Following the death of her husband, Evelyn Daye Tappley had erected in her room a canopied bed of such proportion and craft that even a queen in a medieval kingdom would have been envious. In the manner of the ancient Egyptians, Evelyn had had her bedposts carved with intricate figures of myth such as unicorns and satyrs, and the bed itself hung with velvet and silk from the Orient.
It was here, when she did not wish to address mere mortals, including her daughter, that Evelyn Daye Tappley spent long hours in pajamas of the finest silk, sipping wine imported from French vineyards so celebrated that even international movie stars had a difficult time getting on the preferred customer list, and looking at photo album after photo album of her beloved second son Peter.
She was here how.
Doris knocked.
'I'll speak to you in the morning,' Evelyn said from the other side of the door.
'We need to talk now, Mother.'
'I'm in bed. Don't you have any respect for that?'
'I'm coming in, Mother.'
'Damn you, you have no right to treat me this way!'
But Doris waited no longer. Could wait no longer. If her suspicions were correct, her mother had done something that was both vile and exceedingly stupid.
The only light in the large shadowy room came from within the interior of the canopy itself, a light appended to the headboard of the vast bed.
Doris walked over and said, 'I want you to tell me about this Mr Runyon.'
Evelyn's dark eyes blazed. 'So you were listening on the extension.'
'Mr Runyon, Mother. I want you to tell me about him. And I want you to tell me what Arthur Halliwell has to do with all of this.'
Even this late in her life, Evelyn Daye Tappley had a firm and shapely body. In the dainty silk pajamas, the body looked thirty years younger than its owner.
On Evelyn's lap was a photo albumall color photos, of courseof Peter's ninth and tenth summers. Evelyn had been an inveterate documenter of her children's young years.
'He was a handsome boy, wasn't he?' she said dreamily.
'Yes, he was. Now tell me about Runyon.'
'You know, his birthday is coming up. Peter's, I mean.'
'I know.'
'I assume you'll go to the mausoleum with me.'
'Perhaps, Mother. But first'
Her mother glared up at Doris. 'You know what? The older I get, the more I wonder if you weren't jealous of Peter. I wonder if you weren't jealous all these years and I didn't understand it until recently.'
'You're changing the subject, Mother.'
'If you weren't jealous, you'd go to the mausoleum with me.'
'There's paying respectand then there's morbidity.'
'And I'm morbid?'
'You're there every day, aren't you?'
'And that's morbid?'
'Of course it is.'
Doris did not realize until it was too late what her mother had just done. There was a button on the side of the bed for summoning a servant. She had just pressed it. Martha would be here soon. Evelyn would have Martha stay with her so Doris couldn't ask any questions.
'You're very clever, Mother.'
Evelyn smiled. 'I like to think so, anyway, dear.'
'We're going to talk about Runyon.'
'Are we?'
'Jill doesn't deserve this.'
'You know what I just said about you being jealous of your brother?'
'Don't be ridiculous.'
'If you weren't jealous then you'd agree with me that that little bitch should be punished.'
'She's a decent woman. She did everything she could to save her marriage.'
Evelyn smirked. 'Oh yes, Jill Coffeya veritable saint, isn't she?' But she was angry now and could no longer control it. Her eyes grew wild again. 'Don't ask me about Runyon. Runyon is entirely my business, not yours. And I don't want you snooping around in my desk anymore, either.'
'I just can't believe that Mr Halliwell would have anything to do with this.'
'You're naive about people, Doris, and you always have been.'
A soft knock. Martha came in.
Evelyn said, 'Why don't you fluff my pillows and straighten the blankets and help me get ready for bed?'
'Yes, ma'am.'
Evelyn smiled at Doris. 'I'm sorry, dear, but with Martha here, I'm afraid we can't talk.'
Doris and Martha glanced at each other. Martha was wise in the ways of Evelyn Daye Tappley.
'I'll talk to you in the morning, then, Mother,' Doris said, and turned away from the bed.
As Doris left the room, Martha gave her a weary little smile.