Jeremiah Benton’s daughters had nothing in common, except hate...
Lillian
I think we’d better call it a day.
Lillian Parnell got to her feet.
Ellen
Good idea! I can’t stand being in the same room with these two a moment longer.
The thin, dour-faced woman in the baggy, dark-grey dress pointed at her sister.
Ellen
She reeks of cheap perfume.
Ellen turned her bony finger on her father.
Ellen
And he, well, he just … reeks, period!
Helen Benton snapped back at her sister.
Hannah
A little perfume wouldn’t hurt you any, sweetheart.
The voluptuous, red-faced woman was sprawled out on the couch in a tight-fitting flowered dress.
Hannah
It might make you easier to take. But I echo your sentiments about dear old ‘Dad’.
Jeremiah Benton, their father, set his pipe down and rose from his chair.
Jeremiah
Ellen! Helen! Please!
Both women stormed out of the living room.
Jeremiah sadly shook his head, looking at his two old friends who remained in the room, Greg and Lillian Parnell.
Jeremiah
I’m sorry. I thought you two might be able to help – being counsellors and all – but …
He held up his hands helplessly.
Jeremiah
There’s just too much bitterness stored up after all these years. I’m afraid this attempted reconciliation has been a total failure.
Lillian patted the man’s arm.
Lillian
These things take time. Old wounds-
Jeremiah
I don’t have time! I’m not a well man.
Greg got up and joined his wife at their friend’s side.
Greg
Ellen and Helen agreed to stay the weekend. We still have Sunday.
Greg
Isn’t it strange how totally unlike they are, how the two sisters developed so differently separated from one another at such an early age?
Jeremiah
They share one thing in common: they both hate their old man.
Jeremiah
The two girls were born only five minutes apart, you know? And when my wife, Esther, died a day later … well, I just wasn’t able to take care of them.
Jeremiah
I was poor, had no job, no prospects. I had to give them up, don’t you see? For their own benefit.
Husband and wife nodded sympathetically.
Jeremiah
I’ve carried so much shame with me over the years. And now that I finally have some money, am comfortable, I thought …
He shook his head and groaned.
Jeremiah
I still have no family.
He slumped out of the room.
Greg and Lillian heard him shuffle up the stairs to his bedroom, close the door.
Lillian
Well, it’s only 4:15. How about a walk on the beach?
Greg
An excellent idea! The fresh air will get the stench of Helen’s perfume and Jeremiah’s pipe tobacco out of my nose.
Greg
And I could sure use some sunshine after all this doom and gloom.
The pair spent an hour walking over the deserted sand dunes along the ocean’s edge, enjoying the late-November sun, the brisk sea air, and the beautiful scenery.
They were coming back up the path that led to Jeremiah’s cottage, when they heard a gunshot.
Greg broke into a run, Lillian close behind.
The cottage seemed empty, soundless after the explosion that had come from within.
Greg raced up the stairs to the second floor, burst into Jeremiah’s small bedroom, and found his old friend sprawled out on the floor.
There was a gunshot wound in the man’s chest.
Greg examined Jeremiah, the wound, shook his head at his wife.
Lillian took a look around the stuffy room for a gun, couldn’t find one.
Lillian
Jeremiah’s been murdered. If we’d only come back a minute earlier!
Lillian
You can still smell the gunpowder in the air, even over the smell of Jeremiah’s tobacco.
Lillian stared at her husband.
Lillian
Um, nothing else.
The couple went back downstairs and called the police.
While they were waiting, Helen came in through the front door.
And then Ellen entered the cottage only a minute or so later.
When Lillian told them what had happened, both women claimed to have been out ‘stretching their legs’.
Greg looked from one sister to the other.
Greg
I’m going to tell the police you’re the prime suspect in your father’s murder – Ellen.
Ellen
It-It was probably Helen! She hated our father just as much as I did!
Ellen
Why do you think it was me!?
Greg tapped the side of his nose.
Greg
Because of what my wife and I didn’t smell when we went into Jeremiah’s small, stuffy bedroom directly after he’d been shot: your sister, Helen’s, perfume.
