The View from the Cherry Tree

  He’d intended to be found sprawled on the steps, because it seemed more dramatic that way, but he found that it was horribly uncomfortable. A guy could cripple himself forever, lying on his back on the steps for very long.

  It would have to be on the sidewalk at the bottom, then. Maybe he could just have his legs up on the steps. Rob squirmed around, trying out several positions, wishing he could think of some way to do it so it would look like his legs were broken. He couldn’t, not without really hurting them.

  Finally he thought he had it. He took the top off the ketchup bottle and liberally laced his face with it. Then, for good measure, he poured some on his shirt-front, too. He’d worn a white shirt, so it would show up better. The old woman had attacked him in the dark; she wouldn’t know what he was wearing last night.

  As a final step, he threw the ketchup bottle as far as he could. He’d forgotten to put the cap back on and its contents spewed across the grass, but maybe she wouldn’t notice that. She’d be too busy seeing the body in front of her.

  He didn’t have a watch to check the time, but it must be pretty close to seven. He hoped she’d come out pretty soon; it was hard to lie still, and the ketchup was running sort of close to one eye. He didn’t know if he could wipe it without messing up the whole effect.

  Something touched him on one ear and he almost yelped aloud before he recognized Sonny.

  “For pete’s sake, you dumb cat, get out of here!”

  Sonny surveyed him with great unblinking yellow eyes only inches from his own. Rob pushed at him with one outthrust hand. “Beat it! Go on! Scat!”

  And then he heard her coming, heard her shuffling footsteps beyond the door, and he froze, trying to look pale beneath his bloody wounds.

  He couldn’t resist opening one eye just a little, to see how she reacted. Maybe she’d have a heart attack, and fall right down on top of him . . .

  The door swung inward, and Mrs. Calloway stepped out onto the porch. She was wearing a ratty-looking bathrobe and slippers that must have belonged to her husband before he died. They almost fell off her feet when she moved. She stooped to pick up her paper, and then she saw him.

  For a few seconds she was poised in mid-stride, as if she were in a movie someone had brought to a stop. The only thing that moved was her jaw, which dropped.

  And then, before she could have a fit or a heart attack or anything interesting, someone began to scream from his own house next door.

  He’d counted on scaring Mrs. Calloway and getting back home before anybody else got up. How could he have guessed that Darcy wouldn’t be able to sleep, that she’d get up and look out her window and see him?

  Nobody was dressed. They all came pouring out of the house in their nightclothes, with Darcy reaching him first because she’d been the one to spot him. She was wearing a short nightgown of pale blue nylon. She stopped a few feet away, her eyes wide, chest heaving, and gradually her horror was replaced by an expression of fury so intense Rob thought she was going to throttle him then and there.

  Probably she would have, if their parents hadn’t arrived right behind her.

  “It’s ketchup!” Darcy shrieked. “You rotten little beast, I thought you were dead!”

  Across the alley Mr. Wentworth called out sleepily, “What’s going on out there?” Nobody answered him.

  Rob sat up. It was all spoiled, everyone running out like that, Darcy yelling her fool head off. As he sat up, the ketchup began to run and he didn’t have anything to wipe it with except his hands, so it got pretty messy.

  “Rob, what’s got into you!” His father jerked him to his feet, propelling him toward the house. “Get back inside! All of you, and Darcy, stop that racket before I smack you!”

  Rob twisted his head, trying to see what Mrs. Calloway was doing, but his father wasn’t allowing him any time for that. The hand that grabbed his arm was strong enough to tear the arm off, and for a moment he thought that was what might happen.

  His mother had only come as far as the back steps; she stood holding the door open, and they were all hustled inside, beyond the view of the neighbors who were beginning to filter out of their houses.

  Walt Mallory’s face was white. “Confound you, Rob, I ought to beat the tar out of you!”

  “I thought he was dead!” Darcy exploded, letting the screen slam behind her. “What a rotten thing to do! Scaring us all half to death!”

