Prudence went on as if she hadn’t heard the interruption.

  “I started back to our bedroom, Patience’s and mine, but the fire was burning so quickly, and there was so much smoke, I got all lightheaded. I couldn’t see and I lost track of where I was.

  That’s where Patience found me, in the hall, and then he came up the stairs, running. He had a blanket. He threw it around us and carried us out of the house.”

  She paused to look around the room, her eyes flashing demonically.

  “I hated him. You can’t imagine how much I’ve always hated him. I’ve dreamed of…of…I wanted to kill him. The way he’d DeaDly Silence 155

  killed her.” Her words sputtered to a stop. She had lost her train of thought. She brought her hands up to her face, made a cleaning motion with them, as if wiping a mask downward. She looked at her sister in confusion.

  “Did I…?” She looked around the room again and back to her sister. Patience was rocking back and forth on her heels, moaning faintly to herself. “Did I…do what you said? Upstairs?”

  “It’s all right, darling,” Patience said. She managed to get herself under control. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t let any harm come to you.”

  “We take a dim view of murder,” Bryce said. “Whatever the motivation.”

  “She’s mentally ill,” Patience said. “You can see that for yourself, surely, and I have an army of doctors who will testify to that fact. She’ll be put away. I know a place. It’s very lovely, really.

  If you didn’t know, you’d think it was just a very grand country estate and not a mental hospital. She’ll be well cared for there.

  Safe. No one can touch her. What more can you want?”

  “The truth,” Tom said. “And the truth here, is, what, Patience?

  You’d let your sister take the fall for your father’s death? Even knowing she was innocent.”

  “She’s not innocent,” Patience cried. “You heard her. I told you what I saw. She was holding a pillow over his face. She killed him. Farley told you. What more do you want?”

  “Justice, maybe,” Tom said.

  “He deserved to die,” Prudence said hotly. “He was a murderer.”

  “Prudence, don’t say another word. I’m ordering you.”

  Patience took a step toward her sister as if she meant to take hold of her again, but Bryce stepped forward, blocking her path.

  “You heard her story,” Patience said. “He killed our mother.

  Do you think he should have gotten away with that?”

  “An eye for an eye? Is that what you’re saying?” Bryce said.

  156 Victor J. Banis

  “You think that’s all it is? Didn’t you listen to what she said?”

  She looked at Tom and Stanley. “Didn’t any of what I told you in the beginning sink in? That night, the night he murdered our mother, that wasn’t all that he had done. Not the worst of it, even. He’d gone. Bashed her head in with that lamp and set a fire to conceal his crime. Then he’d left. And left us there, two little girls, in a burning house with our dead mother. He meant for us to die too.”

  “But he came back,” Tom said. “He changed his mind.”

  “For whatever reason.” Her anger was rising, her eyes flashing.

  “I’ve wanted to ask him often what changed it for him, but I never did, and now I’ll never know.”

  “It might have been love,” Stanley said.

  “A very off and on again kind of love, it seems to me.” She sneered at that possibility. “Whatever. It doesn’t change the fact that he wanted us dead. That was his first impulse. His own children, the fruit of his loins. How can you think I would ever forgive that?”

  “It couldn’t have been for more than a single moment,” Tom said.

  “A single moment, but it defined his life ever afterward.” In her fury, she fairly spat the words at him. “And ours, too.”

  “And he tried to go back in, to rescue your mother.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” It was clear that Patience’s anger was rising; she looked like an avenging harpy. “He already knew she was dead, that was just for show. And that business of rescuing us. Look what he did to her.” She waved a hand in Prudence’s direction. “He killed her as surely as he killed our mother. He had to die. That’s why I killed him. I’d do it again…”

  chaPter twenty

  “Patience,” Farley exclaimed, “shut up in the name of God,”

  but it was too late.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Tom said. “We’d already figured it out. It was just a matter of accumulating enough evidence.”

  “I didn’t mean…” Patience stammered, flustered.

