Page 40 of The Furies

“The estate is to be divided equally between us. We just need to sit down with a lawyer and hammer it all out.”

“Does that mean we can talk about Egon now?”

“I’m still weighing that up.”

Her tone had altered gradually. She wasn’t joking any longer, and her eyes were watchful for lies.

“We were speaking about guns,” she said.

“We were.”

“Have you ever been shot?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you might have been. I could see it in your face when the subject came up.”

“Because I flinched?”

“No, because you didn’t. I think you’re probably a brave man, Mr. Parker. I’d wager that you’re also an honorable one.” She put down her cup. “Yes, let’s talk about Egon. How much do you know of my brother?”

“Not a great deal,” I said, “beyond the fact that he served time for robbery, and narrowly avoided another term for possession of stolen goods. He also has some odd taste in reading material, and may, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, be slightly unbalanced.”

“You sure you haven’t met him?” said Eleanor. “Because that’s a strikingly accurate summation of his character.”

“Guaranteed. Are you frightened of him?”

“Of Egon?” She laughed. “My brother wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Perhaps not, but he keeps company with men who would—and have.”

She stopped laughing, which was a shame. She was a plain-looking woman, and the world weighed heavily on her shoulders, but she had a nice smile.

“Egon’s a planner,” she said, “but he’s not strong, and he’s certainly not intimidating. He’s solitary by nature, and works better that way. He never was much good at choosing friends. That’s probably why he ended up with none.”

“I was told he had a reputation as an accomplished thief.”

“Egon—” she began, and stopped. “Honorable or not, how do I know you’re not just going to approach the police with all this?”

“You don’t.”

“But?”

“I’m not a law enforcement official,” I said. “I’m under no legal obligation to report details of a crime, either planned or committed, unless directly asked about it in the course of a criminal investigation. A prosecutor or the police might contest that position, but any half-decent lawyer would shoot them down. That aside, I do have certain conditions: if it concerns an act of violence that can be stopped, or the abuse of a woman or child, historical or ongoing, I have a moral duty to act on that information—and a legal one, too, depending on the interpretation of the law, but the moral obligation supersedes all.”

I waited. Sometimes—not often, but enough to make a statistical difference—you come across a person who wants to talk, and has been waiting to be asked the right questions. Frequently they’re scared or angry, so dealing with them is a delicate business. I’ve found silence helps, but that requires patience. Uncomfortable with silence, the majority of individuals will seek to fill it, and unburdening has a lot in common with downhill skiing: once you start, it’s very hard to stop.

“I don’t know why I made coffee,” she said. “I didn’t want any.”

“Neither did I.”

That smile shyly revealed itself again.

“Aren’t you wicked sharp?” she said. “If I drank liquor, I’d suggest we move on to that instead, but I never had a taste for it, and I got nothing stronger than soda in the house. You must think I’m real dull, living here in my spinster abode with a beater in the drive and not even a light beer in the refrigerator.”

“I don’t think that at all,” I said, and I didn’t. Eleanor Towle was smart and self-aware, but talking with her in these tidy but strangely gloomy surroundings, with my knowledge of her recently deceased mother and her crooked brother, it was possible to construct a narrative of her life that contained more than its share of disappointment and frustration. The choices she’d made—if she’d ever been given any real choices—had led her to this place, and it wasn’t a happy one. Even had she been in a position to pursue better alternatives, her brother’s actions would have leveled the scales, or tipped them against her. Life wasn’t fair, but it was harder on some than others, and women, people of color, and the poor would always be among the most encumbered and restricted. Anyone who told you otherwise was a liar, and anyone who facilitated that injustice was a cheat. There endeth the lesson.

Eleanor Towle, the waters rising darkly around her, stretched out a hand for help.

---