Read Online Philly Stakes by Gillian Roberts - Free Book Online Page B

She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.”
    I thought about Daedalus and Icarus. “Then tell me,” I said. “Who is Daedalus? What did he do to you?” In the silence that followed my question, I became aware of the impossible contradictions between our conversation and our surroundings. We were talking about a possible murder while a nasal voice on the loudspeaker announced a special on artificial snow.
    Laura turned away. I paid the bill and followed her through tinsel-edged aisles. She paused in cosmetics, oddly transfixed. I remembered how soothing, how promising Woolworth’s nail-polish display had been to me in my teens, symbolizing the infinite possibilities of womanhood and promising that with the right lacquer came the right life. But I had never been grappling with Laura’s kind of problems.
    “Maybe you had one of those dreams,” I said.
    She shook her head. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” She examined a shrieking red bottle. Her own nails were unpolished.
    “What’s your aunt’s name?”
    “Alma.” She held fluorescent purple polish to the light, as if it were a gemstone.
    “Alma Clausen?”
    “Leary. My mom’s sister.” She was so small and frail. “My dad doesn’t—didn’t—have any relatives. Except for me, I guess. Lot of good it did him.”
    “It was an accident!” I insisted. “Why even think you had a part in it? It’s not in you—it’s not who you are!”
    “Of course it is,” she said. “Everybody knows how I am. He certainly did. I wanted to do it. I thought about it all the time. And I did it. That’s how I am.” She looked at her watch again. “I have to go. My mom—she’s pretty wobbly.” She put down the polish and walked out of the store.
    I hurried behind, then walked beside her. Tiny strings of lights glimmered against the branches of the trees on Broad Street. They reminded me of last night, of the lights along the river, of the twinkling candles all over Clausen’s house. “Laura—why did you call me today?”
    “I was going to tell you before the police. I don’t know why. Then it seemed dumb. I changed my mind, but look how it turned out—I told you anyway. Things I imagine have a way of happening for real, like I said.” Her nose and cheeks were ruddy with the cold.
    “Please,” I said. “Don’t tell anybody else. There is no reason, nothing to be gained from it. Tell your mother’s doctor if you have to talk about it. I think you’re hysterical, Laura, or feeling guilty about the quarrel last night, or feelings you’ve had. Accidents happen, and they remain accidents even if you imagined them, or thought about them. Don’t put yourself in jeopardy. Please?”
    She looked puzzled. She also looked exhausted. We paused at the corner near a thin Salvation Army Santa ringing his bell. “She’s in there,” she said.
    I had to negotiate further. “Before you say anything to anyone official, call me. Talk to Detective Mackenzie.”
    She shook her head. “Who’s that?”
    I did some calculations. Mackenzie’s investigations at Philly Prep had been eight months ago, in April, before Laura enrolled. Longer ago than I realized until this moment. A long time to tread water with a man. I shelved that thought for another, more appropriate, time. “A good friend. He could advise you how to proceed. Okay? Promise?”
    She nodded. Not because of my persuasiveness, I was sure. Not because of her own common sense or natural self-protectiveness. She was simply too tired to do anything but agree and go retrieve her mother.
    I hadn’t gotten a single thing on this expedition except Laura’s dubious promise, but I had no energy left to find anything beyond my way home.
    * * *
    I listened to my messages while I heated soup, and Macavity, not sure if something he considered delicious might be brewing, hugged my ankles like fur leg warmers. First I heard Laura’s retraction, the one she’d mentioned.
    Then Mackenzie. “Doesn’t look good for tonight,”