  “The two of you came to the nursing home together that morning, didn’t you?” Tom said. “You and Farley. It was you pretending to be Prudence, with your hair down, wearing that gray suit—you do have matching suits, don’t you? Acting like you were dizzy, that whole business about lying down. It was all for the nurse’s benefit. And then you made sure she saw you leaving with the pillow.”

  “No, I…Farley, my God, what have you done?”

  “Me?” Farley stared bug-eyed from Patience to Tom and back again. He shuddered with visible fear when Tom turned on him.

  “You came to Bella Vista with Patience, made up to look like her sister, and you left her there to murder her father, and drove back to the house, to get Prudence. Saw to it that she dressed as Patience had, in the same gray suit. Even the green scarf at her neck.”

  “I should have realized,” Stanley said. “Her makeup was so sloppy. I should have seen she hadn’t done it herself.”

  “What did you drug her with?” Tom asked.

  “Acid,” Farley said in little more than a whisper.

  “Shut up, you fool,” Patience snapped.

  Farley might not have heard her. He was staring at Prudence with a mixture of horror and pity. “Look at her. She’s on acid now. We’ve kept her that way ever since. When she does acid, she gets all addled. She didn’t know that night where she was or what 158 Victor J. Banis

  she was doing. It was easy to feed her suggestions. The clothes…

  yes, I did her makeup, I’m no good at that. I did everything. But, I didn’t…I thought it was all some kind of game.”

  “A game. A mentally unstable woman, on hallucinogenic drugs, and you thought it was a game to frame her for her father’s murder?”

  “Patience, what are they saying?” Prudence asked, wringing her hands helplessly. “What have you done?”

  Patience snorted in impatience and disgust. “What I should have done years ago,” she said, her voice like the crack of a whip. Her shoulders drooped. Like most people who are rigidly self-controlled, once the control slipped, she no longer felt any restraint. “You’ve no idea what my life has been like. Living with him, knowing what he’d done. And you,” the eyes she turned on Prudence were the eyes of an asp. “Like taking care of a child all these years. A retarded child. You were free to do whatever you wanted, and I was the one who had to hold everything together. I killed him because for once I saw a way to be rid of the both of you. And, yes, I’d do it again, in a heartbeat.”

  For several seconds the room was silent except for her heavy breathing and the whimpering sounds that Prudence made into her hands.

  “Patience Pendleton and Farley Whitaker,” Bryce said in his most sonorous voice, “I’m placing you both under arrest for the murder of Albert Pendleton. You have the right to remain silent…”

  Stanley saw Prudence sway. He was at her side in a moment, helping her to a chair, while Bryce droned on.

  § § § § §

  Bryce and Carlson had taken Patience and Farley away. Doctor Skelton had arrived to take charge of Prudence. Tom turned off the lights, checked that the doors were locked, and he and Stanley let themselves out of the house.

  DeaDly Silence 159

  “What do you suppose all that business with the gun was about?” Stanley asked. “Was it Patience who shot at me, do you think?”

  “More than likely. I don’t think Farley has that kind of balls.

  I think she was putting a back-up plan in place. She intended all along to set Prudence up for the murder, but just in case, she had no qualms about framing Farley instead. If it had begun to look like her scheme wasn’t working, I think Farley might have ended up committing suicide—after confessing to Patience, of course.”

  “I guess we won’t be getting our fee,” Stanley said.

  “Blood money. Wouldn’t be good for our souls.”

  “Was any of it legitimate?” Stanley asked. “The whole case, I mean. From the time Patience called us?”

  “Probably not. Or very little. She hired us to make herself look innocent, concerned. And she made such an issue of protecting Prudence, so we’d be sure to believe her when she told us Prudence had done it. I’m not sure about slimy little Farley.

  Do you think he was in on it all along?”

