I rushed to fling back the top, and Keith climbed out into my arms. He clung to me, sobbing, and I carried him down to the cracked leather sofa in the library.
“It’s all right, darling,” I soothed. “We’re here. Everything is all right now.” I was crying too, in my enormous relief. He looked as though he had been fed regular meals, but his face was very pale.
Monica sat beside us, and Jason leaned over to place a quieting hand on Keith’s arm. “Can you tell us what happened? We need to know right away.”
I’d forgotten Annabella and her forebodings, but now the Siamese sprang past me to sit on Keith’s lap, and her presence seemed to reassuré him. He took a deep, gulping breath and raised his wet face from my shoulder.
“Is he gone? Is he really gone?”
“Do you mean Ralph, darling?” I asked.
“No—my father! He came here with two men. They came this morning at breakfast, and I was scared.”
Though I’d expected this from the first, now that it was certain, all my fears swept back full force. We were open to attack in this house—completely vulnerable from almost any direction, and I wanted only to leave.
“There’s no one in the house now,” Jason told him gently, but Keith was still frightened.
“They hurt Ralph. My father beat him up, I think, and then one of the men said they’d better get out of here fast. Dad told them not without me. Only they couldn’t find me, because I hid in that big box up there, where they never looked. I waited for a long time before I got out and telephoned you, Mom. I remembered Aunt Monica’s number, like you said I should.”
I held him tight. “That was good, darling. You’ve been a very smart boy.”
“Do you know if they took Ralph with them when they left?” Jason asked.
“I don’t think so.” New terror came into Keith’s eyes. “They—they said he was dead and they better get out real quick. Dad told them to hide him somewhere so he wouldn’t be found right away. Mom, I wanted to look for him, but I was too scared. The house makes noises like it’s talking. And it hides things. So I got back in that box after I phoned you. But I know an easy place where maybe they could have put him. I don’t think they took him a long way off, because I heard the car leave pretty quick.”
“Show us where,” Monica said.
Keith was used to obeying her no-nonsense orders, and he led the way into the hall, with Annabella and the two white cats following. The Siamese had stopped puffing up her fur, which seemed a good sign.
At the far end of the hall Keith indicated a closet for cleaning equipment. When Jason pulled the door open, Ralph slumped out upon the floor. His hair and face were covered with blood, and one arm appeared to be broken. Jason knelt and felt for a pulse in his neck.
“He’s still alive. Monica, where’s the nearest phone?”
“In the library,” she said, and he hurried off.
Monica stood looking down at Ralph. This was no longer her strong young bodyguard.
“Can you hear me, Ralph?” she asked.
He groaned and opened his eyes.
“You had to be greedy, didn’t you?”
“It turned out—wrong,” he said faintly.
Monica continued to press him. “You were selling information to Owen Barclay, I suppose?”
Ralph only blinked at her.
“You even told him when we went to Desert Hot Springs, didn’t you? And when you pushed Carol in the pool you took my ring from her finger and gave it to Barclay?”
“Sure—why not? I did all of that.” He closed his eyes and his breathing seemed barely perceptible.
“There’s a fur rug down the hall,” Monica said to Keith. “Bring it and we’ll cover him.”
I went with Keith to help with the moth-eaten throw rug, and we drew it over Ralph. Monica dampened towels in an adjacent washroom and cleaned some of the blood from Ralph’s face, gently, efficiently. The wound on his head was serious, and still bleeding. She sent Keith for more towels to stanch the flow. Through all this she was behaving remarkably well, and doing so without Linda’s support.
Jason returned in a few moments. “The police and an ambulance are on the way. Keith, can you tell us what happened? How did you get here?”
At the end of the hall a cushioned bay window extended over a side lawn, and we went to the window seat, where I took Keith onto my lap. Monica remained cross-legged on the floor beside Ralph, and now and then she patted his arm and spoke to him reassuringly.
