Rainbow's End

  She mentioned the bed, the bath, and my call to the sheriff’s office, then remembered her call to Chicago, but didn’t say anything about the brawl we had had when Mom came in with the rifle. Edgren pressed her about how much time had gone by between Shaw being killed and my phone call, and she guessed a half hour. “Long as it took to roll me into that bed, then put a blanket on me and carry me up to the bathroom, then dunk me in the tub.”

  “One other thing,” said Edgren. “How did this man, this Shaw, get his gun past the metal detector? Did he mention that while you were with him on the plane?”

  “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”

  “I think everyone would.”

  “Well, you work on it, mister. You won’t get it from me. If I tell you that and you tell everyone because they want to know then we start all over on this hijacking thing. How he did it was so simple anyone who has 10 dollars could do it. Yes, he mentioned it, he bragged about it. But he’s dead now, and I’m not telling you or anyone.”

  8

  THAT SEEMED TO BE that, and York came over to give her a pat on the cheek. Edgren asked if I had anything to add to what I’d said that morning. Then he turned to Mom who said: “I got plenty to add, to officers who I try to give some help and they treat me like a thief. But outside of that, nothing. Not at all.” Mantle cut in to say that she hadn’t been treated like a thief or any other particular way, and she said: “It’s what I’m talking about—and especially, nobody’s thanked me for the help I’ve tried to give.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Edgren said.

  But Knight cut it off by motioning the officers over for a huddle. That’s when Bledsoe knelt in front of Jill, beckoned to Mom, and whispered to the three of us, but with York still standing behind Jill. “I think,” he whispered, “the officers want all three of you held. That time lag after the shooting still sticks in Mantle’s mind, and that, coupled with Mrs. Howell’s acknowledged interest in the money, must set up the possibility in his mind that Dave Howell plugged him for the money while his mother and Miss Kreeger cooperated. I think that’s what they’re whispering about—and Knight is naturally reluctant to face that judge when I move to have you released on bail. But why let it come to that? I can settle the whole thing now, I’m pretty sure, in one very simple way. Now look me in the eye—all three of you—and give me a straight answer. Is there any reason, any reason at all, why this place shouldn’t be searched? And that other place, too, wherever it is?”

  “No reason I know of,” I told him.

  “Of course there’s not any reason!” exclaimed Mom. “What reason could there be? Do you think I’m a thief, too?”

  “Well, I certainly know of no reason,” Jill told him.

  He stood up at once and called over to Knight: “Marion, the officers, I suspect, still have their minds on that money—and think Howell held up his call so his mother, Miss Kreeger, or he himself, could hide it. That being the case, they want the place searched, this house and the other one, now. They’ll waive a warrant.”

  “Well?” said Knight, looking first at Edgren, then at Mantle. “That does it, I think.”

  “OK?” asked Bledsoe.

  “All right, let’s go.”

  So the two officers searched. I’d heard that a search turned your place upside down, but that’s not how it was that day. Both officers knew their stuff and went through the place fast, leaving things just as they found them, first downstairs, then up on the second floor. That surprised them plenty, because nothing was up there except for linen in the two bathroom closets. I showed them the stairway to the attic. “There’s nothing up there,” I assured them, “at least, as I think. To tell the truth, I only looked once.”

  They made it quick, then we got in their car to drive to the other house—down the lane, maybe a quarter mile, to route 60, then a quarter mile south, in the direction of Marietta, then up the other lane and to the other house. I unlocked it and they shivered at how cold it was. The front rooms were empty, but I pointed to the light I kept burning, then led them through to the back rooms which were full of sacks of seed corn, seed lettuce, seed radish, and fertilizer, where another light was burning. I unlocked one of the back doors and took them out through the yard to the kitchen, where I’d had the door cut bigger to let in the big farm machinery. In one corner were gardening tools—shovels, hoes, pick, rake, and so on—which Mantle grabbed up to look at, for fresh dirt, I suspected, in case we’d buried the money somewhere. But Edgren stood in the door looking around. Suddenly he turned to me, saying: “Your father built it, you say. Where was your father from?”

