“I’ll change the tire,” he said. “Give me the keys.”
“I really couldn’t impose on—”
He took the keys out of my hand. “Nonsense,” he said firmly. “It isn’t as though we were strangers.”
“Aren’t we?”
“Not any more.”
Opening the trunk, taking out jack, handle and spare tire, he ignored me for the next five minutes, working with cool efficiency. I stood under the oak, arms folded around my waist, sunlight filtering through the leaves overhead and splattering the pavement with dancing gold flecks. I watched him, noticing the smooth play of muscles under the sweat shirt, noticing the way those dark-blond locks curled softly at the nape of his neck. The job completed, he heaved the deflated tire in the trunk, tossed the tools in after it and slammed the lid shut. Sweat glistened on his forehead. There was a smudge of grease on his cheek. It made him look even more attractive, I thought.
“Lucky I happened to be strolling by,” he remarked.
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“No thanks needed. You could give me a lift home, though.”
“Gladly. I suppose I should leave the flat tire at a service station.”
“There’s one around the corner. We’ll leave it on the way.”
Ten minutes later I pulled into the drive. Ron Hunter followed me into the house, carrying the grocery sacks. He set them down on the kitchen table and, obviously in no hurry to leave, leaned against the drainboard, watching me as I put the things away. The bunched-up sweat shirt made his shoulders seem even broader, and the tight jeans were molded against long, powerful legs. I was intensely aware of him, a bit nervous as I felt his eyes observing me so closely.
“I find it amazing,” he said.
“What?”
“The fact that you haven’t a beau.”
“How did you—”
“Liz. She told me all about you, said you were a confirmed bachelor girl.”
“Liz talks too much,” I said dryly.
“Are you a confirmed bachelor girl?”
“Of course not. I just—”
“Haven’t met the right man?”
“I suppose you could put it that way.”
He nodded to himself, satisfied. Much to my relief, he didn’t pursue the subject. Instead, he picked up a package of frozen peas I had placed on the drainboard and examined the label with a frown.
“You shouldn’t be eating this junk. Frozen foods. Tinned meats. Most unhealthy.”
“But very easy to prepare.”
“Have dinner with me tonight,” he said abruptly.
“I—I’m afraid I can’t. I have to stay with the children.”
“Bring them along,” he said, putting down the package. “The four of you can come over around seven.”
“I think that’s a positively smashing idea,” Liz exclaimed, suddenly appearing at the kitchen door. “Ron’s a tremendous cook, Janie.”
“Is he indeed.”
“Absolutely super. Janie can’t cook at all,” she informed our visitor. “She can’t even boil water. I had to make lunch, and she just stood there looking bewildered. We’d love to come over tonight.”
“It’s settled, then.”
“Not quite,” I replied, desperately wanting to club my niece. “We really couldn’t—”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Janie,” Liz protested. “Ron loves to cook for people.”
“That’s quite true,” he agreed. “Oh, by the way—” he added, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pair of castanets. “I think these belong to you, Liz. I found them in my sitting room this morning. Intended to bring them over later on.”
“So that’s what happened to them!”
Seizing the castanets, she affixed them to her fingers and broke into an impromptu and quite fiery dance, whirling her body, stomping her heels, making a deafening racket with the castanets. I hadn’t any roses to toss, but I made a mental note to hide the castanets at the first opportunity. Leaving her clicking and whirling and stomping, I led Ron back to the front of the house and opened the door for him.
“Thank you again,” I said.
“You’ll be over?”
“I suppose so.”
“Don’t sound so glum. You’ll enjoy yourself.”
The mouth curved into another smile, and I smiled back, liking him immensely, liking his casually determined style.
“Till seven, then,” he said.
“Till seven.”
I closed the door behind him and turned to find Liz watching me with a dreamy expression in her eyes.
“Isn’t he divine?” she exclaimed.
“He seems nice enough,” I conceded.
