Rose Marie is trying something a little different, serializing a book she has written — "The Evil Men Do." Each month she will be sharing a chapter with you. As the months go by, you will be able to go back and re-read previous chapters if you wish to. This book is presented here exactly as she has written it. We welcome your thoughts on both the book itself and the process we are trying. So — jump in!

If you missed previous chapters, they can be read here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter Fifteen

The Evil Men Do 

Chapter Seventeen

The first thing Stu noticed was a suitcase in the hall and Mrs. Cartwright standing next to it. Her suitcase? "You're leaving?" he asked.

"Looks like it," she said tartly.

By the size of the suitcase, Stu guessed she was leaving for good. "What's going on?"

She sniffed. "What else can I do? Nobody's seen fit to pay me. I can't afford to work for nothing, like Homer." She saw he didn't know who Homer was and said, "Johnson. Homer's what I call him.  It's his first name."

"Who else is here besides Homer?" Stu asked.

"Homer's the only one. He'll never leave. He's been here so long he has noplace else to go.  Besides," she added, "I'm sure he's been paid. He says not, but I don't believe him."  

"How much does my grandfather owe you?" She told him, a staggering amount. He was surprised she'd stayed as long as she had. "Here's something on account," he said, writing a check.  "I'll see what I can do about the rest. Write down your address so I know where to send it."

She had thrown up her hands on seeing him at the door as if he was the straw that broke the camel's back, but her expression softened after he handed her the check. "Thanks," she said. For some reason, she looked embarrassed. "Why'd you come back?"

"I told you, I have to talk to him. I was afraid he wouldn't call me back."

"He can't hear, he should get one of those attachments, but he doesn't want to admit he can't hear." She grumbled, "First your uncle, now you. Excitement's not good for him."

"He was excited?"

"They were yelling at each other. I heard them through the door."

"I thought you weren't listening."

She gave him a dirty look. "I wasn't listening," emphasizing the word, "but I couldn't help hearing." Stu asked her what she heard. Why hadn't she told him over the phone? She thought a bit.  "Actually, it was your uncle doing the yelling. Said he was going to kill somebody."

"You should have told me," Stu said.

"Pooh, he didn't mean it. Your uncle? He's so quiet. People say things…" She searched his face.

"He meant it all right."

"It's not my fault," she said. "Anyway, I'm leaving now."

"Write down your address," he said again, "so I know where to send the check." She picked up the suitcase, which seemed very heavy and made noises like metal objects rubbing against each other.  "What do you have in there?"

"Nothing," she sniffed.

"Let me see."

She glared at him, then dropped to her knees and unlocked the suitcase. Without a word, she opened it, revealing a silver service, knives, forks, spoons, thrown together heedlessly. "I was going to sell it," she said. 

"Go ahead and take it," Stu said.

"No, I won't," she said, "I don't need to, not if you're going to see I get what's owed me."

"I don't care if you take it," he said.

"By all rights, it belongs to you. Or will someday. Or maybe your uncle George will want it.  He's married, isn't he? His wife can use it."

"She doesn't need it." Stu wondered how much she knew about his family, how much his grandfather had let slip. Stu was sure he had found excuses for himself, had explained that he was not the cause of the rivalry among Stu's father and uncles, the bad parent, waiting with wide-open mouth on the open sea, on the empty road, to devour his offspring. "Take it, sell it and let me know what you get for it." 

"No, I'll put it back. I prefer if you pay me direct." She seemed to read his mind. "Don't be too hard on your grandfather.  No matter what he may have done in the past, he's your flesh and blood."

"He never did anything to me," Stu said.

"Then what's the problem? You can at least give a person credit for having good intentions."

Stu wanted to say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions but  felt no desire to prolong the conversation. "I don't have time to argue."

She closed the suitcase again, opened the hall closet and put it inside. Stu realized that it must belong to his grandfather. "I already moved out my own things," she said. "I don't know what came over me, trying to make off with the silverware."

"Why'd you stick around so long when you weren't being paid?" 

She looked around. "This house," she said. "I couldn't believe people who live in a house like this one had no money. I thought sooner or later I'd be paid. Why doesn't he sell it?"

"I don't know. I guess it will be sold."

"It'll be hard on him," she said, "moving."

