Liar: An Irene Kelly Mystery Part 33

"I don't understand."

She sighed. "You've heard of my grandfather, Quentin DeMont-the man everyone called Papa DeMont?"

I nodded.

"He ruled that farm and everyone on it as if he were a king anointed by G.o.d. I loved him, and so did Gwen, but because my father argued with him so often, I wasn't in Papa DeMont's shadow the way Gwen was. You know that my grandfather raised her?"

"Yes," I said.

"Well, my father was on the outs with Papa DeMont. Some of it was my dad's own fault, but a lot of it was just that he wasn't willing to be under Papa DeMont's thumb. I later came to think that was a lucky thing for me."

"How so?"

"Gwen never learned how to stand up to him, or anyone else, for that matter. And I think Papa thought he'd be able to take care of her forever, so he didn't teach her the things she needed to know about life. She was this hothouse flower, you might say."

"So when he died-"

"When he died, she was just about as lost as any one soul could be. Suddenly she was being asked to cope with a set of responsibilities she was totally unprepared for-a business she had never partic.i.p.ated in.

"I was younger than Gwen, about fourteen years younger, but I swear to you, I often felt as if our age differences were reversed. I was almost thirty when Papa DeMont died, and Gwen was in her mid-forties. But I was married and raising kids, and you would have thought she was still in high school, for all she knew about getting along in the world." She glanced toward the hallway and said, "I love my father, but I haven't always been proud of him, and I am truly ashamed of how he took advantage of her after Papa DeMont died."

"In what way?"

After a long silence she said, "He told her his favorite sad story, the one about how Papa DeMont didn't love him-which was untrue-and what a rough life he had had, and on and on, giving her a spiel just as if he were panhandling back in his tramp days. Pretty soon she felt so guilty, she started opening her checkbook to him."

"Did Arthur know?"

"They weren't married yet. Gerald-Arthur's brother? He used to try to warn Gwen, to tell her that there was a reason Papa DeMont never let my father have money-namely, it was spent before Daddy could fold it up and put it in his wallet. Bobby-my brother-was the same way. Both of them hated Gerald for that."

"So if the handouts stopped when Arthur married her-"

"They didn't. Arthur didn't try to stop them until later. I'm not sure he realized what was going on at first-you know he was only sixteen?"

"Yes. I guess I've often wondered-"

"Why a sixteen-year-old boy would marry a woman that old?""

Yes."

She thought for a moment before answering. "I guess you would have to have known the two of them, and the situation there on the farm. It was a little world of its own, in many ways. In each of their cases, after their parents died, Gwen and Arthur had no other world, really. Gwen was afraid of most men-most people, really. She was so lonely.

"And Arthur-even as a boy, Arthur was the kind of person who wanted to be helpful. I guess he wasn't any good in school-which I could never figure out, because he was smart, and don't let anybody ever tell you otherwise. So when Papa DeMont let him help out in the gardens, he just-I don't know, I'd say he changed. You could see how much happier he was to be there than at school. I think the schoolkids might have been mean to him, I don't know. He never did like kids his age. He'd rather be around adults."

"Were there any other children on the farm?"

She shook her head. "No. None that Gerald would let him spend any time with. So in his own way, I think he was lonely, too. He tried to make up for it by being helpful, I think, to get the adults to like him. If anyone else needed a hand, even when he was little, Arthur rushed to help them out."

"And so he helped Gwendolyn?"

She nodded. "It was as if he was determined to do whatever he could to make her smile or laugh. To be honest, I don't know anyone who made her smile more often. And when he got to an age where-well, boys get to be men, physically if in no other way, and if he hadn't started thinking about the one thing that seems to take up most of the male brain, he wouldn't have been normal, would he?"

"There weren't any other women around?"

"You have to remember that Gerald kept as tight a rein on that kid as Papa DeMont kept on Gwen. Only I don't think Gerald was above smacking Arthur around. He was a kid raising a kid."

I thought of the photo of the wedding day, and wondered if that was why Arthur looked different-was his face a little swollen?

"Gerald made sure Arthur learned gardening and landscaping-and not the type of farmwork that would put him out in the fields or in the factory," Leda was saying. "Gerald was proud if nothing else."

"Forgive me, but Gwendolyn's-" I hesitated, sought a word. "Gwendolyn's availability might explain why she was his first s.e.xual partner, but it wouldn't explain why he married her."

"Gerald. Gerald pushed that. It surprised me at first. At the time, I thought maybe Gerald figured he could control Arthur and Gwen's money both-prenuptial agreement or no. I don't mean to say that his intentions were bad. He was very fond of Gwen, and since he was one of Papa DeMont's favorites, he was close to her, too. He was protective of her, and he resented what my father and brother were doing."

