“Are you kidding, or what?”
“I’m all through being kidded by you, honey-chile,” I
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smiled at her warmly. “But I’ll always remember you as one of the nicest bitches I ever met.”
I got up from the bed and walked across to where I’d left ray cigarettes, and lit one.
“Danny!” She still sat upright on the bed, staring at me with eyes that held a different kind of warmth now.
“I’ll write you a testimonial, if that’s what you want, honey-chile,” I said easily. “ ‘I never knew how good it could be till Sylvia’—that kind of jazz?”
“What’s got into you?” she asked slowly.
“You played me for a sucker once,” I said. “That brought me enough grief—now you got me real nervous.” “You’re still not making any sense!” she said harshly. “If you want it all wrapped in a neat plastic bag, well all right,” I said patiently. “I figure it was you who moved Sweet William to fool the cops. I figure you’re working with and for Old Man Hazelton in this and always have been.”
“You must be mad, too, if you think I’m—”
“You already gave me your theories, honey-chile,” I said, “now you can hear mine.”
“I’m not going to—” She swung her legs off the bed and stood up, smoothing down her skirt with both hands, then started quickly toward the door.
1 caught her wrist and held it tight enough to stop her getting any further.
“Stay with it,” I said. “I’m just getting warmed up. You and the old man had one hell of a problem—Philip’s body. You’d fooled the cops once, but supposing I tried them again, you couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t dig up every pen the second time.
“So you called me for help, and then used every delightful curve you have to persuade me to come out to the farm. You gave me the ultimate proof you were on the level by showing me the pens and letting me figure out how the cops had missed finding the body. Then the interlude in the bam—was that stricdy for kicks? The big deal about not wanting to go back to the house, but
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letting me talk you into it for the girls’ sake—then you’d done your part. Tolvar could take over, have me drive around while you and the old man dug up the body and had it ready and waiting for when we got back.”
“You’re crazy!” she spat at me. “Let me go!”
“In one moment,” I said. “It went wrong—I got away and Tolver was dead, but somebody did some brilliant thinking and came up with the hit-and-run idea. And that | worked even better than you’d expected, because I was dumb enough to forget I was carrying Philip’s body in the trunk of my car.”
I let go of her wrist suddenly. “So go back to the old man and tell him sure I’ll be out at the house later, and to stay. I’m coming to protect my client, like he suggested!”
“I told you it was Mr. Houston’s idea!” she said 1 stormily.
“That’s right, you did. But I still think it was the old 1 man’s. Tell him I’m coming out.”
She massaged her wrist. “You hurt me. You’re the , most stupid, dirty animal I ever—”
I opened the door, pushed firmly with one hand against her back, and propelled her outside into the corridor.
Her face was white with fury. She stood for a moment,
I the cashmere sweater about to come apart at the very I fibers, then she looked down at her legs—and the stockings which sagged forlornly around her ankles.
“You can—” She nearly choked with fury and had to swallow a couple of times to get her voice back. “You can at least give me back my garters!” she said in a metallic voice.
“Honey-chile,” I shook my head, “I told you I wanted a souvenir.”
“But how will I keep my stockings up?” she wailed desperately.
“Try walking on your hands, why don’t you?” I said, then shut the door gently in her face.
If this was being a catalyst, I was beginning to like it.
Eleven
I HAD DINNER BEFORE I LEFT THE HOTEL. FOR ALL I KNEW
it was going to be a long night and who needs hunger? It was just after eight when I got going in the rented convertible. Another nice, crisp, moonlight night, and once I’d left the city limits, there were just the soft silhouettes of trees on either side of the road, caught in the headlights’ glare. Made me feel kind of nervous; I’ve got the native New Yorker’s fear of open spaces. I just don’t trust all that nothing, not until it’s filled with tall buildings, anyway.
I turned off the road through the open gates, past the board which still said “High Tor,” then down the tracks to the farmhouse. For a moment, after I’d turned off the motor, I just sat in the car, lit a cigarette, and looked at the house. Lights showed from the windows, it didn’t look any different now than it had before. But something was different about it.
You could feel it and it couldn’t be put into words. A sensation, something that touched your face like a spider’s web, and then was gone. Something that spiked your nerve ends and made them jump suddenly and painfully. A silent, creeping thing that crept closer all the time, waiting to pounce. What was it Sylvia had said about a house of fear?
I got out of the car fast because I knew if I sat there much longer thinking that way, I’d turn the car around and drive straight back into Providence—and that hit-and-run rap Greer had waiting for me.
The front door opened almost as soon as I knocked, and Galbraith Hazelton stood there, glaring at me. He looked a lot older, even since the morning when I’d last
seen him. His eyes were sunken in his cheeks, and the mustache didn't bristle any more.
“What do you want, Boyd?” he asked in a Lifeless voice.
“To see Martha,” I said. “She’s still my client.”
“You can’t see her,” he said. “Haven’t you caused enough tragedy to my family?”
“She’s still my client,” I said. “I’m going to see her, I | don’t think you can stop me, Hazelton.”
Hazelton was pulled back from the door suddenly, and Pete Rinkman, the handyman with muscles, took his place.
“Maybe Mr. Hazelton can’t stop you, buddy,” he said softly. “But I can!”
The only difference in his appearance, compared to the first time I saw him, was that now a red, instead of i black, shirt was tucked into the polished cottons. His l boots still had the same high gloss.
“Hi, Pete,” I said. “Seen any more hit-and-run accidents lately?”
“Nobody wants you here, buddy,” he said. “So why not go now before you get hurt?”
“We went through this routine once before, I remem-i ber,” I said.
His face darkened a fraction. “This time, I’m watching you!”
I slid the Magnum out of its harness, weighed it in the palm of my hand for a moment, then looked at him again.
“The gun don’t scare me!” he said flatly.
“It should,” I told him. “I’ll use it if I have to, buddy.”
“Pete!” a voice called sharply from somewhere in the hall behind him. “Who is it?”
The next moment Martha Hazelton’s face appeared over Pete’s shoulder.
“Mr. Boyd!” She looked almost pleased to see me. “Do come in.”
“Excuse me, buddy,” I said politely to Pete, put the gun away, then stepped past him into the hallway.
I saw Galbraith Hazelton just disappearing into the living room—he must have quit trying when his daughter got into the act as well.
“I’m very glad you came, Mr. Boyd,” Martha said in a low voice. “Very glad.”
She looked just as immaculate as ever, in a white silk shirt with a pointed tab collar, and tailored peon pants. Her dark eyes smiled at me as she shook hands.
“My father told us the good news about your release,” she said. “Not that he thought it was good news, but I think you already know how he feels about you?”
“He drops a hint here and there,” I admitted, “like a thermal bomb.”