Burial of the Dead

PLOTS - 9

“To take the waters?”

“Yeah, to take the waters,” Ann says.

“How nineteenth century.”

“Don’t people take waters anymore?”

“I don’t think so,” Manny says, looking at Ann, then turning to bend, reach and slip on her shoes. “How well did you know his family?” she asks.

“Matthew’s”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know Matthew existed,” Ann says. “I knew his father. He was a teacher at the high school. The mother was invisible. Never saw her, though it was her side of the family that had some money, property, whatever. Her family had a big house on a pond where kids skated in the winter. It was nice there.”

“What did he teach?”

“Who?”

“Matthew’s father.”

“Accounting.”

“Did you have him?”

“Not in class, just for study hall.”

“Was he, you know, nuts?”

“The guy was an accountant. He was Mr. Normal. Seemed like a nice enough guy.”

“I knew Matthew would go off again,” Manny says.

“Well, he must have, if they had him committed.”

“I thought he’d get drunk and stay in Hartford. He was building up to it after he heard from Bobby Sullivan. That’s what set him off in the first place.”

Manny stands and looks into the mirror, checks for smudges and powder, draws a line with one finger over her eyebrow.

“I’m sick of this color,” she says.

“What color?”

“My hair color – this Junior League frosty blonde color.”

“Then change it.”

“I will, though I don’t know if I’m ready for the natural look.”

“What look is that?”

“Red.”

“Red’s beautiful.”

“Not my red. I’ve got that bright, bright red from my mother – the original red head.”

“That can be very attractive.”

“You think so?”

“I do.”

“Well, we’ll see,” she says, and she grabs the cane with the lion’s head, takes three steps and stops. “Aren’t you hungry?” she asks.

“I don’t have time,” Ann says. “I have to pick up Mr. Stevens at a reception.” She stands, smoothes her suede skirt and brushes the front of her sweater. “The one at Mr. Johnson’s. He buried his wife today. It’s for close friends and family.”

Ann walks across the room and leans into the wide mirror. She says: “But I’m a little confused, Manny.”

“About what?”

“What’s this about Matthew hearing from Bobby Sullivan? What’s that about?”

“It was just a note that said Matthew was fired.”

“So that’s what upset him?”

“Yes, and that Sullivan was supposed to have paid him money.”

“What for?” Ann asks, concerned now.

“To keep quiet.”

“About what?”

“About the way he found my aunt.”

“Wait a minute,” Ann says, irritated, confused. “Are you saying Matthew lied for Bobby Sullivan?”

“He did.”

“About the way your aunt died?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He said there was no plastic bag. You know, that she’d just died.”

“Why?” Ann shouts. “Why in the world would he do that? Are he and Sullivan in this thing together? I thought Matthew was on your side.”

“He said he was doing it for me. So the company would get the insurance money.”

“I can’t believe this,” Ann says, sitting down again, rubbing her forehead.

“I’m the one who told the police about the bag,” Manny says. “All this shows is that Matthew and Bobby Sullivan are both liars, because they want it all. And as I told Detective Moraski, people who lie about suicide will lie about murder.”

“I don’t know,” Ann says. “This isn’t good. This could screw up everything.”

Manny walks around the front of the bed and sits next to Ann. “It’ll be alright,” she says.

Ann looks down. Her eyes run along the edge of the black cane, scuffed at the tip. She says: “If Matthew said Mrs. O’Neal just ‘up and died’ of natural causes, then he’s given Sullivan an alibi, and you won’t get a thing if we can’t show that Sullivan killed her.”

“I’m not worried,” Manny says.

“You’re not?”

“You’re the lawyer; you said we had a strong argument.”

“We do, if we can show Sullivan killed her. Short of that you get nothing, and with Matthew lying for him – it just complicates everything.”

“But Sullivan screwed him over. Matthew won’t lie for him now.”

“And who’ll believe him? He lied once, and he’s nuts on top of it!”

“But if I can convince the police that Sullivan did it?”

“Then, we can do what we planned,” Ann says.

“And I’ll get the insurance money too?”

“If we can prove Sullivan killed her.”

“I can do that,” Manny says.

“I hope so,” Ann says.

“Trust me.”

“I trust you, but you should have told me about this.”

“About what?”

“About Matthew! Jesus, Manny!”

The two sit on the bed, a few inches from each other. The afternoon has gone dark and they’re both tired.

Ann says: “You have to make the police believe Sullivan did it.”

“He did do it.”

“Well, somebody has to prove it.”

Silence spreads through the room as they move their hands over the bed spread and touch fingers.

“Come here, baby,” Manny says. At first Ann resists, then leans into Manny’s embrace as Manny kisses her neck.

“Is there anything else you didn’t tell me?” Ann asks.

“Yes, dear, there is.”

“What?”

“That I love you, and if you help me we’ll have more money than we’ll know what to do with.”

“You’re sure of that.”

“Most of it,” Manny says. “The important part, anyway,” and Ann knows that, like herself, Manny’s talking about the money and not the love.