"You had more than one brother, didn't you?" I asked.

"I had two, but Douglas died in 1980," she said.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Doug left home early on, and never had much to do with any of us. That may make him the smartest of the bunch. When he heard what had happened to Gwen, he was angry, and he fell for Richmond's theory. But I think anyone who didn't know the whole story would have believed what Harold Richmond was telling them. And of course, my father and Robert backed Richmond all the way."

"Because they wanted the money?"

"Yes. If Arthur had been proven to be the killer, they were the next in line for money-and not just Gwen's inheritance. They could have brought a civil suit against Arthur, and taken his money, too."

"But you seem sure he wasn't the killer. Why?"

"He loved Gwen. Maybe not in the way a husband should love a wife, but they were friends. He had his business. He could have left her a long time before she died and he would have been fine. But I think he was grateful to Gwen. She gave him a way to get out from under Gerald's thumb-that was Gerald's big surprise."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Gerald sort of bullied Arthur. Ordered him around. Of course, Gerald was the head of the household after his folks died, and he took on a big responsibility at a young age. But he just couldn't seem to understand that Arthur was growing up. Gwen saw it. And after the wedding, she stood up for Arthur in a way that just shocked Gerald-shocked us all, really. She encouraged Arthur to get a driver's license and a car and to travel off the farm."

"All the things she had never done?"

She nodded. "Exactly. And one day-I think this might have even been the day of the wedding-she told Gerald off in a way that maybe she had always wanted to tell Papa DeMont off. I had never imagined she had that much spine."

"So Arthur felt indebted to her."

"Oh, yes. And as he got older, I think he also saw how very much she depended on him. Maybe-"

But before she could finish her sentence, she was interrupted by a loud male voice roaring a random litany of oaths and obscenities that turned the white room blue and Leda Rose's face red. It wasn't just one cannonball of cussing that hit in a single shot; it was a rapid, rat-a-tat-tat, machine-gun-fire swear-o-rama. It was hard not to be impressed.

"Excuse me," Leda said, but she was no sooner off the couch than a leathery wisp of a man wheeled himself into the room. This had to be Horace DeMont. He was closely followed by his great-granddaughter, who had her arms folded and a mulish look on her face.

You could have put three of him into that chair, and still had elbow room. He was wearing a bathrobe and pajamas, his head looked too big for his neck, and most of his hair had abandoned his mottled pate. You might not have thought he had any fire left in him until you looked at his face. There was so much anger burning there, it would probably keep Horace DeMont around long enough to get another look at Halley's Comet.

"My father," Leda said, having recovered her poise. She moved toward the back of the wheelchair.

"Who's this?" he barked. There was nothing wrong with his ability to speak, but a minute earlier I had already heard more than enough to know that.

"None of your business," she said, giving me a warning glance as she grabbed the handles of the wheelchair. "Why are you out here, Daddy?"

"I want apple juice, and that d.a.m.ned girl won't get me any," he said, taking his hands off the wheels, content to be pushed now that he had the attention of his daughter.

"We're out of apple juice," she said, guiding the chair back to the hallway.

Another string of expletives preceded them as they went down the hall, but they lacked the pa.s.sion of the earlier performance.

"Poor Grandmother," Laurie said, pushing a stray hair out of her eyes. "She has to put up with that all the time."

"She must be very grateful for your help."

She shrugged. "Somebody has to help her. Uncle Bobby's too s.p.a.ced out, fooling around with his inventions."

"He's an inventor?"

"Not really. To be an inventor, you have to make things that work, don't you?"

I laughed. "I don't know. I guess lots of inventors fail more often than they succeed while they're working on their ideas."

"Yes," she said, "but they usually learn something from their mistakes, right?"

I left that one alone. "Do you visit him while you're here?"

"Well, since his car problems, Grandmother has been making things for him to eat, and I bring them over to him. I hate it. He always wants to show me some new thingamajig that doesn't work, or to be like his guinea pig or something. Nothing that would hurt me or anything, but it's so weird. And then he says, 'No, wait! Wait! Just let me adjust this ...' and that never works, either, so finally I just have to say, 'Bye, Uncle Bobby, have a nice time!'"

"It sounds like your Grandmother has her hands full. Like I said, she must appreciate your help."

She lifted a shoulder. "I don't know. I've been thinking about maybe becoming one of those people who take care of old people, you know, maybe have a business doing that. It's going to be a big business, you know. Because of all the people who are, you know, your age. The Baby Boomers. You're all getting older."

I laughed. "Not all of us, but for now, at least, I'd rather be in the group that is."

She smiled. "Yeah."

Within a few minutes, Leda came back out, looking weary. "Your great-grandfather is a mean old son of a b.i.t.c.h, Laurie."

