The View from the Cherry Tree Read online

  Why even Robbie, as if an eleven-year-old was stupid, or something? Rob frowned down at the pair.

  “Listen, Walt, there’s no telling what French will do when he finds it . . . he might call the police and have me picked up right then . . . this weekend . . . in the middle of the wedding, even!”

  “Then maybe you’d better not come to the wedding. I haven’t hit a man with my fist in years, Ray, but I sure will if your actions do anything to spoil the wedding for Darcy and Marge.”

  Rob had never thought of his father as hitting anyone with his fists. It was an interesting idea. Who had he hit, he wondered? And what for?

  “Walt. Walt, I don’t know anybody else to turn to, and I need help. Please, please, Walt . . . go talk to French. Before it’s too late.”

  “You’re a real man, aren’t you? Not even ‘come with me and talk to French,’ just ‘you go and talk to French.’ Are you such a jelly-­livered coward you aren’t brave enough to go along and face the man yourself?”

  “No, no, I didn’t mean it that way . . . will you come? Will you talk to him . . . with me, of course?”

  “If you weren’t Marge’s brother, I’d kick you all the way over there. I ought to do it, anyway,” Mr. Mallory said, but he was giving in. “I’ll have to tell Marge I’m going out for a while. You stay out here.”

  In a few minutes they were gone and all was quiet. Even Mrs. Calloway had turned off her dining room light, although she was moving around in the kitchen, out of Rob’s sight. After a time Sonny decided he had been petted enough to make up for his wounded tail and feelings and he took off on one of his nightly escapades.

  Fifteen minutes after Uncle Ray’s car drove off, Steve’s eased into the same parking space. Rob sighed. He’d be glad when the wedding was over and all the people went somewhere else. Steve and Darcy off on their honeymoon and then to their own apartment. And once Darcy was gone, old Max and Derek would quit coming around, too. Then maybe there’d be some peace and quiet and meals on time.

  Speaking of meals, he was beginning to get hungry again. He wondered if anybody’d got any more bread so he could make a sandwich. He was about to slide out of the tree when Steve and Darcy came up along the side of the house. It was a shame they hadn’t put the sidewalk on the other side, away from the cherry tree.

  “It’s too nice a night to go in,” Darcy said, sounding dreamy, the way she did most of the time these days, except when she was screaming in a panic about something. “Let’s sit here on the bench for a while.”

  “Suits me. Almost anything you’d say suits me,” Steve told her.

  Rob had the choice of dropping on top of them or staying where he was. He hoped they weren’t going to get too mushy. He’d throw up all over them. It was an entertaining idea, he decided.

  Their words were low, intended only for one another, but they carried to Rob in the tree above them. He couldn’t stand very much of it, and he picked an entire handful of cherries and dropped them, all at once, in a shower over the couple.

  That ended the silly exchange of words. They looked up, laughing, although they couldn’t see him in the dimness of the branches.

  “Okay chum, we get the message,” Steve said. “We’ll move along and leave you in peace.” They moved off, and Rob decided he might move, too.

  He made to descend and caught a glimpse of Sonny streaking across the yard toward Mrs. Calloway’s. Cripes. He supposed he’d better go get him; if he got into any more trouble they might really put him in a kennel for the weekend, and that would about kill old Sonny.

  His sneakers hit the ground with barely a thud. He rounded the corner of the house next door, pausing to look around. It wasn’t so light back here, but he could make out the big dark blob of fur . . . right on the old lady’s doorstep, for cripes sake. Wouldn’t that dumb cat ever learn?

  When he got right next to the back porch, though, he saw what had drawn the animal. His resentment against Mrs. Calloway rose to a peak of indignation. She put bones and meat scraps in her garbage can, and when it was too full she just left the lid off. It was like she was setting a trap for a cat, for crying out loud, to leave meat scraps in the open like that.

  “Sonny! Come ’ere!”

  The cat had dragged something out of the garbage and was chewing on it with evident relish, paying no attention to Rob. He put one foot on the bottom step, reaching up for the cat.

