Rhoda’s room open — you can’t fool me about any of the sounds of this house, I’ve lived here too long — but I heard no footsteps, which was odd because she walks loudly, on her heels. I opened my eyes and looked into the mirror on the bathroom door, which reflected the hall. She was tiptoeing toward the stairs. I sat up then and watched. What was she up to now?
Harold had stopped at the top of the staircase and taken out a cigar and the little gold cutter, and then suddenly Rhoda was behind him, pushing at his back with all her strength. His arms flew up, the briefcase dropping and the cigar flying through the air, and he fell. The sound of his scream and the thumping of his body down those stairs will stay in my ears forever. I heard the kitchen door open and Maria come running, screaming too. Then and only then, did Rhoda scream and rush down the stairs.
I got up, took my cane and went out into the hall and looked down. The two women were standing over Harold, and I could see from where I was that his neck was twisted peculiarly, and I knew he was dead. For a moment my heart seemed to stop beating. Then I heard Rhoda go to the phone and begin dialing. I moved closer and peeked over the balustrade. She was directly below me.
“Dr. Stanhope,” she was saying, “Harold MacDonald fell down the steps here at the house. I think he’s dead. Will you come at once? Oh, I’m going to call the police, but it’s Tess I’m worried about. You see, Harold didn’t slip. Tess — well, poor thing, I guess she didn’t know what she was doing. She gave him — I hate to say this — she pushed him.”
It was as though someone had thrown ice water in my face. She was blaming me! For a second or two I could hardly think. I took a step forward and felt something under my foot. Absently, I reached down and picked it up. It was the tip of Harold’s cigar. I stood there, holding the thing, and listened to her rattle on.
“Oh, I wasn’t anywhere near or I’d have stopped her. I was just opening the door of my room. You’d better be prepared to take care of her. She’s dangerous, out of her mind.”
Oh, it was all very clear then. With Harold out of the way and me certified as a dangerous lunatic, Rhoda would get herself appointed my guardian and she’d have the money and the house all to herself. This was what she’d been aiming at all these months. I tried to think. I would have to fight, but what was there to fight with? Maria would be on my side, but she hadn’t seen it happen. Besides, her testimony would be disregarded because she was uneducated. Dr. Stanhope would be on my side too, probably, but he only saw me about once a month, and by the time Rhoda had further exaggerated the odd spells I had and had given a graphic description of what she had “seen,” I’d be a dead duck. Maybe there were medical tests, but I didn’t know, and I couldn’t wait for that. I had to do something now. Then suddenly I had an idea — not a very good one, perhaps, but something.
Rhoda was still on the phone, talking to the police this time. I leaned over the balcony and dropped the cigar end down. As I’d hoped, it landed on top of her hair. She didn’t seem to notice it, thank goodness. I tiptoed back into my room and lay down on the bed. I didn’t weep — I had used up all my tears when Tom died — but there was a vast hurt inside me, and a terrible fear.
Maria came rushing up the stairs. “Oh, señora,” she cried, gathering me into her arms and rocking me a little, as one comforts a sick child. “I hear her. And I know it is not true. You do not kill him! Nunca!”
“I know, and we’ll prove it somehow, Maria,” I said, heartened by her love. “There, there’s the doorbell. That will be the doctor. And I hear sirens.”
I lay up there waiting. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but no doubt Rhoda was giving a full account. Then I heard them coming up the stairs. I got up off the bed and stood, leaning on my cane.
Dr. Stanhope came to my side, anger and sympathy commingled in his expression. He took my pulse, looked at me sharply, and demanded, “Are you all right, Tess?”
I nodded and he said bluntly, “Tess, Rhoda says you pushed Harold down the stairs. Is that true?”
I was equally blunt. “She’s lying. She did it herself. Crept up behind him and pushed. That mirror was just that way — I was sitting in that chair and I could see the hall and the top of the steps. I watched her do it.”
The chief of police, Oliver Smith, looked doubtful. Rhoda belonged to his church and no doubt he was aware of her little insinuations about my sanity. Finally he said, “Perhaps we’d better call Rhoda up here.”
She came up and sat herself down in the chair farthest away from me, trying to look afraid.
I said coldly, “Don’t make such a play of being afraid of me, Rhoda. I won’t hurt you even though you’ve lied about me.”
She straightened up. “You did it. I saw you with my own eyes. I’ve been afraid of you for a long time. You’re nuts. A lot of old people get that way.”
I turned to the chief. “I’ll tell you what happened this afternoon.” I went through what I’d told Harold about the hamburger and the gardener, and Maria suddenly interrupted, “She no pay me what the señora did. I only stay because I love the señora and I am afraid of what this malcriada do to her.”
“Rhoda probably overheard what we said. The door was open,” I went on. “And I told Harold that I had had a phone call from Nellie Blair yesterday morning, and she told me that Rhoda was intimating that I was losing my mind.”