"No kidding," Laurie said, apparently used to such proclamations.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Kelly, but I have a brother to feed and a nasty old man to calm down. I would talk to you more, but Laurie and I will be busy for a while now."

"Please don't apologize," I said. "You've been very helpful. And I'll tell my cousin what you said."

"And avoid Mr. Richmond," she added.

"Yes, I will. I wondered-since I'm on my way out anyway, would you like me to take your brother's meal to him?"

Laurie and Leda exchanged a look that clearly said they had found a pigeon ripe for the plucking, and just weren't sure if they had the heart to grab my feathers. "Oh, I couldn't-" Leda began.

"Nonsense. Believe me, this is the least I can do for you after taking up your time today."

"I'll get it ready for you," Laurie said, hurrying off to the kitchen before her grandmother could refuse a second time.

Leda smiled after her.

"You must be very proud of her," I said.

"I am. She's a good-hearted girl." She looked up at me. "And your uncle is a good-hearted man. He deserves your forgiveness."

"Yes," I said, "I'm beginning to see that perhaps he does."

"You know," she said, "I didn't get a chance to finish what I was saying before my father interrupted us. My dad provided a perfect example of what I was going to tell you, though."

"I hope you weren't about to tell me that," I said, and she laughed.

"No, no. I meant, his situation is a good example. Until a few years ago, my father was strong and active. People always guessed him to be twenty years younger than he was. Then about five years ago, his health began to fail-and to fail quickly. It was as if those years caught up to him all at once. He hates being sick. He hates being dependent on me. He thinks of me as his jailer, not his helper. But I hate it, too. And I'm as much his prisoner as he is mine."

Her face was set in angry lines as she said this. She looked away from me, and stared out the windows, toward her brother's house. Gradually, her face softened, and her voice was quiet when she spoke again. "You might say,' Just put him in a home, then.' Maybe someday it will come to that. But right now, while I can still care for him, I can't think of setting him aside, or leaving him to strangers-well," she added with a smile, "not on most days."

"No one could blame you."

"And I can't blame Arthur. Until you've been there-it's hard to understand. But I think Gwen's dependence on Arthur became like that. I think it made him feel confined. His business gave him his first taste of freedom. And Gwen learned to be a little more self-reliant, although if he left her alone too long, Bobby or Daddy came by looking for a handout." She shook her head. "His so-called secret family-your aunt and your cousin-they gave him his real life, a more balanced life. I was so sorry that they didn't stay together after Gwen was killed, although I can see why it would have been almost impossible. I'm sure your aunt felt very hurt and betrayed."

"She did, but-things change," I said faltering for a way to say more without admitting how many lies of one kind or another I had racked up in the last hour. "Leda, there's so much I'd like to tell you, but I think I'll wait until I can bring my cousin with me-if that would be all right with you? Perhaps we can come at a time when your father is sleeping or won't be disturbed by us?"

She smiled. "That would be wonderful. I've never had a chance to meet Arthur's son."

Laurie arrived with a grocery sack but hesitated before handing it to me. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." I took it from her, said good-bye, and made my way across the street. About halfway across I had a sensation of being watched, and looked over my shoulder. I couldn't see anyone looking out the tinted-gla.s.s windows, but I could have sworn that somewhere on the other side of that gla.s.s, Horace DeMont was boring holes in my back with his angry stare.

27.

"Come in!" a voice called from a speaker near the front door of Robert DeMont's home. I hesitated only for a moment before trying the door; it was unlocked. But as I opened it, I couldn't see anyone waiting for me in the room beyond. That didn't mean he wasn't there-the room was not one that could be taken in at a glance. I had been able to guess the decor of Leda's home, but even looking at the interior of Robert's place, I wasn't sure what I was seeing. Except for the s.p.a.ces taken up by windows, the walls were lined with bookcases. Not all of these bookcases held books; many of the shelves were crowded with gadgets and tools. Apparently the books that had once occupied the shelves were stacked on the floor-not much of the floor was visible. A maze of worktables was covered with drawings, metal parts, gears, bottles of adhesives, soldering irons, magnifiers, cardboard boxes, clamps, more tools and a host of unidentifiable objects. The tables each had their own chairs; most were metal folding chairs, a few looked like used office chairs.

To my right was a door that seemed to open onto a hallway, and at the other end of the front room, another doorway, probably leading to a kitchen. No sign of DeMont.

I was about to call his name when I heard a toilet flush. I stepped inside and waited for a respectable amount of time. Just as I was about to call out, "Are you feeling okay?" I heard another flush. And another. About six in succession before he yelled, "Bring my dinner back here!"

Not especially anxious to obey, and wondering why anyone in such apparent gastric distress would want to eat-let alone eat in that particular room-I said,I'll just leave it on the kitchen table."