By this time Keith was eager to talk. His voice broke now and then, but he told his story with sturdy determination.
“It was only a game at first. Ralph said we’d fool you for a little while, and then I could go right back to you. Before he even left Aunt Monica’s for this house, he planned what we’d do. He said he’d drive up the mountain on the day you took the tram trip, and he told me where to meet him, up near the top. He said he’d come in his car and I wasn’t to tell anybody. It was our secret, and he would show me a wonderful cave.”
Keith shivered and broke off, remembering how it had really been. I held him tight and he went on.
“It wasn’t like he said. He never showed me the cave, and it wasn’t any fun at all. He just grabbed me and took me away in his car. He made me get down out of sight in front, and he didn’t like it when I started to cry. He—he scared me. But after a while, when we were off the mountain, he was nice again—like he used to be. He said he was taking me to an interesting place, and as soon as we got there he’d phone you. Sometimes he laughed in a sort of crazy way. He was talking about having a lot of money and showing everybody how smart he was. He said it was a big adventure, and I’d never guess how big until it was over. So I should just relax and enjoy it. Mom, I couldn’t help going with him!”
“Of course you couldn’t, honey. You’re telling us very well. Is this the place where he brought you?”
“Yes, he said it was Aunt Monica’s old house. And after that he began to act nice again. I think he really likes me, Mom. So it began to be fun. He said he’d phoned you and it was all right. But he never did, did he?”
“No, Keith, I’m afraid he didn’t.”
“There was a man here when we came, taking care of things. Ralph gave him some money and said it was from Aunt Monica, and he could take a week off. Then Ralph did something to the burglar alarm wires, so they wouldn’t go off and call the police. I sort of liked the house at first. Aunt Monica’s already told me about it. It’s spooky and full of big rooms. Ralph said I could explore all I wanted if I didn’t go outside. At first he came with me when we went in and out of rooms, because he said we might need a place for me to hide. He told me there were some bad people, and if they ever came I should get into that chest in the library and not make any noise. He wanted to talk to them before they knew I was there. At first I didn’t want to hide, but he said it was Dad who might come, so then I did what he told me.”
At the thought of Owen, Keith started to shake again, and I soothed him until he was quiet.
“The police will be here soon, Carol,” Jason said. “Everything’s okay now.” And then I realized that I was shaking too.
Monica pushed herself up from the floor. “I think Ralph’s getting worse.”
There was nothing more we could do, however, until the ambulance arrived.
“When did your father come?” I asked Keith.
“This morning, Mom. We were eating breakfast when the doorbell rang. Ralph told me to go straight to the library and get into that box. So that’s what I did. The carving on top has holes in it, so some light comes in, and air. I could hear them talking because they came right into this room looking for me. I guess they were searching everywhere. But the box is up there in a dark place, and they never saw it. Dad was awful mad at Ralph.”
I hugged him again. “You did very well, darling. I’m glad you hid from them.”
“Did your father tell Ralph to bring you here?” Jason asked.
Keith
shook his head vigorously. “No! I listened real good when Ralph was phoning yesterday. I didn’t know he was talking to Dad then, or I’d have run away. He told whoever it was on the phone that I was with him, and if somebody would pay him a lot of money, he would deliver … but then he saw me in the doorway, and started talking soft, so I couldn’t hear the rest. I guess it was all Ralph’s idea—to do this.”
And Ralph had been playing out of his league.
“Then they beat him up when they knew?” Jason prompted.
“Dad was awful mad, and I guess he hit Ralph a couple of times. He fell and knocked his head on one of those iron dogs by the library fireplace. It fell over, and when I found it later, there—there was blood on it. Then one of the men said, ‘I think you killed him, Mr. Barclay. And the kid’s run away. So we better get out.’
“They gave up looking for me after that. They took Ralph out of the library and I heard them going away in a car. After a while I phoned Smoke Tree House and talked to you, Mom.”
