Final Curtain: An Edna Ferber Mystery (Edna Ferber Mysteries) by Ed Ifkovic Page B

shifted back. “And what good would that do? It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters now…you…you…”
    “Is that why you’re in Maplewood? I knew it. That’s why you came to this hole-in-a-wall in the boondocks.”
    Pleading in her voice. “I got a job.”
    “I’ll tell Annika. How about that? Did Dak mention you to her?” A dark laugh. “I bet he didn’t, that sissy. Are you his forbidden secret? Nadine Novack, my foot. What name will you use next? She won’t be happy to know you’re in town.”
    “It doesn’t matter anymore. It just doesn’t.”
    “Oh, but it does.”
    “Just leave Dak alone now.”
    “He’s a weak, pathetic ass, that Dak. ‘Leave me alone, Evan!’ Yeah, his mommy wants him to be tomorrow’s Billy Sunday. It ain’t gonna happen. He’s a milquetoast, a namby-pamby, drawing those pictures. A sissy artist.”
    “Leave him alone. Leave Annika alone. They got to be married. They…”
    “Over my dead body. Or, I should say, over your dead body.”
    “Leave me alone.”
    Suddenly, there in the middle of the street, Nadine broke down sobbing. Evan, startled, looked bewildered and jumped into his car. What he did next was bizarre. He drove around her, a complete loop, at one point coming so close she could have touched a fender. She froze there, watching. He circled her, mocking.
    And I watched, too, stepping out onto the landing, peering into Evan’s car. As Evan circled her, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, defiant, his hands gripped the wheel so tightly they seemed blocks of dark stone.
    When he was gone, I approached Nadine, taking her hand. She looked into my face and tried to smile. “He’s crazy, you know.”
    “Why does he scare you so?”
    She shook her head wildly. “He doesn’t.”
    “He hates Dak.”
    “He wants to hurt Dak.”
    “But why?”
    “Because he can.” She hurried past me into the theater.
    ***
    George and I sat on the Adirondack deck chairs late in the afternoon, and I discussed Evan’s nasty behavior with Nadine. “Help me understand what’s going on?”
    “I have a confession, Edna,” George finally said.
    “Oh Lord, no, George. I’m not good with confessions. Especially yours. They always disarm me.”
    He sighed. “I suspected Evan was trouble all along. I mean, I hinted my dislike—my distress with him being here.” A sly smile. “Or, at least, I expected you to pick up on my offhand observations. But over the years I’ve heard Bea and his mother chatting—not to me, of course, because I don’t abide gossip, but the two talking in soft, hidden voices. Evan has a cruel streak, I learned. He’s done some horrible things to his mother—stealing, for one. Another time he shoved her aside. Just the two of them—the father long dead. She keeps hoping he’ll…well, you get the picture. He gets pleasure from manipulating people. People tell things to good-looking people because they believe good-looking people are moral and trustworthy and decent. It’s a common character flaw of humanity. Evan stores the information.”
    “Just what are you saying?”
    “When Bea mentioned how she got Cheryl to hire Evan—I mean, she begged , that woman—I got nervous. I think Bea lied to Cheryl. At Cheryl’s apartment, when he showed up, I didn’t like it. I should have stopped it. Then and there.”
    “Your silence punishes me.”
    “Ridiculous, Edna. Of course not. He’ll keep his distance from you .” A sickly smile. “He knows what battles he’d lose.” A pause. “Someone is always hurt when he shows up. Bea knew that.”
    “I won’t allow this. Perhaps a few choice words with Cheryl.” I’d seen her cruising around town hours before in her second-hand Mercer.
    “Somebody is gonna get hurt.”
    “Stop saying that, George. You’re giving me the willies.”
    We lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, lazy in the hot afternoon, watching the quiet street. I expected Evan to blaze by, toot-tooting in the shiny convertible