Most of the broken glass was thin and clear, from the kitchen-table chemistry setup. But thick pieces of wet amber glass were near to his body—a bottle once filled, now broken and conspicuous amongst the clear glass. Allene took a handkerchief out of her pocket and used it to pick up a shard. Birdie gave her a disapproving look as she bundled up the broken bit and put it in her purse. Then they drew together in their thoughts, standing behind the only boy they both had ever truly loved, before Birdie finally broke the silence.
“We have to call the police. The landlady is downstairs and has a telephone.” When Allene didn’t move, Birdie’s face went hot from embarrassment. “Allene, going up and down those stairs really takes the wind out of me. Could you—would you be so kind as . . .”
Her request jerked Allene out of her trance. Fetching help always existed in someone else’s station in life, and for so long, Birdie had been that someone else.
“Oh. Of course.” Allene turned to the door before stopping. “Since when have you been so fatigued, Birdie?”
It was just like Allene to never look beyond the surface of everything. Birdie had been climbing the staircase at the Cutter house ever so slowly, but Allene had complained that there was no need for such graceful propriety around her. Birdie let Lucy take Holly on walks (actually, Holly requested rides on the trollies), and Allene had agreed that it must be a tiresome burden to care for such a person (though she herself took Holly on outings at least as often as Lucy). And when Birdie came home from the watch factory—she was probably the only girl in the world who came and went from her factory work by a chauffeur—Allene chided her for spending all her energy on her job and saving none of it for a jolly evening with her.
Of course, Birdie didn’t tell her that half those days, she was at the hotel with Andrew. Andrew had been patient with her mourning her mother, but even patience had its limits. There were still too many uncertainties in Birdie’s world, and she needed all that Andrew had to offer. Especially lately, as her weakness grew worse and worse.
At that moment, Allene seemed to see her all anew—the sunken temples, the pale skin growing thin like cigarette paper, the hollows under her eyes, the hint of pain that pulled the corners of her mouth down. Her complexion, once fair and delicate, was now, she knew, the faint premonition of a death mask, and her inability to smile—for a front tooth ached horribly and the gum above it was swollen—had been taken for worry over this never-ending war.
“Of course. I’ll go immediately.” Allene pointed to the couch. “Sit and rest.”
“But—”
“I shouldn’t have let you come. You ought to have stayed home with Holly.” Allene left, but not before Birdie caught an expression of frustration on her face. Ah, she was angry at herself for not noticing. Tears of relief smarted Birdie’s eyes. It was hard not to complain, and now she wouldn’t have to.
She didn’t sit down, instead walking to the kitchen, where Jasper still embraced his uncle. Birdie went to him, dodging the chunks of dazzling glass littering half the floor. She put a single, tentative hand on his back and waited.
After an eternity that was only a minute, Jasper gently released his uncle, leaving him Christlike, as he’d originally fallen. The front of his undershirt was damp from spilled liquid, and it reeked. There were blotchy reddish spots on his neck too. Birdie didn’t know what to say. Her eyes welled with tears, because there was nothing more heartbreaking than seeing someone else shattering in front of you. It was all too familiar a feeling.
“Oh, Jasper” was all she could manage to say. Jasper stood and turned, only to collapse into Birdie’s delicate arms, weeping like a child.
Jasper stayed on the couch, between Allene and Birdie, as the police asked countless questions. They grilled him on when he’d been in the apartment, when he’d left, about the argument with his uncle. The landlady came to tell them that she thought Jasper had returned before the subsequent violent commotion, which apparently everyone in the building had been privy to.
The police went from asking questions to pressuring Jasper for answers he couldn’t give. They riffled through all the bills on the floor, asked about his job in the medical examiner’s office and his access to strange chemicals and poisons, and even went so far as to question him about his parents. After all, one man’s only four relatives suffering early deaths in a span of a few years was anything but normal. Oscar had died of an infection, true, but the others? They were far from natural.
It was clear Jasper was shocked. Allene and Birdie were witnesses to his presence at the Cutter house during the past hour, and Allene offered further references from the servants at the house. Jasper bore no signs of injuries or recent fighting, only streaks of blood from when he’d held his uncle’s dead body. When they carried Frank out of the apartment, Allene turned away, and Jasper hid his face in his hands.
Birdie pitied him. It wouldn’t be the last he’d see of his uncle. After all, the body was going to his place of work. Jasper would not be able to escape his death.
The officer in charge—a big, burly specimen with a lilt of an Irish accent and a double chin like a choice pork rind—held a sheaf of beige-colored papers, all attached together at the top with a binding clip. He thrust it in front of Jasper’s face.
“Have you seen this before?”
Jasper took the papers, flipping them over one by one.
“It’s a life-insurance policy,” he said, before handing the pages back. “And no, I haven’t seen it before.” He looked up. “Where did you find this?”
“It was in his bedroom, beneath the mattress. So you don’t know who the beneficiary is?”
Jasper shook his head. For a moment, Birdie’s heart flipped with fleeting happiness. So silver linings really did happen. Jasper’s uncle wasn’t unintelligent or unkind, and having a policy would have protected Jasper in case anything happened to him. Maybe now he’d have the tuition he’d been working so hard for.
All three of them held their breaths as the officer pointed to the front page. “Didn’t you read it? Right here.”
Jasper read the document and went white. Wordlessly, he handed it to Allene, which was odd. Allene’s hands shook as she read it, and the officer snatched it back.
“What’s the matter?” Birdie asked. Allene looked faint.
“I . . . don’t understand,” Jasper muttered.
“You know this person?” the officer pressed.
“Yes,” Allene said in a small voice, a thing so small you could place it in a box and hide it away from the world. “It’s my father.”
The police finally left after gathering as much evidence as possible and instructing Jasper to report to the station in the morning for more questions. Jasper’s face was wire tight. He waited until they had left the building before turning on Allene.
“What was that all about? Your father took out an insurance policy on my uncle?”
“I don’t know! I swear, Jasper. I’m as surprised as you. I have no idea why he would do such a thing.”