The Late Clara Beame Read Online Free PDF Page B

trapped among enemies, alone and vulnerable.
    “Oh, David,” she suddenly remembered, “you drink bourbon, and here I am, giving you martinis!”
    “It doesn’t matter,” he answered indifferently. She saw him give his sister a peculiar look. As usual, Alice looked lovely, in a starkly tailored dark-blue suit and blue blouse. There were large turquoise clusters at her ears and throat, and a broad band of turquoises set in silver about her right wrist. Sleek and blonde, she makes me feel like a frump, Laura was honest with herself.
    She wished miserably that she had never invited them. Even Henry had been displeased when he learned that David was coming. Loath to say anything unpleasant about anyone, nevertheless he had remarked: “Frankly, I’m sorry to hear that. I know we should feel grateful to him, and I’ve known him all my life. But there’s something about him I never liked, though God knows I tried. No, I can’t tell you, for the simple reason that I don’t know. He and Sam were closest to each other. And that’s a funny thing,” he had added, frowning.
    “What?” Laura had asked.
    Henry shook his head. “I just don’t know. There’s something about Chicago, when Sam died, that I’ve been trying to remember. It keeps slipping my mind; but never mind. It probably isn’t important.” Apparently, however, his subconscious mind registered some disquiet, for he referred to the matter again, later. Then, only this morning, at breakfast: “If I could just put my finger on it,” he had muttered.
    Laura, intrigued, recalled Sam’s death, and the subsequent events. Yes, she had conceded, sipping more coffee after Henry had left for New York, there had been ‘something’. A strangeness in the air, perhaps, when the police had come. A sort of hiatus, as if someone knew something he wasn’t telling. Alice had only cried once, briefly and painfully. David had merely walked through the apartment, again and again, his head bent. If someone spoke to him suddenly he would start, and then stare, his black eyes unseeing. Had he actually looked afraid? Laura could not remember. But surely it was all imagination. Poor Sam had killed himself when he had discovered that he had an incurable disease. However, who had told him about it? For months, the police searched for any physician who had attended him and warned him of his illness. None was found. They finally came to the conclusion that, knowing he was ill, he had gone to a physician out of town, and had given a false name. But, why should he have done that, Sam who was like a playful and young boy, Sam who could never keep a secret, good or bad? It wasn’t like him at all. He would have confided in Alice, at least, for he had loved his wife. Or, if not Alice, then David, who was a physician. But he had said nothing to anyone, and had never appeared abstracted or depressed. Of a buoyant nature, and a good color, he had not seemed sick. In fact, he was excited about Christmas, a Christmas he never saw, and he had bought Alice something very special. They had found it later, a string of exceptionally fine, matched cultured pearls with a diamond clasp.
    “You’re spilling your drink,” Alice warned her in a detached voice.
    “So I am,” Laura said, her cheeks flushed. “I was thinking of a year ago.” She couldn’t help it, and she was ashamed, but she wanted to hurt Alice. “It was exactly a year ago that Sam killed himself.”
    “No,” Alice corrected her calmly, “it was a year ago yesterday.” She spoke as if she were referring to something of no consequence. She gave her brother a quick glance, and he spoke as if cued.
    “Why bring up the melancholy subject, Laura?”
    She could not explain that she had wanted to hurt Alice. “It’s just that — well, you can’t help remembering, can you?”
    “Like Banquo at the feast,” David suggested.
    “Henry and I were talking about it only this morning,” she heard herself saying. “Henry thinks