“You made quite an impression, Janie. The faculty women have all been aflutter since the day he arrived, but he hasn’t shown any interest at all. Not even in Nancy Randolph, and she positively hurled herself at him. The minute he sets eyes on you it’s a different story.”
“It’s probably this dress,” I said glibly.
“He’s attracted to you. I saw that immediately. You’ll probably have a madly passionate affair.”
“Not likely, luv.”
“I’m all for affairs,” she said frankly, smoothing her hand over her sleek blue-black hair. “I intend to have dozens. They do broaden one’s outlook so, don’t you think?”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know.”
“Goodness, Janie, you aren’t still a virgin?”
“That, pet, is a most impertinent question.”
“At your age? It’s shocking. When Lola Montez was twenty-five she’d already slept with simply dozens of men—soldiers, kings, poets. I suppose it was her gypsy blood,” she added.
“It must have been,” I said patiently. “Look, pet, why don’t you run into the kitchen and finish putting away the groceries. I’m not sure I know where everything goes—”
When five o’clock arrived and Becky still wasn’t home, I was beginning to worry. Keith assured me she’d return eventually, and Liz said Becky was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. I wasn’t so sure about that, particularly with her new pastime. I was ready to go searching for her when I heard a curious noise in the back parlor and went to investigate, arriving just in time to see her climbing through the window, a sly look on her face. Doors were obviously far too conventional for my youngest niece. Seeing me, she dropped to the floor with a soft thud, pushed the deerstalker further back on her head and patted her hip pocket to make certain notebook and magnifying glass were still there. Then she grinned.
“Don’t you use doors?” I inquired.
“Sometimes. This is more fun.”
“I was worried about you, Rebecca. Where on earth have you been?”
“Oh—around,” she said evasively.
“Around where?”
“The university, primarily. The biology lab, the gymnasium, the library, places like that. People talk around me, you see, ’cause I’m just a kid. They don’t think anything about it, aren’t on their guard like they are with the cops. I picked up an awful lot of useful information.”
“Indeed? About what?”
“About Bob,” she informed me.
“Bob?”
“Bob Hamilton, the boy who was murdered. It’s all anyone at the university can talk about. I’ve got a couple of good leads now, more than the cops have, but I’m still not ready to discuss the case with anyone. I have to check out a couple of things first.”
“Not today, pet. We’re going to Ron’s for dinner, and you have to take a bath.”
“Why are we going over there?” she protested.
“Because he was kind enough to invite us.”
“I don’t like him.”
“Why not?”
“I have my reasons,” she said.
“Liz and Keith think he’s grand.”
“Liz is a ninny and Keith likes everyone. I’ll go, I guess, but I’m not going to be friendly. Let them fawn over him. Me, I
have reservations. People have to prove themselves.”
With this cryptic remark she sauntered out of the room. I stood there for a few minutes, watching the sun slanting through the blinds in wavering mote-filled rays, rather worried about what Becky had told me. She had no business prowling around the university, asking questions, eavesdropping. It was, of course, just a game to her, an amusing pastime, but I didn’t like it. It wasn’t healthy for a child to be so absorbed in murder, real or imaginary. Forbidding her to make further “investigations” would be futile, I knew, but perhaps I could divert her, get her interested in something else. At any rate, I resolved to keep an eye on her during the next two weeks.
These children! I thought, shaking my head, and then I went on upstairs to select a dress to wear for dinner. Despite her protests, Becky was ready at seven on the dot, cheeks rosy, tattered gold hair clean and shiny, her plump body neatly dressed in a navy-blue playsuit. Keith looked unusually handsome in a gray check suit and dull red tie, shoes polished to a dark sheen, but Liz put them both in the shade, preposterously attired in black dress, a brilliantly hued fringed shawl that had once adorned the piano, and, in her hair, an enormous red velvet rose. Her lids were coated with purple again, lashes heavy with mascara. I made no comment about the makeup, but I flatly refused to let her take the castanets that were fastened to her fingers. There was a brief hassle but, finally, the castanets were left behind and we descended on Ron en masse.
