She stared at him in bewilderment as he helped her to a sitting position.
"Who are you?" she asked. I noticed that her voice was thick, the words slurred; an aftereffect of whatever drug had been on the dart, I a.s.sumed.
"Easy," was all the man replied.
He a.s.sisted Ca.s.sandra to her feet, where she evidenced some difficulty with her balance and the focus of her eyes.
"Easy, easy," said the man.
"Who are you?" she persisted.
"Sheriff Plum," he answered.
"Plum?" She stared at him for several moments, then pulled away; she immediately began to stagger.
Plum made a sudden move to prevent her fall. "Easy," he said.
She blinked her eyes, grimacing, clearly struggling to re- gain the use of her senses. She swallowed, and it made a dry sound in her throat.
Disengaging herself once more/ she stumbled toward the bar and fell against it/ clutching at me top for support.
She stared at me bottles of chilling champagne as though me sight of them was baffling to her.
Then/ shaking her head, she moved around the bar, hold- ing on to its top to keep from falling.
102 Richard Matheson
Reaching the sink, she turned the faucet arm; cold water splashed down into the stainless-steel basin- Holding on to tile sink"s edge with her left hand/ she cupped her right be- neath the fall of water, caught some, and began to wash her face.
At this point. Sheriff Plum, glancing around the room, caught sight of me. "Oh, my G.o.d," he reacted.
Ca.s.sandra, face dripping, looked over at him hurriedly.
"Good afternoon," the Sheriff greeted me.
"He can"t answer," Ca.s.sandra told him. "He"s like a veg- etable." (What did I tell you?)
"A vegetable?" asked Sheriff Plum in a surprised voice.
"He had a stroke many years ago," she explained, her voice still slurring words. "He can"t talk or move; ignore him."
Which was pretty much my status in her mind.
"But-" Sheriff Plum gave up on me and looked back at Ca.s.sandra, who was drying her face with a bar towel.
"What"s going on here?" he asked.
She looked at him, men turned her head and scanned the room.
Each sight she saw appeared to puzzle her further- She rubbed her forehead hard as though to activate the gray cells underneath her skull. Ran her hands across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as though to verify their presence.
"Are you all right?" the Sheriff asked.
Ca.s.sandra looked at him, disoriented. "Where did you come from?" she asked.
"What?" The question seemed bewildering to him.
She repeated it more demandingly-
"From town," he said, still looking puzzled.
"I mean-" she broke off with an angry grimace "-who let you in?" she finished.
He looked more confused than ever.
"No one let me in," he said. "The front door was un-
Now You See tL.. 103
locked. I came in by myself because I saw you lying on the floor in here and thought you were tile "one"-"
He stopped as though perplexity was overwhelming
him.
"Who got murdered, then?" he asked.
Ua.s.sandra did not reply at first. She stared at him/ her fea- tures very nearly blank.
Finally, she asked, "How did you know about it?"
"Someone telephoned my office," he replied.
"Telephoned your office?" (She was totally confounded now. So was I.)
"Yes-"
She interrupted him abruptly.
"My husband"s agent," she declared.
"Your husband"s agent telephoned my office?" asked the Sheriff.
"No!" she cried in agitation. "My husband"s agent is the one who got murdered!"
"He"s me one..." Plum"s voice faded as he watched her curiously.
She"d begun to pace around, shaking her head and blink- ing hard.
"You want me to call for an ambulance?" he asked.