  “I’d bet on it,” Stanley said. “He has an eye for the main chance, that one. He wouldn’t have dreamed up a murder scheme himself, like you say, he isn’t that ballsy. But when Patience suggested it, and he saw it meant marrying her, getting his hands on all that money. If he’d married Prudence, Patience would still have controlled the purse strings. But if he married Patience…

  He saw which side of the creek offered him the best footing, and jumped.”

  “And missed. I can’t help feeling a little sorry for Prudence, though.”

  “Yes, me too,” Stanley said. “At least Doctor Skelton will look after her. In the end, she’ll probably end up right where Patience meant to send her. What was the name of that place?

  Long Acres.”

  160 Victor J. Banis

  “Sounds as if she’ll be well taken care of. Amazing what money can do. I can’t help wondering about Abe. Did he know Patience meant to kill him?”

  “I think he must have. He was protecting her. Maybe he had a death wish. He’d murdered their mother. He almost murdered the girls. Some vestige of conscience sent him back into that burning house to save them, but he’d lived all those years since with the knowledge of what he’d almost done to his daughters.

  And every time he saw the emotional damage to Prudence, it fed his misery, reminded him that it was he who was to blame.”

  “Guilt, for his old sins?” Tom said.

  “We never really escape them, do we, those old sins? They skulk off into the shadows, the basements of our souls, if you want to look at it like that, but they’re always waiting for the chance to steal back up the stairs.”

  “Huh. Too deep for me, Stanley.”

  “Poor Prudence. She lost her father and now she’s lost her sister. I can’t help wondering if what we did was a good thing.”

  “It’s not our job to do good things, we have to do the right thing.”

  Stanley thought about that for a minute. “But how do you know?”

  “You just know.”

  Which, Stanley thought, was another great gulf between him and Tom. Tom was always so sure, so clear on things, and he himself...

  “I never do,” he said aloud, but more to himself than to Tom.

  “Let’s go home,” Tom said.

  Stanley stopped, so abruptly that Tom had actually got a step or two past him and had to turn back. “What?”

  “Tom, I…I’m not coming home.”

  DeaDly Silence 161

  “You’ve got someplace to go? Want me to drop you off?”

  “No. I mean, I’m not coming home. I’ve taken a room at Beck’s.”

  “Beck’s.” Tom’s face was blank.

  “The motor hotel. On Market Street.”

  “I know where it is. But, why would you take a room there?”

  “I want, oh, I’m sorry, but just now I need some space. I need to be alone for a bit, is all. Call it a vacation.”

  Tom’s face seemed to sag. His eyes got an odd, dusky quality about them. “A vacation from me, you mean?”

  “From us, if you want to put it like that.”

  “How else could I put it, Stanley?”

  They regarded one another for a long moment in silence.

  Tom thought he was seeing nothing less than the breakup of their relationship. “What did I do?” he asked in a plaintive voice.

  “If I’ve fucked up somehow, tell me. I’ll straighten it out.”

  “It isn’t you. It’s me. Oh, please, let’s not talk about it. I’ve reserved the room already. I took some things over earlier, before I saw Aunt Dora. It’s just something I’ve got to do.”

  “So,” Tom said after another silence, “what do I do here?

  Shake hands? Kiss you goodbye? Give me a hint. I’ve never broken up with a boyfriend, I don’t know the usual drill.”

  “I don’t think there is one. Look, I’ll catch a cab on Divis.”

  “I can drive you.”

  “No. I’d rather take a cab.”

  “Stanley, I love you.”

  “No,” Stanley said sharply, angrily, though he wasn’t altogether sure just which one of them he was angry with. “You love parts of me, Tom, but that leaves an awful lot of me that you don’t even like.”

  “What? All that fag stuff? You knew how I felt—”

  162 Victor J. Banis

  “Damn it, Tom. I am a fag.”

  Stanley marched away in the direction of Divisadero Street.

  He did not look back or pause in his steps.