They heard a honk outside. Stu opened the door.  "It's your taxi."

She scribbled something on the pad next to the telephone, tore off the sheet, handed it to him.  "My address. So you can send me the rest."

He didn't tell her it wouldn't be him paying the bill.

She picked up her suitcase. "Will he be all right?" 

"He'll have to be," Stu said.

Now that the taxi had arrived, she seemed reluctant to leave. "Your uncle was mad at somebody called Reed, that was the name. You know who that is?  Reed?"

"My father's former business associate." As Stu said the words, he pictured Reed the way he'd seen him most often, seated behind his desk, giving every impression of seriousness, of dedication to his job. No wonder he never actually practiced law. How could he, if he'd served time?  "You'd better go, Mrs. Cartwright," he said. "If you're going. I'm going upstairs now." 

"He may be asleep."

"If he is, I'll wake him up." She hesitated at the door. "What's the matter now?" He thought he understood. "You won't be blamed, whatever happens." he said.

"Oh, don't know why I should care. I don't want him to have a heart attack and for it to be on my head. Whatever you say, they'll blame me."

Who was ‘they', Stu wondered. They were both standing at the foot of the stairs, and he had just about decided to push her out of the way but still he hesitated. Why, he didn't know—what was he waiting for, her approval? "Good-bye, Mrs. Cartwright," he said. "I'll see that he's not left alone.  Nothing will happen." Tired of arguing, he brushed past her.

Her face crumpled, and she said, "You want me to phone the doctor—just in case?"

"No, thanks."

"Well," she said, "goodbye, then."

Halfway up the stairs, Stu looked down and watched the door close on her. A moment later the taxi started up. Except for the old servant, Homer, they were alone.

 His grandfather's door was closed, and he knocked lightly and opened it without waiting for a response. 

He was sitting in the chair by the window, looking out. "The old biddy's leaving," he observed.

"For good," Stu said.

"Good riddance."

"You're not worried about being alone?"

"Homer's here, isn't he?"

"Somewhere."

"All right then. I'm not as helpless as you all think." He wore a quilted robe, red with black lapels. A newspaper lay open on his lap. He didn't seem surprised to see Stu. In fact, he told him so. "I expected you, just not so soon. Close the door."

"What did you tell George?" Stu asked.

"Is that why you're here? I knew it would all come out one day."

"But why George? Didn't you know what he'd do?"

"I counted on it."

Stu didn't like what he was thinking. "You wanted George to go after Reed."

"Somebody had to. I'm too old."

The old fool, did he know what he'd done? But Stu had a sinking feeling he did know. "He'll go to jail," he said. "Is that what you want?"

"I'll hire a lawyer. We'll say it was self defense."

"Like it was self defense when Reed killed that guy in the bar?"

"That wasn't self defense," his grandfather asserted. "He was protecting your father."

Stu had heard enough. "Where are you going?" his grandfather shouted.

"I'm going after George. I hope I'm not too late." He knew he should have gone to Reed's office first. With any luck, however, Suzanne had been successful, and Reed was not there. Which meant he had time.

Why do you want to interfere?"

            Stu stopped, turned. "What do you have against George?"

            "I don't have anything against him."

            "He isn't like the others," Stu said.

"He's a fool," his grandfather said. "Useless."

Stu objected. "He's not useless."

"He let his failure in politics crush him, but the truth is he'd have been a rotten politician. He's too wishy washy. People like a leader who can remove all the doubt and fear from their lives. They'd rather have somebody make wrong decisions he's sure he's right about. George could make the right decision, but he'd torment himself about whether it was right or wrong."

"Did you tell him about my father's affair with Reed's wife?"

"How do you know that?"

"Who did Reed really kill?" Stu asked."

Surprised, his grandfather said, "I told you. Some guy in a bar whose wife your father was having an affair with. Nothing to do with this."

He was holding something back, why, so Stu wouldn't leave? Stu couldn't hide his annoyance, but it seemed to please his grandfather. Stu realized that the old man was playing with him. It had been a long time since the last such entertainment. Stu wondered who had provided it before he came along—Prudhomme?

"What happened to Reed's wife?"

"She left him."  Stu waited. "That's what Reed told people."

"What if she didn't leave him?" Stu asked.

Come Back Next Month for Chapter Eighteen