  “Your screaming was a big help,” her father informed her, pushing them all ahead of him into the kitchen. “Rob, get that mess washed off yourself, and then we’d better have a little talk.”

  “What were you doing?” Teddi demanded. “Boy, you really look awful. No wonder Darcy screamed.”

  He was allowed to go into the bathroom and wash; he stripped off his shirt and his T-shirt, because there wasn’t much he could do about them. Cripes. He might have known something would go wrong. He didn’t even know how Mrs. Calloway had reacted.

  They were all there in the kitchen when he came out, still standing around waiting for him. His mother was making coffee. His father looked very tired, as if he hadn’t slept well.

  “You want to tell us, now, what you thought you were doing?”

  Rob tried to explain. It seemed perfectly reasonable to him, but he didn’t see any signs of understanding on any of their faces. Only Teddi showed some sympathy, but even most of that seemed to be for Darcy, who had “discovered” him.

  “Rob, can’t you get it through your head? We don’t want any more trouble with Mrs. Calloway. We’ve got problems enough already. We want you to stay strictly away from her. Is that clear? Stay off her property, don’t look in her windows, don’t speak to her, stay out of her sight!”

  Rob stood perfectly still. He hadn’t made up his mind yet what to say. He thought they were being completely unfair. Cripes, nobody did anything when she attacked him, but when he tried to get even a little, wham! Everything hit the fan.

  The telephone chime drew Darcy in a swirl of blue nylon. Rob still hadn’t thought up any reply to his father that wouldn’t be mad or resentful, and from the looks around him it didn’t seem the time to be either. And then he didn’t have to say anything, because the telephone call took all the attention.

  Darcy cried, “Oh, no!” her voice climbing as if she were in pain.

  “Now what?” Mrs. Mallory demanded. “Go on, all of you, get dressed.”

  “I wasn’t planning to get up this early,” Teddi protested.

  “Well, you’re up now, so get dressed and let’s get this show on the road,” her father ordered. “You’ve got a list of stuff we still have to do today?” he asked turning to Mrs. Mallory.

  “A mile long,” she answered, her mouth forming a flat line.

  From the dining room Darcy’s voice rose in an anguished wail. “What am I going to do?”

  Her father paused in the doorway on his way upstairs to dress. “For starters, you might stop waking up all the neighbors. And get some clothes on.”

  It was as if she hadn’t heard him. Her blue eyes were wide and filling with tears. “Daddy, Nancy’s got the measles! Measles!”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but she’s only one of the bridesmaids, isn’t she? You’ve still got three other ones.”

  “You don’t understand! We’ve got four ushers, too, and there have to be the same number! The measles!” Her face crumpled as her father took the phone out of her hand and put it down.

  “The rehearsal isn’t until 7:30 tonight,” Mrs. Mallory said briskly, assuming control. “You’ll just have to find someone to take her place.”

  “But where will I find anybody who can wear her dress? Mother, you know how skinny she is! There’s nobody else in town who’ll fit into that dress!”

  “How about Ellen Anderson?” Teddi suggested. Rob began to ease backward toward the door, hoping he could escape to the hall befo
re anybody noticed he was going.

  “Oh, Teddi, you know I haven’t spoken to her since that fight last fall!”

  “Maybe now would be a good time to start speaking again, if she’s the only one in town who can wear the dress,” Mr. Mallory suggested.

  Rob made it to the hall door, then sped up the stairs, leaving them discussing the problem. He stood at his window, looking out over the side lawn, hating the old woman next door. It wasn’t fair that she should be able to attack him that way and then they should all be mad at him for trying to get just a little bit even.

  He put on a clean shirt, absently licking off a bit of ketchup he’d missed on his forearm. He’d be better off staying up here, but he was hungry. Maybe they were all in such a mess down there, with the new crisis, that they would forget about him.

  Sonny came through the window from the roof, landing on the bed without a sound. Rob glowered at him.

  “It’s all your fault. If you weren’t so stupid, and didn’t get into her garbage can . . .”

