Night Walker (8 page)

Young asked, “Where’s the maid? Why doesn’t she answer it?”

“Who? Oh, Beverly. She only comes once a week; I can’t stand having them around the house. I don’t know how to — They always make me feel like poor white trash, the way they look at—”

“Let’s save your inferiority complexes till we have time to analyze them properly. Mrs. Parr, sweetheart, Mrs. Parr!”

Elizabeth licked her lips. “Well, she lives at a place called Laurel Hill, way up the river. Larry — you took me there in the
Amberjack
once. It’s a museum place with antiques and everybody says it’s simply marvelous, although I declare, it looked like a junk shop to me. Don’t let her get started on it or she’ll be here all morning... Oh, God, I look a wreck!” She had turned to the mirror now. “She’s going to think I always trail around the house like this!”

She smoothed her hair. Young was climbing into bed.

“Never mind that,” he said. “Get the hell down there before she starts hammering with that cane; and for God’s sake be nice to the old battle-ax.... Elizabeth?”

She turned at the door. “Yes?”

“Chin up, as the British say. Don’t give up the ship, and stuff.”

She managed a smile. “Honey, you’re sweet! I’m all right now.”

Young watched her dubiously as she moved away. Then he grimaced beneath the bandages and settled himself against the pillows and smoothed the covers over him. It occurred to him, belatedly, that he should have let down the Venetian blind, not only to give the proper sick-room atmosphere, but also to lower the visibility somewhat; but it was too late now. He could already hear the murmur of voices at the front door. When they disliked each other thoroughly, women had a way of being nice to each other that you could recognize even when you were so far away that you could not distinguish the individual words.

Presently the cane thumped deliberately on the carpeted stairs, and a deep, almost masculine, voice said, “... intrude at this hour, but I didn’t realize how early it was. Why, you’ve just barely got up, haven’t you, dear?”

Elizabeth’s voice said, “Oh, Larry’ll be delighted to see you, Mrs. Parr. The poor boy’s getting so bored with staying in bed that just talking to anybody is a real treat.”

Young grinned to himself, and stopped grinning; there was a little moment of extreme tension before they showed in the doorway.
Okay, junior,
he
thought,
you’re Larry Wilson now. I’m Larry Wilson now....
Then the old lady was standing there, not allowing herself to lean on the cane, but getting as much unobtrusive support from it as she could while she caught her breath from the climb. She seemed like quite a formidable person, a large woman fully turned out for visiting in hat, gloves, and a light summer coat open to show one of those elaborate print dresses that all wealthy elderly females seemed to wear. She looked at Young and chuckled.

“Well, Lawrence, they’ve sure enough got you wrapped up like a country ham,” she said. “Bonita told me—”

“Oh,” Young said. “She did, did she?”

“Hell, I wasn’t supposed to let that out.” Mrs. Parr showed no particular evidence of consternation or remorse. She gestured at Elizabeth. “Bring me that chair, dear. I recall telling this boy’s mother a month before he was born that if she planned having any more than the one, she should do something about those damn stairs. But I never thought then I’d see the day when they’d give me trouble. Well, nobody stays young forever. Maybe it’s just as well. Young people seem to be forever inventing new ways of getting themselves into difficulties.” She seated herself gratefully in the chair that Elizabeth brought forward, and looked up at the girl. “And now I wonder if I could impose on you for a cup of coffee, my dear.
Of course, if you haven’t started breakfast yet—”

Elizabeth flushed angrily. “Oh, we’ve eaten, Mrs. Parr, but I think there’s still some coffee on the stove.” Then she glanced quickly at Young. “It — won’t take a minute,” she said uncertainly.

“I hate to be so much trouble.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all.” There was an edge of desperation in Elizabeth’s voice, as if she were being pushed bodily from the room.

“Bring me one too, darling, while you’re at it,” Young said. Reluctantly she turned away. When she had gone, Young glanced at Mrs. Parr, who was patting her wrinkled, carefully made-up face delicately with a large handkerchief. In spite of the sheltering bandages, Young felt suddenly naked and helpless, facing her alone. There was so much he did not know, so many ways in which she could trap him, if she wished.