  “Texas,” I told him.

  “That’s right, this is a Texas ranchhouse. The dining room’s in the house, and they cooked here in this kitchen. But in the old days, the slave boy that carried in the food had to whistle as he came—so he couldn’t lick the gravy off the meat. If he didn’t whistle, he was in real trouble.”

  “My father mentioned that.”

  Edgren seemed satisfied. If Mantle was, I couldn’t be sure.

  We drove back to the other house, where they were all getting quite sociable, Mom telling Knight and Bledsoe “how messy his brains looked, scattered all over the ground,” the nurse sitting with Jill, and York in the hall talking on the phone. “Nothing.” Edgren reported to Knight. “So far, anyway,” Mantle said, slightly amending the report. But it was York who took charge of the conversation when he came out, first dropping a bill in Mom’s lap and thanking her for letting him use the phone.

  “That was Mr. Morgan I was talking to,” he explained. “Russ Morgan, I mean, president of Trans-U.S.&C. He’s cleared it all up, I think, in regard to the money—as far as Jill is concerned. He’s given it to her—in appreciation for what she’s done. I suggested the idea to him, and he didn’t even let me finish. ‘She’s got it coming,’ he kept saying. ‘Oh, brother, has she.’ It’s hers if it’s ever found—and if it’s not found, she’ll still be nicely rewarded. That’s one thing about Mr. Morgan. He always does it big. So...that winds, it up, I think. Jill can’t very well be held for stealing money that’s already hers.”

  That got a blank stare.

  “Well?” he asked Knight.

  “She’s not charged, Mr. York.”

  “OK—but now she can’t be.”

  “Listen, anyone can be!”

  “Easy does it.”

  That was Bledsoe who always wanted to shade things a little bit, “so we don’t meet these issues head-on.”

  No one mentioned holding us, and Knight got up. “They should do the autopsy tomorrow,” he said, “so we’ll be holding the inquest Tuesday. All three of you—Mr. Howell, Mrs. Howell, and Miss Kreeger—will be called as witnesses, so please make yourselves available to testify.” He put on his coat and started for the door. “We ready?” asked York, turning to Jill.

  “I guess so,” she told him, half turning to me.

  “I’m taking her in,” I said, reaching under her knees, as I had quite a few times, putting the other arm around her and lifting her up.

  “Well?” she smiled at York. “I don’t really have much choice. I have to do what Dave says.”

  “All right,” he said rather grumpily.

  Knight nodded to everyone, then went out the front door, got in his car, and drove off. “We’ll let you know,” said Edgren, and he and Mantle left. Bledsoe looked at his watch, gave Jill a little pat, nodded to Mom, and left. The nurse and York left. I turned to Mom and said: “Be back,” but whether she heard me or not, I didn’t know, as she didn’t look at me.

  I carried Jill to the door and she opened it. When we were out, she pushed it shut. I carried her to my car which was parked beside the house. I opened the door and helped her climb in.

  “Well?” she asked when we’d turned onto route 60, headed for town. “Was I all right?”

  “Perfect,” I answered. “I was relieved that you left out what was said in the dark, that stuff you thought meant that she meant Shaw sh
ould kill you. I don’t think she did, but—”

  “I don’t think it—I know it. Don’t you know why I left it out?”

  “All right, why did you?”

  “It was because of you. She’s your mother, and I—”

  “Yes? You what?” I asked as she stopped suddenly.

  “Don’t you know?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Then it’s not up to me to tell you.”

  “Who’s it up to, then?”

  She didn’t answer, but hooked her hand in my arm and whispered: “Are we getting somewhere together or not?”

  “So far as I’m concerned, we are.”

  “Then a woman sticks by her guy whether she likes his mother or not. I couldn’t talk against her.”

  “Jill, I love you.”

  “And I love you.”

  She leaned back, still hanging onto my arm.

