Dead Ringer

Alice pursed her lips, just slightly.

“You were?” Be

“We kept in touch the past two years. On the phone, we talked. He wasn’t ill, not that he said.”

But Alice fell suddenly silent when a rustling came from the other side of the blue tarp that hung behind Be

Somebody was pulling the tarp aside.

36

Georges St. Amien stood in front of the tarp, pointing a black handgun at Be

“Welcome to my hospital, Be

“Who the fuck is this joker?” Alice spat out, and pointed her gun at Georges.

“He’s my client’s brother. His name is Georges. Say hi, Sis.” Be

“Yes, I did,” Georges answered. His blue eyes had gone hard as ice. “He calls and says he isn’t coming to di

My God. Be

“Of course. I made it myself, with a slit in the back that no one sees. Micheline is out that night with friends. I get back before anyone knows anything, home to my chair and my study.”

“But why?” Be

“Ha! Robert ruins my life. He makes me a nothing, a cipher. He turns me into the unsuccessful one, the useless one.”

“But why now, Georges? It makes no sense.” It sounded so much like Alice, but Be

“Because of the Belgian banker. I know the police are already thinking it is because he was a foreigner, and I say, this is my time. So I pretend I have the riding accident, put on the cast, and wait for the opportunity. Then Robert, he cancels our di

Keep him talking. “But what did you gain by killing him? Revenge?”

“Not only.” Georges brightened behind his gun. “Money, lots of money, because now I ‘ave my family business back. Now I will own and run St. Amien amp; Fils, and now I will share in the money from the lawsuit. It is my business, by rights!”

“But Julien-”

“He will not stay with it. Everyone but Robert sees this. I ca

“Why kill me?” Be

“Because I know you are onto me, my dear. You tell me you don’t believe the police theory. You are talking with Julien, secretly, outside my building. When I ask you about it on the phone today, you lie. You say it is business, and I know it is not. Julien doesn’t get upset about business. He doesn’t care enough.” Georges’s eyes narrowed over the gun. “Does he suspect me also? Is that what you two were discussing?”

Be

Alice laughed abruptly. “I don’t think you’re go

“Ha!” Georges raised his gun, pointing it at Alice’s forehead. “And I you, madame.”

“Everybody stay calm,” Be

“No!” Be

Be

Then Be

Be

Help me help me why aren’t you helping?

Alice aimed the gun down, hot smoke curling from its barrel. She cocked the gun and took aim. “Why did you save me, you idiot?” she asked, standing over her twin.

Be

Don’t kill me don’t kill me don’t kill me don’t

And then the world went dark.

37

But it wasn’t dark, in the dream. In the dream it was light and su

Be

The lamp rested always next to an empty perfume bottle of lead crystal, not Waterford but a quality her mother could have afforded so long ago, when she was well enough to place it, even empty, on her nightstand, in a storybook understanding of the way rich ladies lived. It was a naive fantasy her mother had, of privileged women who owned lovely items like French perfume bottles and other luxurious things, strands of lustrous pearls and gold bangles and long-handled brushes of sterling silver, engraved with monograms in incomprehensible swirls. It was Hollywood’s version of wealthy women that stayed with her mother, and she would envision these lovely women who sat at vanities before bedtime, brushing their long hair until it shone-one hundred strokes, she always said, and no cheating.