He wasn’t at all fazed. Greeting us at the door, he smiled and led the way through the house and out onto the back lawn where a dozen Japanese lanterns were strung on tree branches, swaying gently in the breeze, and a beautifully set table glowed in the hazy blue dusk. Polite, gracious, he concentrated on the children, ignoring me in their favor, although occasionally he would catch my eye and smile. Dinner was an unqualified success by any standard, the food delicious, informally served by our host, and as dusk deepened into night fireflies made soft golden lights in the shrubbery at the foot of the property. Liz chattered about Lola Montez, Keith and Ron had a serious discussion about jet propulsion, and Becky sulked, although I noticed she took a second helping of almost every dish. After dessert, Liz offered to dance for us and, when this offer was greeted with a considerable lack of enthusiasm, politely volunteered to clear the table. I helped her, and a few minutes later we were sitting in lawn chairs, Ron and I drinking coffee while the children sipped iced tea.
It was a lovely night, warm and scented with all the smells of summer, the sky clear gray-black and starless. Leaves rustled in the light breeze, crickets chirped raspily under the flagstones, and the swaying lanterns made soft blurs of color. It had been a trying day, and I felt lazy and content, truly relaxed for the first time. Ron certainly had a way with young people, I observed, a casual, rather offhand manner that was immediately winning, Becky being the exception. He wore a pair of dark-brown slacks, a soft-knit dull gold turtleneck sweater and, over it, a most fetching sports coat of brown and dull gold check, exquisitely tailored to point up broad shoulders and trim waistline. His dark-blond hair was burnished bronze by the light, and his lovely voice was like music, quiet and soothing. I was certain he must have faults, probably glaring ones, but none of them were in evidence tonight.
“It was a wonderful dinner,” I told him. “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”
“No trouble at all. My housekeeper did most of the work, I must admit. I made the poor woman stay late, drove her mercilessly. I had very little to do with it.”
“I still wish you’d let Liz and me do the dishes.”
“Mrs. Henderson will do them when she comes in the morning. I wouldn’t want you to spoil those lovely hands.”
“Isn’t he gallant?” Liz declared.
“Crap,” Becky said.
“Becky!” I protested.
“Watch it, kid,” Keith warned her.
“I still think I should dance,” Liz said.
“You and your bloody dances,” Becky grumbled.
“Yes, we’re all bored sick with them,” Keith agreed.
“Some people just don’t appreciate art,” Liz retorted. “It’s an old, old story. Lola had severe critics, too, dull, humdrum men who couldn’t recognize beauty in motion when they saw it. My dancing teacher says I have real flair, and—”
“I want to go to the movies,” Becky interrupted.
“That’s a good idea,” Ron said, outrageously humoring her. “It’s still early. We could all go to the last feature. The newspaper’s in the sitting room, Becky. Why don’t you run fetch it and we’ll see what’s playing.”
“Really,” I began, “you needn’t—”
“It might be fun,” he said. “I haven’t been to the movies in months. Besides, the kids will enjoy it.”
“I think it’s a divine idea,” Liz exclaimed.
There were only two cinemas in Abbotstown, and we had a choice between the heartwarming story of a boy and his dog and a bloodsoaked horror epic all about vampires. The heartwarming story lost, hands down. As the other film was playing at the university cinema nearby, and since the last feature didn’t begin until nine, we decided to walk, arriving shortly before the movie began. Ron purchased our seats, provided the children with an alarming amount of popcorn, soft drinks and chocolates, then ushered us up to the balcony. It was already crowded with summer students, giggling girls who pretended to be nervous and long-haired youths who thought it a great lark. The lights dimmed. The feature started. The children were enthralled, happily devouring their treats and responding quite vocally every time another victim was seized, but after the third close-up of bloody neck and dripping fangs, I began to feel a bit queasy.
“I’m not sure I can take any more,” I whispered.
“Would you like to leave?” Ron asked.
“I don’t want to spoil anything—”
“The children can stay. They can walk home by themselves.”
“Well—”
“Come on. We’ll go.”
