“There won’t have to be a divorce,” Paula said. “We haven’t — that is, we haven’t...”
“No, we haven’t, have we? Lack of opportunity? Or lack of female hormones?”
“Don’t be vulgar.”
“Yes, it’s a vulgar subject. Mamma taught you all about it, sure. All Men Are Beasts, that sort of thing. And besides, think what you’d be giving up if you stayed with me. What’s your allowance, two hundred a month? Well, in three weeks I’ll be in the army and my allowance will be about one-quarter of that.”
Paula turned her face away.
“So looking at it from every angle,” Chad continued, “you’re a wise, wise girl. I’m the dumb bunny. I looked at it from just one angle — I loved you and I was going away.”
“I can’t stand it,” Paula said in a low voice.
“What can’t you stand?”
“Your going away.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Chad said, in exasperation. “You can’t stand me and you can’t stand my going away. Make up your mind. Just give me a clue. That’s all I ask, one single clue to the maze that passes for your mind.”
Paula held her head high. “You needn’t insult my mind. There’s nothing the matter with my mind, but I can’t help thinking of alternatives. I mean, I’m like Hamlet.”
“So you’re like Hamlet. I’m glad you put it like that. It clears the air nicely. All is now explained. All right, go ahead with the divorce, annulment, or whatever you want. I’ve had the shortest marriage in history, anyway, and that’s something.”
Paula looked at him, tearful and angry.
“You aren’t being fair to me. I didn’t want to run off like this and get married. I wanted to make Mother see...”
“You tried that before. Twice. Don’t you ever catch on? She doesn’t object to me personally. It’s all men, all the men who might take her little Paula away from her. No, Paula. You’re stuck. You’re glued to her for the rest of your life. You’re the virgin sacrifice on Mamma’s altar.”
“Why, you’re mad! Mother is one of the most charming, civilized, cultured people in the world!”
“What’s the use of talking?” Chad said quietly. “There’s only one word for your mother and you know what it is.”
He went out and she could hear him going upstairs, not stamping up as he had before, but quietly as if he’d made his decision and was calm about it.
Paula remained in the chair. Her face felt stiff and her throat ached because she wanted to cry and didn’t know how. It was one of the things her mother had taught her, not to cry, to be self-controlled and poised. If you didn’t lose your temper you had the upper hand...
Who wants the upper hand? Paula thought desperately. I’d rather cry and scream, I don’t want to be frozen like this!
She called “Chad!” but he didn’t hear her, or if he did he paid no attention.
She thought, he may be right about everything else, about me, too, but not about Mother. She’s the nicest person in the world. Even Father admits that.
Every year on her birthday Paula received a check and some phrase like, “Your mother is a remarkable woman.” Paula remembered her father as a thin, gently ironic man.
She wondered suddenly if the remarks about her mother had been ironic. All these years he may have been throwing out hints, Paula thought. No, that’s impossible. Mother is a remarkable woman. She’s understanding, and calm and detached...
And cold, she thought suddenly. She’s cold. She’s detached because she doesn’t get emotionally involved, and calm because nothing touches her. Not even me, or my happiness — or Father...
Joyce came back into the room. “I’ve been crowded out of the kitchen,” she said. “Where’s Chad?”
“How should I know?” Paula said distantly.
“I’m willing to bet you do,” Joyce said, smiling. “You’re terribly transparent. I wanted to see what you’d do if I snuck up to Chad, and you burned.”
“Really?”
“Positively burned. I’m majoring in psychology and I’m always making little experiments on the side.”
“It’s too bad your father doesn’t make a little experiment on your backside,” Paula said.
“Oh, Poppa — he’s a mediocrity. He’s one of these timid people, too timid to enjoy life, afraid to take a chance. Something like you.”
Afraid to take a chance. Paula repeated the words silently.
“That’s why I know he didn’t commit these murders,” Joyce said in a detached voice as if she were talking about a species of beetle. “I’m using psychology, of course, to find out who did.”
“Oh?” Paula said.
“So far, no luck. Though as far as psychology goes, I’m the best bet in the group.”
“Oh?”
“Of course. I am both passionate and controlled, ideal type for murderers who murder for good sensible reasons like money. Am I boring you?”
“Hardly,” Paula said. “After all, I’ve never talked to an ideal murderer’s type before, let alone a mere murderer.”
“Well, you must have talked to a murderer,” Joyce said sensibly. “But it’s terribly hard to figure out who’s it. If we only knew the reason why Floraine was murdered we could make some eliminations. I think there are quite a few in the group who are capable of murder but for different reasons.”
“Even me?” Paula said.
“Of course. But you’d have to have an emotional reason — like protecting your child or something. But you haven’t any child, so I think I’ll eliminate you.”
“Thank you.”
“Mr. Crawford might murder someone just for fun and games. He’s the exalted type, nothing fazes him. Maudie Thropple might murder for revenge. She’s vindictive and not sure of herself. Both Mr. Goodwin and Gracie Morning might commit murder for money.”
“Mr. Goodwin?” Paula said, smiling. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, look what he’s going through already for money! I think tagging along behind Mrs. Vista would be harder than taking a chance on the gallows. As for Mrs. Vista, I find her in a way the most puzzling of the lot. I think she might kill someone and yet could convince herself afterwards that she hadn’t done it at all. She and Mr. Crawford would be the dangerous types. And Chad — well, Chad takes everything out in talking and he’d probably talk someone to death.”
“Indeed?” Paula said coldly. “And Miss Seton?”
“I don’t believe Miss Seton would murder anyone, not at her present stage of development. Her conflict is a sexual one — she is seeking a mate. I think she has her eye on Poppa, but of course I can’t allow that.”
“Can’t you?” Isobel said from the doorway. She came into the room, her eyebrows raised in Joyce’s direction.
Joyce was not at all embarrassed. She said coolly, “All women of your age are unconsciously seeking mates.”
“That’s very nice to know,” Isobel said. “I’ll have to watch myself, won’t I?”
“Oh, no,” Joyce said. “Let yourself go, of course. But not in Poppa’s direction.”
“I have never looked at your father with anything but kindly and tolerant amusement.”
“Well, a lot of women do start out like that and then work up. I took a course in H. L. Mencken.” Joyce smiled benignly at the two women. “I hope I’ve cleared up a few things.”
“You smug, officious child,” Isobel said.
“My professors say I’m very objective for my age,” Joyce said. “I can’t help observing things accurately. I hope I haven’t offended you.”
She went out with a cheerful wave of her hand which Isobel found very exasperating.