Allison cringed, remembering Dodie’s wounded cry. It had been followed by the slam of the screen door, then footsteps pounding across the porch and down the steps. The car door slammed and the engine roared to life. Gravel spurted as Dodie took off into the darkness.
Only Dodie knew whether the smashup truly was an accident. Perhaps she had simply tried to numb the pain with speed — but she had been twenty-one and she never walked again.
The policeman cleared his throat. “Miss Ryder?”
“Yes?”
“I hope you’ll excuse me for asking you so much about your friends and neighbors, but you see... well, it’s all going to come out eventually, and I’m sure you’ll be discreet. There are only three possibilities to account for Mrs. Patrick’s death. Crippled as she was, she had no access to the supply of sleeping pills. They were kept in the bathroom and her husband gave them to her whenever she needed them. It may be that she hoarded her pills, hiding them from her husband somehow, until she had enough for a lethal dose, and took them herself. Or it could be that Mr. Patrick was careless — criminally careless — and she received an accidental overdose. Or...” and he paused, while Allison’s eyes searched his. “Well, you realize, we must consider the, uh, possibility that... perhaps the overdose wasn’t accidental. Mr. Patrick wouldn’t be the first man burdened by a crippled wife who took the wrong way out.”
“Captain Barkley,” Allison said. “There was no reason in the world for Dodie to kill herself. What does Frank say happened?”
“He insists she must have taken them herself. According to him she suffered a great deal of pain. He claims she must have saved up the sleeping pills, which rules out any chance of an accident. This is why I wanted to talk to you. You were very close to Mrs. Patrick. Was she in much pain?”
Allison’s fingers unconsciously pleated the plum-colored fabric of the dress over her lap. Her head went a little higher, and an imperious generation spoke through her.
“I have already told you, there was no reason in the world for Dodie to kill herself. To my certain knowledge she was seldom, if ever, in pain. In fact, I can give you the names of three or four ladies who could confirm that fact, out of Dodie’s own mouth. We’d often gather on the Patricks’ front porch in the afternoon, so Dodie could be part of the group, and not a week ago we were discussing that case in the papers — you remember, the man who shot his wife because she was dying of cancer? Dodie was most upset. She was a dreadfully sympathetic child. She was torn between her distress at his immoral action and her sympathy with his concern for his wife’s suffering. ‘Perhaps I might judge differently,’ she said, ‘if I were in pain myself. I’m one of the fortunates, suffering only from the handicap. But even if I were in pain, I don’t believe that anyone but God has a right to take a life.’ The other ladies will bear me out on this, captain.”
Yes, she said to herself, we were discussing the case. Maybe nobody else noticed, it was so skillfully done, but Dodie herself was the one who maneuvered the conversation around to mercy killing. I didn’t know then, Dodie, but I can see now what you were doing.
“Mrs. Patrick said herself that she was in no pain? Ever?”
“At the time of the accident, and for several months afterward, yes, she did have pain. But not recently. I never once heard her complain.”
There now, Allison, she realized, you did tell a lie; you can’t wiggle out of that one. The same night as that get-together you told him about, remember? — and Sunday night — and last night...
The scene had been the same all three nights, and the script had followed the same lines. Allison had been in her comfortable corner on the porch, Snowball’s faint purrs pulsing against her caressing hand, the creaking wicker of the lounge cool against her bare arms. That first night it had rained earlier, breaking the heat, and the lilac leaves had whispered wetly to each other in the dark. Gentle dripping from the eaves seemed to deepen the quiet, rather than break it. Dodie’s blind had been pulled down only to the level of the raised window. The muted voices were carried across to her by the force of their intensity.
“Please, Frank! Please!” Never had Allison heard such pleading in Dodie’s voice.
“I’ve told you, I just can’t,” he’d said. “If the pain’s so bad, let me get a shot for you, or something. But you don’t know what you’re talking about, wanting to kill yourself.”
“What good am I to anybody like this? And the pain — I just can’t stand it any more.” Her voice had risen with a startling anguish.
Allison, listening in spite of herself, had held herself tense, wondering. Just that afternoon Dodie had denied pain, yet now... Hot tears had welled in Allison’s eyes as she listened to the tortured voice.
If she hadn’t hated Frank so much for what he had done to Dodie, she might have been able to pity him as his voice broke with indecision. “Dodie,
I can’t do it! Don’t ask me to. Even if you’re ready to die, think of the position you’d put me in. They’d say I killed you. Think of me, Dodie! They’d give me the chair!”
The argument had gone on. Three different nights Dodie had hammered away. Then last night, while Allison, hypnotized, watched the shadows shifting on the drawn blind, Dodie had played out her drama. She had won. Frank gave her the pills.
Allison had no longer felt the heat of the night. Chilled with horror, she had fought her own battle. Her throat had throbbed with a scream to that silent window. She couldn’t let Dodie do this! But a thin hand to her lips cut off that scream before it sounded. What right did she have to interfere? Dodie must hate with an unsuspected fury to die for her revenge. She wouldn’t thank Allison for stopping her now.
Allison had sat quietly. Soon the Patricks’ light went out. Only then did she rise stiffly and plod to her bedroom, where no one could hear her poorly stifled sobs.
The white cat had followed her to the bedroom. One soft, easy leap settled him beside the tired, sorrowing old lady. Allison remembered the day Dodie had brought him to her.
“Frank says he’s allergic to cats, Miss Ryder. He won’t have one in the house. But he’s such a darling!” The vibrant face had gone quiet as she crooned over the kitten. “Snowball’d be a good name, don’t you think? If you kept him, I could see him often. I could help groom him, and things. It wouldn’t hurt so much if I knew you had him.”
So Allison had kept Snowball, but Dodie had never visited him in his new home. The accident came only days later. That’s what Allison resolutely called it, although she was very much afraid it was something else. Through those harrowing days the kitten grew, and comforted Allison. He was full-grown by the time Dodie left the hospital.
Please come home, Snowball, Allison begged in her heart, forgetful of the waiting policeman. I need you so. There’s not much left for an old lady. I had Dodie and I had you. Now Dodie’s gone. Snowball, don’t you know how much I need you?
A tear that couldn’t be restrained by a lifetime of self-discipline slipped down the wrinkled, gray cheek.
Captain Barkley, tactfully clearing his throat again, brought Allison back to the present. This policeman and his questions! Allison was weary. Please, no more decisions...
Barkley hoisted himself out of the deep leather chair. “Well, Miss Ryder, I think you’ve told us what we need to know. One thing — when you get the chance, could you just write down the names of those other ladies you mentioned, who heard Mrs. Patrick say she suffered no pain? I won’t trouble you now. I’ll send a man by later today for it.”