  We got to the hospital which looks out on the Muskingum but which also commands a view of the Ohio. I parked the car, but when I reached in for her legs to lift her out, she motioned me off and climbed out of the car herself. She caught my arm, limping a little, but turned to the terrace above the river, took a few steps, and stood there looking at it. Then, chugging through the twilight, we heard an engine laboring. There was the top of a tow, moving up the Ohio, its red light shining at us. It’s always a beautiful sight. We stood hand-in-hand looking at it. Then suddenly, in a somewhat different manner, she asked me: “Dave, did York say that money is mine?”

  “That’s right, if it’s ever found. If it’s not found, you’re to get a reward anyway. So, I just fell in love with an heiress.”

  “Dave, it’s going to be found.”

  “Listen, Jill, don’t hold your breath. If you ask me, that money’s in the Muskingum right now, soaking up water to feed the fishes.”

  “If you ask me, it’s not.”

  She looked up at me with a new glitter in her eye. “That woman, that Mom character, knows where it is and means to keep it. Which mightn’t have meant so much to me so long as it was Russ Morgan’s. I’d want him to get it back, but mightn’t do much about it. Now, though, I intend to do plenty. It’s mine and I’m going to get it. I don’t know how yet, but I know who knows where it is.”

  “Mom? How would she know where it is?”

  “She knows where she put it, doesn’t she?”

  “Listen, how could she have put it anywhere?”

  “By picking it up, throwing it in the boat, and rowing off with it. Dave, it’s what that officer thought that was so odd—that Shaw would stand around on that island with me and not say a word about its being gone. And they were right. Dave, he must have had it. He must still have had it slung on his shoulder all the time. And she couldn’t wait to get out there. That means she took it, unstrapped it from his shoulder and went downriver with it. Or upriver. Or crossriver. Somewhere. Could be, it’s on the island. The police didn’t search there.”

  “I told them they could. It’s my property. It was part of the farm I bought.”

  “Well, they didn’t.”

  What that had to do with it, or with anything, I didn’t know, but we kept talking about it, and her eyes kept squinching up. Then: “Dave, since Shaw didn’t kill me—OK, I could try to forget what she meant because I’m in love with her son. But when it’s a hundred thousand dollars, I don’t forget anything. She’s got it, and I mean to have it. If that puts her in Marysville prison, that’s how it has to be. I love you, but if you think I’m giving that money up, I don’t love you that much.”

  “OK, then, now I know.”

  “I hate to say it, but—”

  “You don’t love me that much.”

  Suddenly tears were on her cheeks, glittering under the lights. I said, “Suppose it turns out opposite? Suppose she doesn’t have it? Suppose it’s never found?”

  “It’s going to be!”

  “So you say.”

  “I want to go inside.”

  9

  I PUT THE CAR OUT back and went in the front door. The living room was just as it had been, but Mom was nowhere in sight. I called, but she didn’t answer. I tapped on the door of her room—that is, what had been the dining room. When there was still no answer, I opened the door and went in. By then it was nearly 7:00, almost dark, so I wasn’t sure at first whether she was in there or not. Then I made her out, lying on the bed, still in the same dress, the blanket half pulled over her, face up, staring at nothing. I whispered: “What’s the big idea, not answering when I call?”

  Still nothing.

  “Hey!”

  Still nothing.

  I took hold of her arm and shook her. She flung it off and slapped me. I slapped in return, which was where I made my mistake. She whirled to her knees on the bed, so the dress ripped open. Then she began beating me with her fists, in between clawing at my face and grabbing me, to hold me close and bite me. I didn’t yelp and neither did she. It was grunting, gasping fury, with me fighting her off and her fighting back in. At last she flopped back on the bed and started to bawl, so I could go to my room, to the den, to have a look in the mirror and see what she’d done to my face. It was cut up all right. After slapping the Listerine on, I got the bleeding stopped and finally went back to her. Her crying seemed to have stopped, but as soon as I opened the door, it started up again, the old camp-meeting yodel, loud, clear, hopeless, and 100 percent phoney. I said: “OK, knock it off or I’m letting you have it.”