  Tom stood, defeated, watching him go.

  chaPter twenty-one

  “What does it mean, Chris?” Chris had been the first—and only—person Tom had called about Stanley’s odd declaration of independence. Chris knew Stanley better than anybody. If anyone could explain what had happened, it would be Chris.

  Who, as it had turned out, had no valid explanation either.

  “Nothing, as far as I can tell. It’s just Stanley, being Stanley. He gets himself all tangled up. Especially in his relations with men.

  It’s all that old business with his father.”

  “I’m not his father.”

  “I’m not so sure. In some ways, that’s what Stanley has always been looking for. Anyway, you know how he is, he can’t see past the end of his nose.”

  They’d had dinner together in a little Italian restaurant off 24th Street, a dinner noted for a lack of conversation. Now they were walking back toward Tom’s parked truck. It was colder than usual for San Francisco, a chilling rain falling. This far off 24th, even this close to Christmas, there were no other pedestrians.

  “It’s not his nose I’m thinking about here. Do you think I should go by Beck’s, and try to talk to him?”

  “No. I wouldn’t. Let him have some time to think things over.”

  Chris did not add that he had already gone by Beck’s. Stanley wasn’t there. He didn’t want to think where he might be instead.

  Tom stopped abruptly and turned to look at the window of a thrift store. The store was closed, the window, filled with an assortment of toys, dark, its glass turned into a mirror. After a moment, he started to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Chris asked.

  “That dumb ass in the window.” Tom leaned his head against the glass and his shoulders began to heave. Chris realized he had begun to cry silently. Pain knifed through Chris’s chest.

  164 Victor J. Banis

  “Tom, look,” he said, taking hold of Tom’s arm, “Come home with me, okay? I don’t think you should be alone tonight.”

  Tom turned to look down at him. For a moment, his moist eyes were blank of expression, as if he hadn’t understood what Chris had said. He smiled, then, a bittersweet smile. “You think I’ll go home and off myself?”

  “No. It’s just…I don’t think you should be alone.”

  “Sleep with you?”

  Chris gave a weary sigh. “We could sit up all night. Drink coffee. Talk.”

  “Or go to bed. If I came home with you tonight, I’d end up fucking you. We both know that. My dick’s feeling unloved. He gets testy.”

  For a long moment they regarded one another. Chris said nothing. Two guys, alone on a rainy street at night. What was there to say? He felt pretty sure his eyes had already said everything necessary.

  Tom leaned down to give him a kiss. Not a romantic, nor a sexy kiss, but the kind friends gave one another. A peck.

  “You’re a good buddy,” he said, and then he was gone. Chris waited a long moment before he looked after him, but by then the street was empty and Chris was alone.

  It was just as well. If they could have had one brief present, which possibly could then evolve into a future, it might have made for an exciting moment or two. But there was no future, there never really was, there was just the ongoing present—and in that present, he knew full well, Stanley would come back to Tom. He couldn’t part with Tom because, in the simplest possible terms, Stanley was Tom. Or, rather, Tom was Stanley.

  Stanley lived in dreams. And that was all Tom had ever been for him, would ever be for him, a dream of a perfect man. A reflection of his own needs, his romantic imaginings. Somewhere there might be a real Tom Danzel, almost certainly there was, DeaDly Silence 165

  but Stanley would never know him. Stanley would never walk through the mirror.

  What about me, then, Chris wondered? Was the Tom Danzel of whom tonight, however briefly, he had entertained his foolish erotic fantasies, any more real than Stanley’s phantom lover?

  His turn to stare into the darkened window of the toy store.

  He could see his own reflection and beyond it, like ghosts hovering in the shadows, dolls and toy trucks and in one corner a marionette.

  Chris laughed bleakly at himself. Tom was right. The guy staring back at him really looked like an ass.

  After a moment, he turned away from the window, tugged his coat collar up, and began to walk. He could get a bus at the corner. The rain came down harder.

  The big question came back to haunt him: Where was Stanley?

  He had always thought he knew Stanley better than he knew himself. But did anyone really ever know anyone?