“I recall this room,” she said absently, looking around. “You had it as a boy, didn’t you?” He did not have to answer, because she turned her gaze on him immediately. “Now, what the hell is all this foolishness, Lawrence?” she demanded. “If you and that redheaded brat of Maude Decker’s think you’re going to involve me in any romantic shenanigans at my age — As far as your marriage is concerned, boy, I’ve got no sympathy for you at all. You’ve got a pretty wife. I suppose she doesn’t spend all day in a wrapper
and nightgown. Maybe you could have done better, but you didn’t; and I’ve got no patience with the modern attitude toward marriage. In my day, a man was supposed to live with his mistakes. Don’t come to me expecting me to set up assignations for you behind your wife’s back!”

Young said, “I didn’t come to you, Aunt Molly.”

“Well, your girl did, damn it. She wanted me to help her arrange some kind of meeting... Me carrying love notes at my age! Somebody should turn that child over and warm her bottom, and yours too, young man... I don’t know why I keep calling her a child. At her age I was married and keeping house for three children, a husband, and a pack of dogs. The dogs had the best manners of the lot. If anybody had suggested that I show myself in public in a pair of little pants and a bit of a handkerchief —! Anyway I told Bonita and now I’m telling you that I’ll have nothing to do with it. Not that it will stop you, I suppose; I understand the two of you were carrying on something scandalous all last summer. Well, you get no sympathy from me, remember that. In my day, these things were conducted with at least a little bit of discretion... I told the girl, ‘Girl,’ I said, ‘don’t come weeping to me because you got left out in the cold. What do you expect, playing around with a married man? If you want any messages carried, carry them yourself. Do I,’ I asked her, ‘look like Cupid to
you, girl? So the boy got himself smashed up and his wife’s looking after him and that’s the way it should be. I’m certainly not going to tell him to give you the usual signal when he’s well enough to walk out and can meet you at the usual place,’ I told the chit, ‘and I strongly advise you not to make a spectacle of yourself by sailing past the house twice a day, morning and evening, waiting to hear from him; and if you do go sailing,’ I told her, ‘for Heaven’s sake put a few clothes on for a change.’ Humph. Well, I’ve never had a very high opinion of human intelligence, and I suppose you’ll find some damn fool or other to carry your messages for you... Lawrence.”

“Yes, Aunt Molly,” he said.

“I don’t hear much up the river there, but somebody was telling me you had got yourself mixed up in this Communist nonsense. That isn’t true, is it?”

“No, Aunt Molly,” he said.

“Well, that’s fine,” she said. “I’m glad to hear it... Oh, there you are, my dear. You really shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble for me.” Mrs. Parr looked at Elizabeth critically as she brought a tray into the room. “That’s a lovely robe, you’re wearing, dear; it’s a pity you seem to have got some lipstick on the sleeve. And I do love your hair like that; I think this modern style of whacking it all off short is most unattractive. In my day, her hair was considered to be a woman’s crowning glory....”

The long Packard had to back up once to get around the circular drive, which had been laid out for vehicles of shorter wheelbase — no doubt originally for horse-drawn carriages. Then the big car made its deliberate way around the corner of the house and out of sight. Young turned from the window.

“Does she always drive that hearse herself?” “

“She had a chauffeur before the war, Larry told me. When he got drafted, she got somebody to teach her to drive, and liked it so much she never hired another.” Elizabeth swung about to face him. “Honey, what did she want? What did she say?”

He was tired now, and he got back into bed and leaned back against the pillows before answering. “Why,” he said, “somehow she’d got herself talked into giving me a message from Bonita Decker, and she wasn’t too enthusiastic about the idea, although I doubt it’s going to keep her awake nights. The kid apparently hasn’t given up hope. She wants to see me. She’s going to sail past this place twice a day waiting for me to give her the usual signal, after
which I’m supposed to sneak out and meet her at the usual place.”

“A signal?” Elizabeth demanded. “What signal? What place?”

