Read Online Places in the Dark by Thomas H. Cook - Free Book Online
Authors: Thomas H. Cook
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the bank. About Ed Dillard.”
Brady shoved a book into its assigned place on the shelf. “What about Ed?”
“Joe said Mr. Dillard intended to make out a will.”
“And?”
“Well, you were Ed’s lawyer.”
Brady sat down at his desk. He didn’t invite me to take the chair opposite it. “This is about Dora March, isn’t it? You’ve decided that Miss March had a badcharacter. You suspect her of being involved in William’s death. You think she may have had a reason to murder Ed Dillard too.” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Well, you couldn’t be more wrong, Cal.”
He rose, walked to a file cabinet on the far side of the room, rifled through a line of folders, and returned to his seat carrying a single sheet of paper. “This is the ‘will’ Ed made,” he said as he handed it to me.
I took the paper and read the five words written on it. The letters were thick and awkwardly formed, but I could easily make out what it said:
Draw will. Everything to Dora.
“As you know, as a legal document it won’t hold up,” Brady told me. “For one thing, there’s no last name. For all I know, ‘Dora’ might be one of Ed’s long-lost cousins.”
“Except that a woman named Dora happened to be living with him.”
“But as you, of all people, should understand, knowing something and giving it legal force are two different things.” Brady drew the page from my hand, eyed me coolly. “Look, Cal, if I hadn’t seen Miss March with Ed, then I might have had the same suspicions you do.” He smiled, but not lasciviously. It seemed rather the smile of one who’d come to accept our frailties, the pitfall of desire. “It’s happened to old men before. But it didn’t happen to Ed Dillard. And I can prove it.”
He’d gone to Ed Dillard’s house the day following the old man’s death, Brady told me. It was two days before Christmas. Dillard lay in an open coffin in the front room, his face rouged and powdered. Dora sat stiffly in a chair a few feet away while other people, mostly aging business acquaintances, milled about, talking quietly.
“I waited until everyone had left, then I showed that to Miss March.” Brady gestured toward the paper he’d set on his desk. “She read it and handed it back to me. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t want anything.’ Simple as that. I told her she could make a claim based on the note. She said she had no interest in Ed’s money. So I said, ‘Well, why don’t you take some small thing from the house. Ed would want you to do that.’” He fell silent, looking down at the page Dillard had written.
“Did she?” I asked. “Take something from his house?”
“Yes,” Brady said. “A little porcelain figure. Ed had scores of them. She took one of a little girl with long, blond hair.”
It rose into my mind exactly as I’d seen it, illuminated by a single candle. “Naked. Sitting on a rock,” I said. “With her legs drawn up.”
“So you’ve seen it?”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t much of anything. Just a little china figure. Cheap, not worth much. But that’s the one she chose.”
It had rested on the bureau in her bedroom, and other than her clothes and the leather suitcase she’d packed them in, she’d taken nothing else from the cottage on the day she fled.
“She never asked for anything else?”
“Nothing,” Brady said. “I always got the feeling that Dora didn’t want very much from life.”
In my mind, I saw her on the bank of Fox Creek, bending over to dip her fingers in the swirling water, a strange delight in her eyes, small and fierce and frail, like something lifted on the tiniest wings.
“And I certainly never thought she was the sort of woman who’d take advantage of an old man.” Bradyconsidered his next words carefully. “I have some evidence of that.”
“Evidence of what?”
“That she cared for Ed. That it wasn’t just some sort of act.” He leaned back in his chair. “One evening, I dropped by Ed’s house just
Brady shoved a book into its assigned place on the shelf. “What about Ed?”
“Joe said Mr. Dillard intended to make out a will.”
“And?”
“Well, you were Ed’s lawyer.”
Brady sat down at his desk. He didn’t invite me to take the chair opposite it. “This is about Dora March, isn’t it? You’ve decided that Miss March had a badcharacter. You suspect her of being involved in William’s death. You think she may have had a reason to murder Ed Dillard too.” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Well, you couldn’t be more wrong, Cal.”
He rose, walked to a file cabinet on the far side of the room, rifled through a line of folders, and returned to his seat carrying a single sheet of paper. “This is the ‘will’ Ed made,” he said as he handed it to me.
I took the paper and read the five words written on it. The letters were thick and awkwardly formed, but I could easily make out what it said:
Draw will. Everything to Dora.
“As you know, as a legal document it won’t hold up,” Brady told me. “For one thing, there’s no last name. For all I know, ‘Dora’ might be one of Ed’s long-lost cousins.”
“Except that a woman named Dora happened to be living with him.”
“But as you, of all people, should understand, knowing something and giving it legal force are two different things.” Brady drew the page from my hand, eyed me coolly. “Look, Cal, if I hadn’t seen Miss March with Ed, then I might have had the same suspicions you do.” He smiled, but not lasciviously. It seemed rather the smile of one who’d come to accept our frailties, the pitfall of desire. “It’s happened to old men before. But it didn’t happen to Ed Dillard. And I can prove it.”
He’d gone to Ed Dillard’s house the day following the old man’s death, Brady told me. It was two days before Christmas. Dillard lay in an open coffin in the front room, his face rouged and powdered. Dora sat stiffly in a chair a few feet away while other people, mostly aging business acquaintances, milled about, talking quietly.
“I waited until everyone had left, then I showed that to Miss March.” Brady gestured toward the paper he’d set on his desk. “She read it and handed it back to me. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t want anything.’ Simple as that. I told her she could make a claim based on the note. She said she had no interest in Ed’s money. So I said, ‘Well, why don’t you take some small thing from the house. Ed would want you to do that.’” He fell silent, looking down at the page Dillard had written.
“Did she?” I asked. “Take something from his house?”
“Yes,” Brady said. “A little porcelain figure. Ed had scores of them. She took one of a little girl with long, blond hair.”
It rose into my mind exactly as I’d seen it, illuminated by a single candle. “Naked. Sitting on a rock,” I said. “With her legs drawn up.”
“So you’ve seen it?”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t much of anything. Just a little china figure. Cheap, not worth much. But that’s the one she chose.”
It had rested on the bureau in her bedroom, and other than her clothes and the leather suitcase she’d packed them in, she’d taken nothing else from the cottage on the day she fled.
“She never asked for anything else?”
“Nothing,” Brady said. “I always got the feeling that Dora didn’t want very much from life.”
In my mind, I saw her on the bank of Fox Creek, bending over to dip her fingers in the swirling water, a strange delight in her eyes, small and fierce and frail, like something lifted on the tiniest wings.
“And I certainly never thought she was the sort of woman who’d take advantage of an old man.” Bradyconsidered his next words carefully. “I have some evidence of that.”
“Evidence of what?”
“That she cared for Ed. That it wasn’t just some sort of act.” He leaned back in his chair. “One evening, I dropped by Ed’s house just
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