  It was at that point that total mayhem broke loose.

  Three

  He didn’t know where she’d been hiding, but there was no doubt the old witch had been waiting for them . . . Rob and the cat. She pounced with a triumphant cry, and the broom crashed down on Rob’s head. It scratched the side of his face, and then was lifted and brought down again and again, slashing at him, pounding, jabbing, and all the while she was yelling and screaming at him.

  Sonny gave one startled yowl and vanished; it was a little longer before Rob, falling backward down the steps, could get out of the woman’s reach. She stood panting above him as he sprawled on the cement with something sharp poking into his flank.

  “That’ll teach you to stay off my property, you nasty little wretch! You and your confounded dirty cat!”

  She spat at him, and the spittle struck him on the cheek, and then she brought the upended broom down one more time; he rolled aside, or she might have stuck it right through him.

  Rob struggled for breath, unable to answer before she had taken her broom and gone back into the house.

  He hurt all over, and something was ­trickling into his eyes. Cripes, she might have killed me, he thought, and managed to turn over and get to his feet.

  He created quite a sensation when he walked into the house. For once they noticed him.

  His mother sprang to her feet with a cry. “Rob! For heaven’s sake, what’s happened to you?”

  They were all there; his father had come home, and Teddi and old Max, and Darcy and Steve, and even Derek was still there, all milling around.

  “Rob . . . what happened, son?” Walt Mallory swept the others aside as if they were a swarm of gnats, tipping Rob’s chin so that he could see the damage.

  He told them while his mother ran for a washcloth and got the blood out of his eyes.

  “Why, that old witch! Wally, call the police! She might have put his eye out!”

  Darcy was staring at him in dismay. “Good grief, how’s he going to look in the wedding pictures? Mom, he’s getting a black eye!”

  “That’s better than losing one,” her father pointed out. “Teddi, get some gauze and some tape.”

  “Don’t you think we’d better get him to a doctor, Wally? It’s a nasty gash . . . maybe it should be stitched.”

  “No, I don’t think the damage is that serious. We can pull it together with tape, I think. Wouldn’t you say so, Steve?”

  Steve was an expert because he’d been a medic in the Marines. He looked the cut over soberly, nodding. “Yes, sir, I think so. It’s not deep. Head cuts usually bleed pretty bad, but I don’t think he needs stitches.”

  Mr. Mallory plastered the washcloth against the wound. “There, hold it there, son. You want to sit down?”

  He was feeling sort of wobbly. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Aren’t you going to call the police?”

  His father sighed. “No, I don’t think so, Marge. After all, Rob was on her property. And he’s been told to stay off it.”

  “But he only went over to bring back the cat . . . and from what he says, she’d deliberately enticed Sonny over there.” His mother really looked mad. He was glad to see she still cared. He’d begun to wonder a little. “Wally, we aren’t just going to let her get away with it, are we?”

  “Do you really want to take on a major battle right now? This weekend? It will mean having a doctor check Rob over . . . although he’s not seriously hurt . . . and having polic
e all over the place, probably for hours. And eventually we’d have to go to court, testify against her . . .”

  “Somebody ought to testify against her,” Max said sourly. “Boy, that woman’s crazy!”

  “She’s a witch,” Rob said. “She eats raw liver . . . I saw her. The blood ran down her chin.” It seemed to him that it really had. “She’s a real witch.”

  “Robbie!” Teddi protested. “She couldn’t have eaten raw liver!”

  “She did, tonight. I saw her. Is my eye really getting black?” It would be rather nice if it was.

  Darcy moaned. “He’s going to look terrible . . . he’ll ruin my wedding pictures!”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Darcy!” Mrs. ­Mallory scowled. “Naturally you want nice pictures, but he didn’t do it on purpose, you know!”

  “As a matter of fact,” Steve said, “I think Rob will add a good deal of interest to what will probably be a very dull afternoon. He’ll be a conversation piece.”

  “A dull afternoon!” Darcy cried. “Well, if that’s the way you feel about it! . . .”