  The cat began to wash himself, uncaring, and Rob sighed. “I guess it’s really her fault . . . but nobody will do anything about her.”

  By the time he got back down to the kitchen, the wedding crises had multiplied. There was a telegram from Aunt Sylvia, which Teddi read aloud in dramatic accents.

  “Sylvester doesn’t have to work after all, so we’re all coming.”

  Mrs. Mallory paused in the midst of pouring pancake batter onto the griddle. “All of them? All seven of them? But I was only expecting Sylvia . . . good grief, where am I going to come up with beds for an extra six people on such short notice?”

  Her husband had dressed and was helping out by setting the table. “Get out all the sleeping bags. Put the kids on the floors.”

  “But that still leaves Sylvester left over . . . you know how he’d react to being put on the floor!”

  “Put him in Rob’s room, with Nick, then. Let Rob sleep on the floor.”

  Rob winced from the eyes that flicked in his direction, but at least nobody looked as if they were going to hit him right that minute.

  “I guess I could do that. Here, who’s ready to start?”

  “Can I have the first ones?” Rob asked quickly. Again he got that raking over by hostile glances, but his mother handed him the plate. He considered, decided the atmosphere needed cooling, and that it would be better to eat outside. He slathered butter on the hotcakes, laced them liberally with brown sugar, and rolled them up so they could be eaten in his hand. His mother opened her mouth to protest when she saw him heading for the door, but luckily the phone rang again.

  “Listen, somebody has to be at the church to let in the florist,” Darcy was saying.

  “Can’t they get in during rehearsal?”

  “No, they said around 5:00. They want to set up the baskets and stuff then. They only have one man working tomorrow, and all he’ll do is put the flowers in the baskets. I can’t be there, Mother, I’ve got to see what I can do about a bridesmaid, and Steve said . . .”

  Rob let the door slam behind him. Boy, he’d sure be glad when this weekend was over.

  He munched through the pancakes, wishing he had two more. Was it worth it to go back inside for seconds? Maybe it would be better to wait a little while, till they’d cleared out.

  Mrs. Calloway stood on her back steps, holding her binoculars to her eyes. The old bag, he thought, and kicked at the hose that lay across the sidewalk.

  “Rob . . . hook up the sprinkler there on the front lawn, will you?”

  He grunted and made his way toward the street, alternately kicking the hose and the sprinkler ahead of him. When he got in under the shrubbery to turn on the water, a big spider got on his hand and he brushed it off. Too bad he couldn’t take all his spiders and put them in Mrs. Calloway’s house. He bet she’d have a fit over that, all right, if they were running all over her bed. He imagined them, dumped on her while she was sleeping, seeing them run into her ears and up her nose and into her mouth, which would be open while she was snoring. He knew she snored, he’d heard her. It made him feel better to think of her with spiders in her mouth, and he turned on the water and was starting back around the house when his father bellowed from the front porch.

  “Rob! Not right on the sidewalk! Not when we’ve got people coming and going all day!”

  Knowing there was no point in saying anything, Rob turned back and moved the ­sprinkler. He hardly had it on the sidewalk at all. If anybody hurried, they wouldn’t get more than slightly damp. Hot as it was, you wouldn’t think that would bother anybody, but there was no explaining grown-ups.

  A car door slammed and he looked over his shoulder to see his aunt Grace coming up the walk. Yes, he’d sure be glad when this was all over. People coming and going every minute, and every time he turned around they wanted him to do something.

  “Hello, Grace. What are you doing up so early?”

  “Walt, do you know what’s going on?”

  His father sounded wary. “In regard to what, Grace?”

  “In regard to Ray. He’s gone and run off or something . . . is he in trouble of some kind?”

  Rob paused to listen, just around the corner of the house.

  “Run off? What makes you think he’s run off?”

  “His car’s gone, and he took a suitcase and most of his good clothes. He didn’t leave a note or anything, but . . . well, Ma’s having a fit because he won’t be at the wedding. I’m more concerned about why he left in the first place. Is he running away from somebody?”