  All that got was more of the same, but louder.

  I hauled off and slapped her, first on one side of the face, then on the other. She just hollered louder. I got a pitcher of water and started to pour. “Cool it or you’re getting cooled.”

  She didn’t quite stop but did ease off, so I knew at last that we could talk. “Now,” I asked her, “what’s this all about? What in the hell is it all about?”

  “Oh!” she wailed. “That I should live to see this day!”

  “What day?” I wanted to know. “It’s Sunday. What other day is it?”

  “After all these years, after all I’ve done, slaving and scrimping and slaving—”

  “And don’t forget those fingers,” I reminded her. “Working them to the bone.” Because, of course, I’d heard some of this before, in one connection or another. In fact, I knew most of it by heart. But this time she went on and on, reciting it by the book, leaving nothing out. It wasn’t until all of it had been said two or three times that at last she got around to the night before. “And then to think, that when at last there was hope, when the sun was coming up, when the rainbow had showed in the sky, that I should be stabbed in the back—by my own little boy, and a horrible Jezebel!”

  “Where was this creature? I didn’t see any Jezebel.”

  “A slut, that slept up with men, then took up with my own little Davey!”

  “Hey! Little Davey is me!”

  “Just a Jezebel!”

  “How you know she slept up with guys?”

  “I can tell by looking at her. Anyone can tell. That rotten look on her face.”

  “And sleeping up with guys, that makes her a Jezebel?”

  “What do you think it makes her?”

  “I wouldn’t know what it makes her—maybe nothing. What she is is a very nice girl.”

  “I say she’s a Jezebel.”

  “Sleeping up makes her that?”

  “What do you think it makes her?” she said again.

  “Maybe a girl in love.”

  “Love? Love?”

  “Mom, tell me something.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “There was a girl I looked up, that I had reason to look up. Named Myra Giles, who sounds a lot like you. She was sixteen years old and went in the hospital here to have a child. She had it and two months later got married. So she must have been sleeping up. Does that make her a Jezebel?”

  She raised up on one elbow and stared at me a long time. In the dark her eyes looked big, no longer blue
, but black. “When did you find that out?”

  “Oh, a few months ago. I was getting my papers in order for some insurance I thought I might buy. They want birth certificates, parents’ marriage license, and so on. So I went down and looked myself up. It’s OK with me. All I saw in those papers was a sixteen-year-old girl who was in love. There’s no law against it. I glory in her, and if I’m what came of it, I’m thankful for that, too. But let’s get back to the subject. Did that make her a Jezebel?”

  “Could be, it did.”

  “Well, Jezzie, hello.”

  “How’d you like to go to hell?”

  “Well, you said it, I didn’t.”

  “You bet I said it. I have to. But it wasn’t me.”

  “Not you? Are you being funny?”

  “It wasn’t me, now you know! I wasn’t even supposed to tell you, you’re not my son! And Jody was not your father! It wasn’t me who had you! I was the one who got married, but I didn’t have you! It was Big Myra, my cousin who has the same name and went into the hospital there, the clinic they had on Fourth Street. But then, when she couldn’t keep it, she begged me to take it and raise it. So to do that I had to get married. We were going to, Jody and I, but we weren’t ready to then. But with her nursing that baby, he was so cute. I wanted him. So we went and got married sooner, sooner than we had intended. I love you, I always did, but you’re not my child at all, and there’s no reason I shouldn’t—”

  “Shouldn’t what?”

  “Whatever I feel like!”

  “Like bellering around?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean Jezebellering.”

  “You quit talking to me like that!”

  “And you quit talking to me like that! That’s a hot one, Mom, ain’t it? All of a sudden, so you can unzip my pants and take out what’s in there, you tell me you’re not my mother. Isn’t it time to laugh?”

  She pushed me out of the way, got up, and turned on the light. Then she stood pulling her dress and twisting it, to straighten out the places where it was ripped or torn or strained. Then she went in the living room where the light was already on and sat down. After a while she said: “If you want to laugh, laugh. I wouldn’t know what at.”