Young said, “How the hell would I know? I don’t know the place, either; or the time. I suppose they had a standard time for meeting, since the old lady didn’t bother to mention it. You had no idea they had some system like that rigged up?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t pay much attention to his comings and goings last summer, but I declare, I didn’t dream they—”

“Well, it looks as if they had really been taking this affair seriously. Signals and secret meeting places! I wish I knew... Well, it doesn’t matter. I obviously can’t afford to meet her; that would be running this bluff into the ground. I may be able to fool an old lady who never saw Larry Wilson more than once a year; I’m sure as hell not going to get anywhere with a bright little girl who was in love with him, bandages or no bandages. And with the color hair she’s got, if she doesn’t get her signal pretty soon she’s going to get impatient and send somebody else or come barging in again herself... I think we’d better have Henshaw over here and hold a council of war, Elizabeth. This act is dying on us; we’d better wind it up before it folds completely. It’s time for Larry Wilson to go to Nassau for his convalescence, or visit
the Mayo Clinic for an operation, or something. We’ve established that the bastard’s still alive; now let’s get him the hell out of here.”

She had turned to study her reflection in the mirror, in a preoccupied way. “All right, honey,” she said. “But can’t it wait until this afternoon? Bob said he’d be over.”

“Oh, I suppose so.” He could not explain his sudden feeling of urgency; instinct was warning him that the game was up, the gag was wearing thin, the ship was sinking beneath him... He tried to put the last metaphor out of his mind, but it was like that; it was the well-remembered sensation of knowing that there were only so many seconds — in this case minutes, or maybe days — before the whole thing would go up with a bang and a hiss and a roar, taking him to hell with it if he had not vacated the premises by the time it happened. His mind was working swiftly and well. “Elizabeth,” he said, knowing what he had to do now. It was time to demonstrate that he was keeping all possibilities clearly in mind.

She looked at him over her shoulder, clearly struck by something in his voice. “What is it, honey?”

“The gun,” he said. “Have you still got it?”

“What?” she demanded, although he was sure she had heard.

“The gun you used that night. Have you still got it, or did you get rid of it?”

“Why — why, I’ve still got it, honey. Bob and I talked it over; people knew I had it, Larry had mentioned giving it to me, so it seemed better to hang onto it. If — if there were any questions, it would have looked funny for it to turn up missing. Bob — cleaned it for me and... Why?” she asked. “Why do you ask?”

“I want it,” he said.

She turned to face him quickly. “Honey—”

“I want it,” he said quietly. “Now.”

“But—”

“There are two of you,” he said. “You and Bob. And Bob’s a doctor, and head wounds are tricky things, and I wouldn’t want Larry Wilson to have a relapse now and die, convenient as it might be for you and Bob.”

She looked at him oddly. There was in her attitude none of the anger he had expected; he had thought she would be furious and shrill, but he had misjudged her. Instead of indignation, she showed him nothing at all except a faint pallor and a certain tightness about the mouth; for a moment he even had the thought that he had hurt her and she was going to start to cry, but she did not. She merely turned on her heel and walked out of the room. In less than a minute she was back. She put on the coverlet a nickel-plated weapon with pearl grips, and a box of cartridges marked
.320 ACP, for Automatic Colt
Pistol.
She did not speak. He checked the clip, which was full, and the cartridge in the chamber, and the safety, and put the gun under his pillow. The box of shells, more than three quarters full, he put into the drawer of the bedside table.

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” he said gravely.

“Why, you’re welcome, honey,” she said in a small, stiff voice. “I declare, there’s no reason why you should trust — us. I don’t blame you a bit for being careful.”

She turned abruptly away, but not before he had seen the tears in her eyes.

“Elizabeth—”

“What is it?” she demanded without looking around.

“Elizabeth, I’m sorry.”

“I reckon there’s no reason why you should be, honey. I — I’m a murderess. I’ve shot one man, my own husband. You can’t t-take any chances. It m-might get to b-be a — a habit... Heavens, I wish I wasn’t all the time weeping!” she gasped, drawing her sleeve across her eyes; then she pretended abrupt interest in the wet smudges on the gold satin, which seemed to remind her of something, and she turned to examine her reflection in the mirror, lifting her hands to her head. “Honey, what’s wrong with my hair, anyway?” she demanded, changing the subject brightly. “What was the old hen driving at? I think it
looks real nice; it just needs to be set a little, that’s all. What’s the matter with it?”

“Why, nothing,” Young said uncomfortably. Then it occurred to him that there was no good reason why he should not continue to be completely frank with this girl, after going so far as to demonstrate that he did not trust her. “Nothing,” he said deliberately, “if you don’t mind looking like a tramp.”