05.28.2008 / EP. 13
We Want Your Help
Carrie: “You’ll help?”
“Give it to the police,” Milly said.
“Arthur will give you time off.”
“Right, the guy I jilted at the altar.”
“And manipulated it all,” Kerry said softly.
“Ho, ho. Now Arthur is an evil spider at the centre of a web.”
“Don’t disappoint me,” said Carrie. “You’re underestimating the man because you dislike him. He isn’t the Governor’s legal advisor through luck. You know better. It took brains and political savvy and social skills, aka manipulation. Which reminds me, I forget how you found out about the break-in.”
“I didn’t say.”
“That’s right,” Carrie lilted.
Milly stopped thinking for a time. She heard Kerry and Carrie as through a fog. “OK,” Milly said, after Kerry had promised a handsome reward for the dead man’s identity. “It was an anonymous call,” Milly said.
Kerry: “That brought you to the Dennis Quall?”
Milly nodded.
Kerry was skeptical.
“Trust me,” Milly breathed. She leaned over to rub her ankles, affording Kerry a view that caught his breath. He laughed.
“Why not?” Kerry found his voice. “Here’s the scene. You’re crazy from drugs someone gives you to start the marriage right. You back off Arthur and marry Fred. Other guests sample the substance. They join the party. Abel decides to marry Carolyn. Carrie fastens onto Billy. It’s not them; it’s the drug. Maybe it was in the punch and nobody knew. Later, the mix sours. You agree to meet a guy at your office. You kill him over some private matter. Maybe he comes onto you. Maybe he doesn’t like you. Who knows? You melt into the background and reappear a few hours later when Carrie is trying to make sense where there’s no sense. By that time, you’re a loyal servant of Governor Brull again. The magic potion has disappeared. Tell me: I can believe this, or that an unnamed soul telephones you in the middle of your wedding night about a nickel and dime burglary. Which would you believe?”
“Take me home,” Milly said.
“What do you really do in your spare time?” asked Kerry. “I’m curious.”
“Dolls. You know. She collect dolls,” said Carrie.
Kerry: “She denies it.”
Carrie: “They aren’t normal dolls. They’re antiques.”
“And you’re examples of normality,” said Milly. “Kerry, pretending to be dead, while you can’t maintain an emotion for five minutes at a stretch.”
The atmosphere was despondent, though Carrie gleefully fingered her hair. “Your keyboard of emotions is twisted,” muttered Milly.
“Come along,” said Kerry. He drove her home. There didn’t seem more to say.