I whispered instructions for Keith to bring the girls straight home as soon as the movie was over, and Ron and I made our way down the crowded row of seats just as a half-clad blonde who was unquestionably a mammal was being assaulted by a pale-faced fiend in swirling black cape. Shrill screams issued from a hundred throats as we went downstairs. I sighed with relief as we stepped out into the fresh night air. Ron chuckled, amused by my reactions.
“I guess I’m just a coward,” I told him. “I’m too old for that sort of thing.”
“The kids are having a blast.”
“You’re certainly very kind to them.”
“I like kids,” he said casually, “always have. Ian has a fine bunch. I’m very fond of them.”
“Even Becky?”
“Even Becky,” he said.
We were still standing under the brightly lighted marquee, surrounded by lurid, garishly colored posters. I had the uncanny feeling that someone was staring at me, an almost physical sensation. Turning, I peered down the street, dim and shadowy beyond the perimeter of lights. A man was hovering near the corner, and although I couldn’t see his face, the trench coat was quite distinct. As soon as I turned, he darted around the corner, disappearing from sight. I frowned, slightly disturbed as I remembered the encounter on the train. Abbotstown was a small place. George Dawson probably just happened to be passing and, seeing me, stopped to stare. Still, I wondered why he had moved away so quickly, almost as though he were afraid I would recognize him.
“Something wrong?” Ron asked, noticing my expression.
“No—no, I was just thinking about the movie.”
“You are sensitive. I like that.”
“You do? Why?”
“It’s a very feminine quality. I like feminine women, masculine men. The line between the sexes is all too fine nowadays. You, my dear,” he continued in a bantering tone, “are undeniably female.”
“More gallantry?”
“Just stating an obvious
fact.”
We began to stroll slowly past the university buildings, old and majestic, bathed now in pale silver-blue moonlight, the trees and shrubbery dark and rustling. A group of students were sitting on some marble steps, cigarette ends glowing bright orange in the dark. Someone was playing a guitar. The music drifted soft and pensive into the night, adding to an already romantic atmosphere. Ron had his hands thrust into jacket pockets, ambling along at an easy pace, seemingly lost in thought.
“I’m afraid Becky was disgraceful tonight,” I remarked.
“Because she sulked? It’s just her way.”
“I’m worried about her, rather. This new interest of hers—”
“What’s that?”
I told him about her “detective work,” about her deerstalker and magnifying glass and fingerprint kit. Ron laughed quietly, remarking that it seemed harmless enough.
“That isn’t all. She spies on people, jots things down in her notebook. Right now she’s investigating a murder.”
“Murder?” He seemed surprised.
“Some boy who was found in the fields behind our house.”
“Oh, you mean Bob Hamilton. Yes, there was a bit in the papers about that, but apparently it was an accident.”
“Becky said the papers called it a vicious and brutal slaying.”
“Rather an exaggeration on her part, I’d say. There was some question of murder at first, I believe, but I think the coroner decided it was an accident. The boy seems to have stumbled over a root, fallen at an unusual angle and broken his neck. One of those crazy accidents that happens every so often.”
“Even so, I can’t help feeling a bit uneasy about her. She shouldn’t be prowling around like that, snooping.”
“She’s a tough little thing. I’ll wager she can take care of herself,” Ron said.
As we neared the playing field, the chapel bells tolled ten o’clock. Both of us stopped, listening. Breaking the silence of the night, the long, slow gongs were incredibly romantic, summoning up centuries past. They must have sounded like this when Henry the Eighth was alive, I thought, when the university was new. The last gong died away, vibrating, and then there was only the sound of crickets and the rustle of leaves. It was cooler now, and I shivered slightly in my thin dress. Noticing, Ron pulled me closer to him and curled his arm around my shoulders as we continued to stroll, quietly now, without speaking. His arm was heavy, and I was acutely aware of his warmth, his nearness. It was only when we reached the front gate that he removed his arm. I felt a wave of relief and, curiously, disappointment.
Meet a Dark Stranger Page 5