  Steve smiled at her. “Darling, shut up. You hear me? Shut up.”

  Shocked, for once she kept quiet.

  “What’s a conversation piece?” Rob asked.

  “It’s something people talk about,” Steve told him. “What happened to Sonny, Rob? Did he get clobbered, too?”

  “I heard him yowl the first time she swung the broom. I guess he got away after that. I think he did. Should I go look for his body?”

  “Not if it involves going back onto Mrs. ­Calloway’s property,” his mother said quickly. “Better a dead cat than a dead boy.”

  “I’m sure Sonny’s quite all right,” Walt ­Mallory said wearily. “Look, Rob’s okay. Go call the cat, if you want to, and make sure he’s okay, too. But let’s not start a ruckus right now with Mrs. Calloway. Not before the wedding. We’ve already got enough problems to handle.”

  Mrs. Mallory looked at Rob uncertainly. “Are we just going to let her get away with it, then?”

  “No. But we’ll wait until we’ve got time to breathe. The old woman’s getting dangerous, if she’ll entice the cat and then attack it and anyone who comes after it. Maybe she ought to be certified, I don’t know. I’ll talk to Bill ­Sansome sometime next week, ask him what we ought to do. But not now, okay?”

  “I think I’d better see if Sonny’s still out there,” Rob said. He moved slyly to where he could see his own reflection in the mirror over the buffet. There was a nice big mark around his left eye, although it didn’t really hurt much anymore, and the assorted cuts and scratches would be impressive when he told the story to his friends. She was a real witch, eating raw liver and trying to spear him or beat him to death with the broom. “I want to make sure he’s okay.”

  “Wally . . .”

  “It’s all right. I’ll go with him. Come on, let’s find the big son-of-a-gun. I wish we had someplace to lock him up for a few days.”

  “It wasn’t his fault, Dad. She put meat scraps and stuff out where he’d smell it.”

  “Yeah, well, let’s get him inside and away from her for a while.” They went out into the yard together, squinting to see a darker mass among the shadows. “Call him, Rob. He’s more likely to come for you.”

  Sonny was there, in the cherry tree. Rob reached up and brought him down, cradling him as if he were a baby. “Mean old witch, did she scare you half to death? Dad?”

  “Yes?” His father paused at the foot of the back steps.

  “Is Uncle Ray going to jail?”

  His father flinched slightly. “So you heard that, did you? Where were you? Up the tree?”

  “Is he? Are they going to put him in jail?”

  “I don’t know what they’re going to do to him. Nobody knows yet that he took the money. We tried to see French, but he wasn’t home.”

  “Will you be able to talk him out of putting Uncle Ray in jail, do you think? He’s a friend of yours.”

  “Yes. He’s a friend. And for that reason I don’t know if I have a right to ask him not to prosecute. He’s got a right to do that. A right to be pretty mad, too. As far as Ray goes, it would probably do him good to see what happens to people who steal. On the other hand, it would hurt your mother very much if he went to jail. So I don’t know what will happen.”

  “Would they put him in jail for very long, for stealing twelve hundred dollars?”

  “I don’t know, Rob. Listen, this is just between us, understand? Not a word to anyone else, not until after the wedding. And then I’ll tell your mother. You keep your mouth shut.”

  “Sure. I understand.”

  “Okay. Why don’t you go on up and take your bath and go to bed, now.”

  “But it’s only nine thirty!”

  “That’s late enough, considering we’ve all got to be up early and get a lot of things done. Please, Rob. If you don’t feel like sleeping, watch TV or read something. But get out of everybody’s sight for a while, let ’em cool off, will you?”

  He felt sort of resentful about that. Let them cool off, as if he’d done something terrible. It wasn’t him, it was Mrs. Calloway, or even Sonny. They’d have been madder yet if he’d just let the cat go over there and not tried to stop him, he thought, climbing the stairs.

  His window was over the porch. He could hear Teddi down there with old Max, giggling. Cripes. Now that Darcy was almost gone, was it going to start all over again with Teddi?

