Read Online Deep Water by Patricia Highsmith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patricia Highsmith
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shrugged involuntarily, smiled a little, and said nothing. Melinda had had just as good a time as she'd had at other club dances when she had got too high, or flirted, or got sick, or created some other kind of disturbance that hadn't enhanced their popularity, either.
Lying in his bed that night Vic relived the moments on the dance floor with Mary Meller. Don Wilson's scowling face. The whispering people. He thought that a few people there tonight really believed that he had killed Malcolm McRae—the people who knew him least. That was what Mary had tried to tell him. If Mary hadn't known him so well, or thought she knew him so well, she might be one of the people who suspected him, he thought. She had as much as said it that night of the party. 'You're like somebody waiting very patiently and one day—you'll do something'. He remembered the exact words, and how he had smiled at their mildness. Yes, all these years he had played a game of seeming calm and indifferent to whatever Melinda did. He had deliberately hidden everything he felt—and in those months of her first affair he had felt something, even if it was only shock, but he had succeeded in concealing it. That was what baffled people, he knew. He had seen it in their faces, even in Horace's. He didn't react with the normal jealousy, and something was going to give. That was the conclusion people came to. And that was what made his story so good: something had given, and he had murdered one of Melinda's lovers. That was more believable than that he had taken it for four years without saying or doing anything. To have burst out, finally, was merely human. People understood that. Nobody on earth could prove that he had murdered Malcolm McRae, he thought, but neither could anybody prove that he hadn't.
Chapter 6
It was a little more than two weeks after the Fourth of July dance, when Vic was breakfasting with Trixie one morning, that lie saw the item in the 'New York Times':
SLAYER OF NEW YORK ADVERTISING MAN FOUND
8-Month-Old Mystery Slaying of
Malcolm McRae Solved
With a spoonful of grapefruit poised in mid-air, Vic pored over it. The police had picked up a man working as a clerk in a haberdashery shop in the state of Washington who had confessed to the crime, and there was "no doubt" that he was the murderer, though they were still checking the facts. The man's name was Howard Olney. He was thirty-one and a brother of Phyllis Olney, an entertainer, who had once been "on intimate terms" with McRae. Olney, said the paper, blamed McRae for separating himself and his sister as a professional team. They were nightclub entertainers, specializing in magic tricks. Phyllis Olney had met McRae in Chicago and had broken her contract to come with him to New York a year and a half ago. Olney had run out of money, his sister had never sent him any though she had promised that she would (who'd ever been able to squeeze a nickel out of Mal?), and, according to Olney, McRae had abandoned his sister, leaving her destitute. Nearly a year later Olney had hitchhiked to New York for the express purpose of avenging himself and his sister by killing McRae. Psychiatrists who had examined Olney said he showed manic-depressive tendencies, which would probably be taken into account when his trial came up.
"Daddy!"Trixie had finally got his attention."I said I'm going to finish your belt today!"
Vic had the feeling she had yelled it at him three times. "That' great. You mean the braided belt."
"The 'only' belt I'm making this summer," Trixie said in a tom that showed her annoyance with him. She dumped some puffed wheat from the little package in front of her onto her corn flakes stirred them together, then reached for the bottle of ketchup Trixie was in a ketchup period. Ketchup had to be on everything from scrambled eggs to rice pudding.
Lying in his bed that night Vic relived the moments on the dance floor with Mary Meller. Don Wilson's scowling face. The whispering people. He thought that a few people there tonight really believed that he had killed Malcolm McRae—the people who knew him least. That was what Mary had tried to tell him. If Mary hadn't known him so well, or thought she knew him so well, she might be one of the people who suspected him, he thought. She had as much as said it that night of the party. 'You're like somebody waiting very patiently and one day—you'll do something'. He remembered the exact words, and how he had smiled at their mildness. Yes, all these years he had played a game of seeming calm and indifferent to whatever Melinda did. He had deliberately hidden everything he felt—and in those months of her first affair he had felt something, even if it was only shock, but he had succeeded in concealing it. That was what baffled people, he knew. He had seen it in their faces, even in Horace's. He didn't react with the normal jealousy, and something was going to give. That was the conclusion people came to. And that was what made his story so good: something had given, and he had murdered one of Melinda's lovers. That was more believable than that he had taken it for four years without saying or doing anything. To have burst out, finally, was merely human. People understood that. Nobody on earth could prove that he had murdered Malcolm McRae, he thought, but neither could anybody prove that he hadn't.
Chapter 6
It was a little more than two weeks after the Fourth of July dance, when Vic was breakfasting with Trixie one morning, that lie saw the item in the 'New York Times':
SLAYER OF NEW YORK ADVERTISING MAN FOUND
8-Month-Old Mystery Slaying of
Malcolm McRae Solved
With a spoonful of grapefruit poised in mid-air, Vic pored over it. The police had picked up a man working as a clerk in a haberdashery shop in the state of Washington who had confessed to the crime, and there was "no doubt" that he was the murderer, though they were still checking the facts. The man's name was Howard Olney. He was thirty-one and a brother of Phyllis Olney, an entertainer, who had once been "on intimate terms" with McRae. Olney, said the paper, blamed McRae for separating himself and his sister as a professional team. They were nightclub entertainers, specializing in magic tricks. Phyllis Olney had met McRae in Chicago and had broken her contract to come with him to New York a year and a half ago. Olney had run out of money, his sister had never sent him any though she had promised that she would (who'd ever been able to squeeze a nickel out of Mal?), and, according to Olney, McRae had abandoned his sister, leaving her destitute. Nearly a year later Olney had hitchhiked to New York for the express purpose of avenging himself and his sister by killing McRae. Psychiatrists who had examined Olney said he showed manic-depressive tendencies, which would probably be taken into account when his trial came up.
"Daddy!"Trixie had finally got his attention."I said I'm going to finish your belt today!"
Vic had the feeling she had yelled it at him three times. "That' great. You mean the braided belt."
"The 'only' belt I'm making this summer," Trixie said in a tom that showed her annoyance with him. She dumped some puffed wheat from the little package in front of her onto her corn flakes stirred them together, then reached for the bottle of ketchup Trixie was in a ketchup period. Ketchup had to be on everything from scrambled eggs to rice pudding.
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