Conduct in Question

Chapter 14

Suzannah Deighton is Marjorie's favourite relative, sister of Katharine and Gerry. Because she is so trusted buy Marjorie, she is asked to undertake a crime.  Come to Marjorie's eighty-fith birthday party. 

Suzannah Deighton felt swallowed up by sleep. On the day after Marjorie’s death, she awoke, near noon, to a dull ache at the base of her skull. She fumbled for the bottle of pills at her bedside. It would take at least three of them to clear her head today.

Opening one eye, she desperately hoped to be in a different place and time. It was a game she had played as a small child. Katharine had always laughed at her. “Baby games,” she had called them. “Close your eyes tight. Hide way under the covers.” Imitating her childish whine, Katharine had taunted her: “Make it go away.” Katharine was so smart, and she always let you know it.

Suzannah stared at the lipstick-stained glass of water next to her. She tried to concentrate. What Marjorie had asked was too hard for her to do. It wasn’t fair, although Frank said it was no big deal. Struggling upward on the pillow, she tried to remember his words.

“You want to make Auntie suffer? Go ahead. But what about all she’s done for you? She can decide when she wants to go.”

Frank always made everything sound so easy and sensible.

She rose to the mirror and ran a brush through her long blonde hair. Pretty, once upon a time, she thought, as she struggled with the tangles.

Lighting a cigarette, she singed her fingers with the smoldering match. Thank God Frank had been too drunk for sex last night. Trying to climb onto her, he had simply rolled over with a groan. She toyed with the idea of going without the pills. Red for ups and yellow for downs.

Without thinking, Frank used up money like breathing air. The biggest fiasco was her dress boutiqueright on Yorkville Avenue, one of the highest-rent districts in Toronto. Ever since it failed, Suzannah could not plan for the day. If she stayed in bed, at least she might not sink further into debt.

“Think big, baby. Think big.” Frank grinned.

At first, she thrived on his support. The store seemed to be her very first success in life.

Frank set up her books and managed the money. He was so sweet. He talked Harry Jenkins and that trust officer, McCrea, into advancing one hundred thousand on her trust fund for start-up expenses.

Only recently had the accountant said, in baleful tones, “The bank deposits do not tally with the cash-register receipts.” Peering suspiciously over the rims of his glasses, he continued, “Ms Deighton, there’s at least a seventy‑five-thousand-dollar discrepancy. A lot of money has not been deposited. A tax auditor would have a field day.”

That’s why Grandpa’s trust shrank so much! Frank was siphoning off the money. After a whole week, she still didn’t have the guts to confront him.

The telephone rang.

“Hello?” she croaked, pushing a limp strand of hair from her face.

“Miss Deighton? Harold Jenkins here.”

Suzannah shook her head to clear the fog. “Yes?”

Suzannah had always reminded Harry of a faded flower child. He hated to break bad news to someone who appeared always on the verge of silent hysteria.

“I’m terribly sorry to call with bad news, Suzannah.” He softened his tone. “But your Aunt Marjorie passed away yesterday afternoon.”

At first, Harry heard only silence, and then a low groan. “No…please say it isn’t true.” Suzannah began rocking back and forth on the kitchen stool.