  He began to undress in front of his own mirror, leaning close to check, once more, the injuries inflicted on him by that witch next door.

  “She could have killed me,” he said to his image, scowling. “For all she knows, she did. She didn’t even wait to see if I was able to get up.”

  He stood there, his shirt halfway off; it seemed to him that, as he watched, the bruise around his eye deepened in color. Cripes, she could have put his eye out, blinded him for life. He pulled up his T-shirt and inspected his flank, where he’d taken a solid jab from the broom handle. That was turning purple, too. It’s a wonder she didn’t break his ribs. For such a little woman, she sure packed a wallop.

  It would have served her right if she’d killed him and they’d put her in jail for life. Only probably she’d have pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity. He guessed anybody would believe that, that she was insane. Only a nut would eat raw liver and let the blood run off her chin and attack people with a broom.

  He wondered if you could get off on a charge of stealing by pleading not guilty by reason of insanity. He supposed not, or his father would have thought of it.

  Would they still have had the wedding if she’d killed him? Boy, that would really have made Darcy mad if they’d had to call off the wedding.

  A little blood was seeping through the bandage they’d put on his forehead. Cripes, if she’d knocked him out, he might have laid there until he bled to death. For all she knew, he was still out there at the foot of her steps, bleeding his life away.

  He stared at his reflection, and gradually a grin began to spread over his face. He’d fix her. By golly, he’d fix her. Maybe he’d even scare her into having a fit.

  Four

  It wasn’t difficult to arrange, really. He knew they used ketchup for blood, in the movies. He’d seen a show about how they did it. There was plenty of ketchup in the kitchen. That was about all the props he needed.

  The time to do it was right at seven o’clock in the morning. The paper boy delivered her Chronicle between 6:50 and 6:55 every day. Most people got their papers on their front porches or lawns, but Mrs. Calloway didn’t because she said the neighbors stole it when it was left out front. Her paper boy was Matt Papovich, and he’d just as soon not have delivered any paper to her at all, because she complained no matter what he did and he always had to come back three times to get paid. Three times, every month. She ins
isted that he put the paper on her back porch, and he couldn’t throw it from the alley, either, because then he knocked down her chrysanthemums or something. He had to walk right up and put the paper on the porch.

  At exactly seven o’clock, Mrs. Calloway would come out for her paper. And today, Rob thought with a sense of delight, she would find a dead boy on her steps . . . a murdered boy. He wondered if he’d dare keep his eyes partway open so he could see the look on her face when she found him. He hoped he scared her bad enough so she’d have a fit.

  He almost forgot to take the bandage off his head. That would really do it, he thought disgustedly, wincing as the tape came off. It was disappointing-looking this morning, not nearly as nasty as it had looked last night. He wished the kids could have seen it last night.

  He couldn’t very well put the kethcup on until he was lying down, or it would run in all the wrong places. And he should be sure the paper was there ahead of time, so that Matt wouldn’t find him first. He didn’t want anybody to see him except Mrs. Calloway.

  He hoped Matt wouldn’t be late with the paper.

  The house was quiet as he made his way down the stairs. It was going to be hot today; it was already warm, at a quarter of seven. He considered taking time to fix something to eat, then decided it would take too long. This was a split-second operation, and it had to be done this morning. After today, it wouldn’t work. Not as well, anyway; she wouldn’t think she’d done it herself unless he was there when she came out this morning.

  He let himself out onto the porch, ketchup bottle in one hand, and waited, watching the back alley. And there came Matt . . . not late, but a few minutes early. He walked up and put the paper on the back porch. Then, as an afterthought, he picked it up again, spit on it, and put it back.

  Rob waited until he’d gone, then eased open the screen door. The grass wasn’t even damp, the air was so dry. He heard Sonny’s cry and looked up to see the cat on the edge of the roof, looking ready to jump off into the cherry tree.

  “Shut up, stupid, you’ll wake somebody up,” Rob told him softly, and continued across the yard to the back of the Calloway house.