Sirens were coming up the canyon, and Jason went to the front door. I took a moment to telephone Linda, and told her what was happening—though not in detail. “I don’t know when we’ll be home, but I hope it will be soon.”
Her concern, as always, was for Monica. “How is she? Has she gone to pieces? Maybe I should come.…”
“No! Stay where you are, Linda. She’s stronger than I’ve ever seen her. So don’t worry. She should be home by tomorrow at the latest.”
“I’m leaving right away,” she told me, and hung up.
When the ambulance had gone with Ralph, we went through a long session talking to the police. Keith was excited, and only too willing now to tell his story to anyone who would listen. A police officer said Ralph would be held for kidnapping, and they wanted to know all about the way Owen Barclay had nearly killed him. They weren’t, however, much interested in the fact that Owen had tried to take his son. The boy was here, they pointed out. Nothing had really happened, but they would put out warrants for Owen’s arrest on assault charges. Which could be a lot more serious if Ralph died. With that, I had to be satisfied.
Monica put on one of her best shows, without her props, and even the police seemed impressed by her great name, and her grace and charm under trying circumstances.
“Yes, of course we’ll stay overnight,” she told them, consulting none of us. “This is my house and we’ll stay right here. Though you might leave someone on duty to guard us.”
I hated to stay in this echoing museum. Nothing was really over—not with Owen out there free. I didn’t think the police would be clever enough to pick him up. He’d never take the obvious routes out of town under these circumstances. Word would be out through all the news media that he was wanted, and he would take every precaution until he’d had time to pull strings in high places. Though if Ralph died, perhaps even Owen’s strings couldn’t save him.
Monica continued to astonish me. By the time the police were gone it was late afternoon, and we were all hungry, never having bothered with lunch. She went into the vast kitchen, found that Ralph had stocked the refrigerator, and proceeded to whip up a passable meal. We sat down to eat at a table in the kitchen. She ate little herself, and I began to watch her feverish air uneasily. I knew she was driving herself. If Linda was coming, I hoped she’d get here before long.
A red sun slipped down through city haze and disappeared into the Pacific, leaving the lights of Los Angeles spread like a great electric carpet below our hilltop. Every city has its own voice, and this one came to us softened by distance—not the vast, throaty roar of New York that was funneled through concrete canyons—yet still a strong hum of sound. The view had its own special distinction. Lights reached out to the west, and then dipped suddenly off into blackness. The curving line of demarcation was as distinct as though someone had drawn it with a pen—that scalloped line where the land ended and the dark ocean began.
Monica insisted on doing our few dishes, and she commandeered Keith to wipe them. Annabella, her stomach full, roamed about the kitchen, while the white cats slept. She seemed to be trying to warn Monica about something, but her mistress was far off in some keyed-up place of her own and paid no attention.
When we’d eaten, Jason and I went outdoors to stand at a stone parapet in dusky light. Trees hid the houses on lower levels, and this hilltop seemed a world of its own. We were aware of the police officer patrolling at intervals, but there was a lot of ground to cover.
“You won’t have to stay on with Monica now,” Jason said. “Owen will have his hands full for some time. I understand there may be some government charges coming up.”
I wished I could feel as confident, but he didn’t know Owen as I did. He would have the ingenuity, the money, the power, to get himself free of almost anything.
“He’s out there somewhere,” I said. “It could be that he’s right down there now in the woods around this house.”
“There’ll be someone on guard all night, and tomorrow we’ll get you and Keith back to Smoke Tree House.”
“Yes. I’m beginning to worry about Monica. She did fine for a while, but if she keeps on like this she’s heading for an explosion.”
“Let’s talk about you,” Jason said. “About you and Keith leaving Smoke Tree House for good.”
“I still have a book to write. And where would we go?”
“Anywhere you please. How about my ranch? You could write your book there.”
I looked at him quickly. “I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be. But not yet, Jason.”
