“That you would hurt him?”
Her chin pressed down onto her chest. “Yes. I put him in somebody else’s car for safekeeping. I gave him up, and I’m glad I did. At least my little brother is all right.” It was a question.
“He’s all right. His grandmother is looking after him. I saw him in Citrus Junction the other day.”
“I almost did,” she said, “the night I killed Ralph Simpson. It’s funny how these things keep following you. I thought I was past the sound barrier but I heard him crying that night, in Elizabeth Stone’s house. I wanted to knock on the door and visit him. I had my hand lifted to knock when I saw myself again, a dreadful woman in outer darkness, in outer space, driving a man’s dead body around in my car.”
“You mean Ralph Simpson.”
“Yes. He came to the house that night to talk to Father. I recognized the coat he was carrying and intercepted him. He agreed to go for a drive and discuss the situation. I told him Bruce was hiding in the beach house – he said any friend of Bruce was a friend of his, poor little man – and I drove him out to the place above the beach. I stabbed him with the icepick that Mrs. Stone gave my father.” Her clenched fist struck weakly at her breast. “I intended to throw his body in the sea, but I changed my mind. I was afraid that Bruce would find it before I got him out of there. I threw the coat in the sea instead and drove to Citrus Junction.”
“Why did you pick Isobel’s yard to bury him in?”
“It was a safe place. I knew there was nobody there.” Her eyes, her entire face, seemed to be groping blindly for a meaning. “It kept it in the family.”
“Were you trying to throw the blame on Isobel?”
“Maybe I was. I don’t always know why I do things, especially at night. I get the urge to do them and I do them.”
“Is that why you wore your father’s coat the night you killed Dolly?”
“It happened to be in the car. I was cold.” She shivered with the memory. “It isn’t true that I wanted him to be blamed. I loved my father. But he didn’t love me.”
“He loved you to the point of death, Harriet.”
She shook her head, and began to shiver more violently. I put my arm around her shoulders and walked her toward the door. It opened, filling with the red sunset. The beggar woman appeared in it, black as a cinder in the blaze.
“What will happen now?” Harriet said with her head down.
“It depends on whether you’re willing to waive extradition. We can go back together, if you are.”
“I might as well.”
The beggar held out her hands to us as we passed. I gave her money again. I had nothing to give Harriet. We went out into the changing light and started to walk up the dry riverbed of the road.
The End