  “Oh no! That stupid idiot . . .”

  “He is in trouble, then. What did he do?”

  “He ‘borrowed’ some money from his boss, that’s what he did, and he knows French is going to discover the loss this weekend . . . You got any idea where he went?”

  The water was sprinkling on Rob, but he didn’t care. The water wasn’t very cold. He stayed where he was, listening.

  “Maybe over to that girl’s he’s been going with. I don’t know where else. Walt, he’s going to be in worse trouble if he runs away, isn’t he? Maybe somebody ought to go after him.”

  “Grace, do you have any idea how many things Marge has lined up for me to do today? I have to get the champagne and ice it down, be at both the reception hall and the church to let in the florist, round up a set of candelabra from St. Thomas’s and bring them over to our church . . . oh, the heck with it! Who is this girl? Where does she live?”

  Rob shrugged, going on around the house.

  From the back porch Teddi was calling. “Rob! Robbie, where are you? Mother wants you to get your room cleaned up! You’ll have to change both beds!”

  By the time that was done he had made up his mind. He wasn’t staying around to fetch and carry for this bunch of females. He stuffed his pockets with cookies, made two bologna sandwiches with mustard and Swiss cheese, and as an afterthought fished a Pepsi out of the refrigerator.

  It wasn’t easy to get up there with his hands so full, but he made it. He’d spend the rest of the day in the cherry tree, until it was time for all of them to go to the rehearsal. Then he’d climb down and get something more to eat.

  There was a broad, almost flat place on one limb, right close to the trunk. He could put the Pepsi down there after he’d pried the cap off. He kept a bottle opener hanging up there on a string for just such emergencies. A guy never knew when he might need to open a bottle.

  He spent the next hour in the cherry tree.

  That was how he happened to see the murder.

  Five

  He was getting better at spitting cherry pits. He got a few of them onto Mrs. Calloway’s windowsill. Of course he cheated, moving a little further along the big branch than usual. But it was worth it.

  Sonny yowled at him, eyeing the sandwich. Rob broke off a corner and extended it, then put it
down on a branch where the cat could pick it up by himself. Sonny expertly sought out the meat, then shook his head, flattening his ears, moving away. He stared with contemptuous yellow eyes, tail twitching his displeasure.

  “I like it with mustard,” Rob informed him. “If you’re so fussy, make your own sandwiches.”

  Somewhere in Mrs. Calloway’s house someone turned on the phonograph. It was an old, tinny-sounding thing, and she must be deaf because it was turned up sort of loud. He remembered one time when Teddi had been playing her stereo that loud and the old witch called the police.

  He thought about calling the police on her, but he knew at once they wouldn’t like that, either. They’d be mad at him no matter what he did.

  “I will not,” Mrs. Calloway said sharply.

  Rob shifted position a little, so that he could rest his back against the tree trunk. The lace curtains weren’t blowing much today, and he couldn’t see into her house except when she came right close to the window.

  She did this now, pushing aside the limp lace to stare down at the cherry pits.

  “Such a nasty little boy. I can’t think why they tolerate him,” she said, her mouth curling with distaste. The binoculars swung on their strap against her scrawny chest. “How does he get them up here on my windowsill?”

  He thought he heard someone say something to her, but it was hard to tell, with the music playing, all loud and scratchy the way it was.

  She turned her head, and this time he was sure there was someone in the room with her, for she said, “You must be out of your mind to think I’d agree to any such thing.”

  She had reached to one side and scooped up a newspaper from the table; now she used it to push the cherry pits off onto the ground, her lips clamped tightly together.

  Sonny saw the movement and began to creep toward her, out along the big limb. Rob opened his mouth to speak, to call him back, but already it was too late. The old woman had spotted the cat, and Rob hated to give away his own position. If she knew he spent so much time up the tree, she’d have him arrested for being a Peeping Tom or something, and then they wouldn’t let him sit here anymore.