He drew me to him and I didn’t want to be anywhere else but in his arms. It was Keith who broke in upon us.
“Mom, you better come. Aunt Monica’s acting funny! She says Annabella is telling her awful things, and we’re all in danger.”
TWENTY-TWO
Keith ran ahead of us toward the kitchen, but when we reached the big, sunny room, Monica wasn’t there. Everything had been put neatly away and the sinks were clean, but there was no Monica in sight.
Eventually, Annabella’s high-pitched meows, sounding down a hallway, led us to her. Monica had returned to the room where her portrait hung, and she was picking random volumes from a shelf and dropping them on the floor, one after another. A single lamp burned on a table, and in the shadow-filled room her eyes looked wild and her hair had been tangled by nervous fingers tugging through it.
The two Persian cats were mounds of terrified fluff huddled together in a corner, while Annabella sat on a table, mewing excitedly—as though she directed Monica’s uncontrolled behavior.
“What is it?” I cried. “What are you looking for?”
“I can’t find it! I know it must be here, but I can’t find it!”
“Tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll help,” I said.
She stared past me to the doorway, where Jason and Keith stood watching. “Please, Jason, take the boy upstairs and put him to bed. He’s had enough for the day. Just stay with him. I must talk to Carol.”
I nodded at Jason. Surely Linda would get here soon and help me to calm her down.
When Jason and Keith were gone, she waved me to a chair, though she didn’t sit down herself. She went to a table and began to smooth Annabella’s fur. “It’s all right now, Annie. I’m going to get everything straight as soon as I can find the book. I’m sure there’s a second copy. So just calm yourself.”
It was eerie to see the cat grow quiet as Monica stroked her.
“Cats are very smart, you know,” she went on. “Especially when it comes to instincts. They react to all sorts of stimuli.”
She looked up at herself in the portrait and shook her head. Wistfully? Regretfully?
“I didn’t realize how Cadenza would make me feel. I thought all that was behind me. But I can still remember the days I sat for that picture, hating it. You can see that I’m smiling a little—because I was thinking scornful thoughts about the artist. The silly man was falling in love with me—and that wa
s only make-believe. Like everything else! He didn’t know anything about me, really. So I was mocking them all in my smile.”
As I studied the portrait again, I could see the hint of wickedness and mockery.
“There are too many memories here!” She was suddenly vehement. “Too much guilt, and I can’t stand it any longer. Everything I’ve done—the good things and the bad—have all been accidental. They were just accidents, Carol. I never planned anything before El Mirador. The good I just fell into, and so I did with the bad as well. Even when that awful thing happened at El Mirador, I improvised. I went from moment to moment making it up. So of course it didn’t work.”
She sounded mournful, lost in a past that was too tragic for her to bear. Then with one of her swift changes, she turned her back on the portrait and glared at me.
“Everything might have worked out, if you hadn’t come! Sit down, Carol. Stop fidgeting.”
I obeyed, though I sat on the edge of my chair. Her moods seemed too high and low in their extremes, and for the first time I wondered if she could be dangerous. Perhaps too far gone in her delusions to distinguish between fact and fantasy. I measured the distance to the door warily.
“I’m not your enemy, Monica,” I said.
“You don’t mean to be, but you are. Listen to me now, and listen good!”
“I’ll listen. Take it easy, Monica.”
She had no intention of taking it easy, and she began striding about the room, while the Persians huddled against each other in fright, and Annabella’s tail curled in excitement as she watched her mistress with wide blue eyes.
Monica’s voice rose another notch, all the cadences of her youth lost in the shrill sound.
“That terrible thing that happened at El Mirador all those years ago—I never intended that, Carol. Oh, it’s true that Saxon tried to get hold of the gun, and he shot her by chance. But it was my fault. And it was my insane idea to conceal it all afterwards. If he’d been a stronger man—really like the roles he played—he’d have stood up to me, stopped me. Then he wouldn’t have died!”
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