“Well, you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“She’s dead. And it’s none of your business this time. It happened natural. She died in her sleep.”
She opened the door a little wider, not wide enough for him to walk in comfortably, but just enough so that he could squeeze through the opening if he really had the nerve to come calling on people at a time like this...
“I’m very sorry,” he said, and Annie was impressed by his sincerity. Her face lost its guarded look.
“I’ve been real miserable about it,” she said. “I wasn’t very nice to her yesterday and now I’ll never have a chance to make it up to her. That’s the first thing I thought of when I found her this morning. There she was lying on the bed, all stiff and peaceful, and I thought, now it’s too late, now I’ll never have a chance to make it up to her.”
“Where is the family?”
“They’re up there with her.”
“I don’t want to intrude on them.” Too late now. Edith was stiff and peaceful, at home with her family. “I’ll wait some place. Don’t bother telling them I’m here. I’ll just wait.”
“They wouldn’t like it if I didn’t tell them. They don’t like having a policeman around. There’s a fire in Dr. Morrow’s den, you can go in there, I guess, but I don’t really think they’ll like it.”
“I’ll take a chance.”
She left him then, and when he heard her go upstairs he took the diary from his coat pocket and began to read.
In the first few pages there was nothing marked, no reference to Lucille. Mildred Morrow had been chiefly concerned with her family and the details of the home. He read at random:
August 4.
Raining today and Polly is pestering me to let her get her curls cut off. I suppose I’m old-fashioned, I don’t really want her to do it. But if I say no she’ll just go~to Andrew and twist him around her little finger. What a Daddy’s girl she is! I told Andrew, it’s a shame he can’t see more of the children. But then he is doing so much good for the world I feel selfish.
August 31.
Edith looks so pretty today! She’s got on a new dress, so I told her; we must do something special. So we had a picnic in the park! Lucille came along.
I think Lucille could be very beautiful if she would only have some vitality. (Like Edith) She is still far too young to go on grieving for her husband. He was a lot older than she, and what we saw of him, not a nice person like her. The children came on the picnic too but they don’t seem to like Lucille. She is too shy.
The last sentence was underlined in fresh ink.
September 6.
Well, I finally got Lucille and Andrew together! Andrew had a whole evening off, and though we’ve been Lucille’s neighbors for ages, why, Andrew hardly knows her he’s away so much! We played cards (not bridge!) and I told Andrew, here you are with three women, after seeing women all day you must be tired of them. He said no, they whetted his appetite, and we all laughed.
In the entries for the next two months there were various short references to Lucille.
We went shopping today. Lucille doesn’t buy much, which puzzles me, because she certainly needs clothes.
I am getting very fond of Lucille. Once you know her she is really delightful, though Andrew and Edith don’t believe me! Martin is getting to that smart-alecky stage and he calls Lucille “the blondy.” Martin is very hard to handle. Though he’s awfully good in his studies I think he’s very sensitive about not being able to join in games and things since he had his back broken. Lucille says he is “compensating,” whatever that means. She is much cleverer than I am.
Much cleverer, Sands thought. Far too clever for you, Mildred. He felt a strange pity for this woman who had been dead for sixteen years and had come to life again on paper, in all her guilelessness and sweet stupidity.
November 12.
I started my Christmas shopping today and tonight Edith went to her club and Andrew is working, of course. So I am sitting in Lucille’s living room writing this while she knits. She knits with her eyes shut, imagine! I asked her what she was thinking and she told me that she was thinking she wasn’t going to celebrate Christmas this year. Not celebrate Christmas! I told her, why not? She was very annoyed for a minute. She told me, look around you, look at my house and my clothes, can’t you figure it out by yourself? Well, of course, I could then. It was very embarrassing and I asked her if she wanted some money, a loan or a gift or anything. But she refused. I think she refused on account of Andrew, she knows he doesn’t much like her.
December 2.
Polly found out today (isn’t that just like her! She is a minx!) that Lucille’s car, which we all thought was stored in her garage, has really been sold.
December 4.
I took my portrait down to Morison’s for a good cleaning today. Lucille came along and afterward we went to a movie and then to Child’s for a cup of chocolate (which I should not drink). She is so quiet and patient, it’s nice to go places with her. Edith is always in so much of a hurry!
Quiet and patient, Sands thought. Biding her time, thinking out the plan that was, in the end, to destroy not only Mildred and herself, but three others. How did the plan start? At what particular moment did she begin to covet Mildred’s husband and Mildred’s money?
December 5.
Well, here I am over at Lucille’s again tonight. I told her, this is getting to be practically a tradition! But it is nice (and I mean it!) to have someone to drop in on after the children are in bed and when Andrew is on a case and Edith is out. Edith is having quite a rush from this George Mackenzie, but Lucille says she doesn’t think Edith will marry him because she’s too wrapped up in Andrew. I was quite surprised at this! I mean, I know Edith adores Andrew and harries the life out of him, but I always thought it’s because she hasn’t a man of her own.
I told Lucille this and she just smiled. But I still think I’m right! You don’t know everything, I told her, just in fun, of course!
Sands had nearly reached the end now, and with each page he turned, the picture of Mildred became clearer. Mildred, smiling and secure, never questioning, never looking behind her to see the inexorable fate that was creeping up on her. Happy Mildred, proud of her husband and his work, secure in the knowledge that her life was to be a series of repetitions, of Andrew and Edith, and the children and new dresses and cups of chocolate; and, like a child herself, never tiring of repetitions.
December 7.
Lucille and I took a walk through the park this afternoon. We talked about marriage. I guess it started when I said, something about how attractive Andrew was to women. My goodness, every once in a while one of them makes a big scene at his office and poor Andrew is so completely bewildered by the whole thing. He considers himself an old fogy. At thirty-four! Anyway, I told Lucille this and for some reason she lost her reserve and began to talk about her own marriage. Both her parents died in a hotel fire when she was seventeen, and quite soon afterward she married one of her father’s friends, years older than she was. She said she hated him from the very first day. (And the way she said it! I couldn’t believe it was really my own friend talking!) Imagine living in hate for ten years! No wonder it’s left its mark on her. I do wish she would let me help her in some way. You really should get married again, I told her.