Marian Warren blinked at the outright animosity and looked appealingly at Warren.
“I’m distressed you’re taking this stand, Carlysle,” Warren said, switching to the father-confessor pose. “Marian and I wanted to spare you.”
He appeared to deliberate, turning to his wife, shaking his head regretfully, shrugging his uninjured shoulder to show he had been forced into a difficult position.
“I have to tell her, Marian. Maybe then she will cooperate. After all, her father was only trying to shield that insubordinate sergeant of his - “
“What has Ed Bailey got to do with this?”
Marian Warren gasped, her mascaraed eyes wide. “She doesn’t know?”
Warren’s hand had gone significantly to his wounded shoulder. He wore a pained expression.
“We were called down from Boston yesterday to Camp Edwards to identify Bailey. I’m afraid, my dear,” his reluctance was pure crap, “that not only did Bailey loot thousands of dollars of valuable stamps and irreplaceable manuscripts from German baggage trains, but he tried to kill me when I accused him.”
“Stamps? Manuscripts? Bailey?” I repeated inanely, dimly realizing that Warren was harping on minor items.
“Your father must have realized it first, of course.”
“Go ahead, Donnie,” Marian spat out viciously, her cold eyes fastened on my face. “Tell her! It’ll serve her right, the way she’s acted towards us. Just as if her father were chief of staff
“
“My dear,” and he had the nerve to come over and put an arm around my shoulders. I stepped aside, showing my revulsion openly. He stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “All right,” he snapped, his voice taking on the same edge as Marian’s. “Your father was murdered.”
He paused to see what effect his words had on me. I stared back my hatred. He evidently mistook this for shock because he continued. “By none other than your precious Sergeant Bailey. And I have proof.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed in his face. I laughed at the outrageous invention of it, leaning weakly against the fireplace.
“Don’t you dare laugh at my husband,” Marian Warren screeched, her sharp thin fingers digging through my sweaters as she jerked me around to face her.
“She’s hysterical, Marian.”
“She is not, the little bitch. She’s laughing at you, you fool,” and Marian Warren slapped me across the face.
It stopped my laughter but the look on my face dissuaded her against slapping me again. She lowered her hand just as Beatty came back into the room.
“There’s a much warmer room just off the dining room,” he said, his eyes sliding up and down my body.
“Did you find anything?” Warren snapped, without taking his eyes from me.
“No.”
“Search upstairs.”
His peremptory tone caused Beatty to hesitate.
“You deal with her, Donald, I’m going to get warm,” Marian announced loftily. “The sooner we find what we came after, Officer, the sooner we can all leave this icebox of a house,” and she smiled conciliatorily at Beatty. “This is all very upsetting for the colonel. I just know his shoulder is bothering him. Do hurry and search the second floor.”
Those two left. I heard Beatty clumping upstairs as Marian’s heels clattered on the hall floor. Merlin crashed against the kitchen door as she hurried past.
“You can’t think me stupid enough to swallow that accusation, Donald Warren,” I said, surprised at the dead calm I felt.
He began to smile unpleasantly.
“And if you think Division will believe such a tale about my father, from you, you don’t know your reputation in the Fifth Corps.”
His smile broadened. “On the contrary. There is incontrovertible evidence. The obliging lieutenant brought along the slug that the medic dug out of your father’s body. It matches the one that wounded me. Both were fired from Bailey’s service revolver which was taken from him when he was arrested in Aachen, and tallies with the number issued to him.”
He spoke with such conviction that a cold uncertainty paralyzed me. It must have shown in my face for he smiled his toothy smile, showing teeth badly discolored.
He must be wrong, I told myself. Whose was the forty-five we found in Dad’s locker? Turtle Bailey could not have murdered my father. That was impossible!
Besides, it was Warren who had done the looting. Turtle hadn’t. DeLord had proved that. He was completely satisfied it was Warren. And Dad had known it, too. That’s why Warren had shot him.
“Bailey escaped in Aachen. If he’d been innocent, why would he run?” Warren’s voice hammered at me and then he shook my arm roughly. “Now stop protecting that murderer and tell me where those things are or I’ll see your father’s name smeared. He was shielding a looter. He knew, too, how much money was involved. He was obstructing justice. I’ll see his name - “
“You try it, Warren, you just try it,” I shouted, losing all control, “and I’ll give that court-martial proof of the many times my father shielded your reputation, covered up your mistakes. I’ll tell them what happened at Bois de Collette when you lost ninety-five men because you couldn’t give a decent order to save your own neck. I’ll tell .”
His eyes had widened as the impact of my words reached him. He raised his hand, palm flat, to clout me when Merlin’s body lunged past me, knocking him to the floor. He screamed, a curiously high-pitched, womanish scream, terror-ridden.
“Hold, Merlin! Guard!” I ordered, grimly satisfied by the look of abject terror on Warren’s wide-eyed white face.
Merlin crouched, one paw lightly resting on Warren’s throat. He snarled, his fangs a scant inch from the man’s chin. Warren moved once and Merlin’s jaws snapped without meeting flesh. Warren lay still, his staring eyes never leaving the dog’s menacing face.
“Hold, Merlin. Just hold!”
I heard the back door crash open and Regan was shouting for me. I ran for the safety and sanity of Regan’s arms, slamming the living room door behind me, knowing that Merlin would keep Warren there until I heard from Regan’s lips how absurd that man’s charge was.
“Carla, Carla, thank God,” Regan cried, embracing me roughly with relief. “The phone call was a fraud. To get me out of the house. Bailey hasn’t shown up, has he?”
Marian Warren came stalking out of the study into the back porch., “Major Laird,” she began imperiously and was effectively silenced by his look.
“Regan, they’re saying awful things about Turtle,” I cried, “and that Beatty man is searching the house.”
Regan’s face was grim, his eyes terrible.
“What’s the matter?” I wailed. “Where is Turtle?”
“He escaped. When I realized the phone call was a fraud, and you were here alone, I got suspicious. I called DeLord at Edwards. He was just leaving to warn us.”
“Warn us?”
“Sweetheart, listen. Turtle is armed and he’s desperate. He’s sick. He knocked the guard out when they brought his breakfast, stole a jeep, and is on his way here. He’s after Warren.”
“Donnie? Bailey’s after my husband?” Marian Warren cried shrilly.
She barged past Regan on her way to the living room but he grabbed her and propelled her back into the study.
“You stay in there, lock the doors, and don’t come out unless you’re aching for a stray bullet.”
As if to give added urgency to his warning, we heard distant gunfire. Evans, who’d been standing in the door, withdrew hastily. I saw his patrol spreading out, crouching low behind the slope of the land, seeking cover.
Marian Warren shrieked again and slammed the study door. I heard the lock click and her frightened squeals as she raced to bar the study’s front door.