The telephone rang. Stephen answered it. It was Ron. Grimly, Stephen handed me the receiver.
“Hello,” I said.
“Jane? Ron. You sound—is something wrong?”
“No,” I said.
“That fellow who answered—”
“A friend of mine. He’s visiting me.”
“Hunh? Well, look—did Liz speak to you? Did she tell you I called this morning?”
“She told me.”
“She give you my message?”
I nodded. He waited. I realized I hadn’t spoken.
“Yes,” I said.
“What a day—you wouldn’t believe the paper work I’ve had to go over, plow through. Been at the office since the crack of dawn, it seems, just got home a couple of minutes ago. If ever I needed a relaxing evening, it’s tonight. We’ll go somewhere special, drink, dine, we might even go dancing afterwards. You can wear that dress. I’ll pick you up at—”
“I can’t,” I said.
“What? I don’t under—”
“I can’t go out tonight.”
“If it’s the children, we’ll get a baby-sitter. There’s a girl from the university who hires herself out. She’ll come over and stay with them. Easy as pie to arrange. I’ll call her—”
“No.”
“Something is wrong,” Ron said sharply. “I can tell. Your voice—you sound like a zombie. That fellow who’s there—it has something to do with him. Look, I’ll come right over. If you’re in some kind of—”
“Don’t.”
“Jane—”
“Don’t come over. I’m all right. I’m perfectly all right. I—I’ll phone you later.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to—”
“I’m sure.”
I hung up. Stephen stared at me.
“He suspects something,” I said quietly.
“To hell with him.”
“He—he said I sounded like a zombie. I probably do. I’m sorry. I tried—”
“You handled it well, Jane.”
“He wanted to come over. I told him not to. Stephen—are they going to find her?”
He nodded grimly.
“I believe that,” I said. “I have to believe it.”
“Try not to worry.”
“I’m better now. I promise. I—I guess it was shock. I’m going to be all right. Tonight, when he calls, I’ll be able to do my part. I’ll be able to take the briefcase, meet him—”
“I hope it won’t come to that.”
“If it does, I’ll be able to go through with it.”
“I believe you will,” he said, studying my face.
“I—I was in shock. It’s worn off now.”
It was true. The shock had worn off, and the numbness was gone. I felt tremulous. I wanted to cry. I didn’t. The icy calm no longer held sway, and the emotions were no longer tightly locked up inside, but I didn’t give way to them. I had to be strong, and I would be. I don’t know where I found the strength, but it was there. Now that I needed it, it was there. I looked at Stephen. He was wearing jeans and a vivid green sweater, sitting in a wingback chair, hands gripping the arms tightly, his knuckles white. His features were hard, rigid, the skin stretched tightly over cheekbones and jaw. His eyes were dark, and although he was staring down at the carpet with a fixed gaze, he was seeing something quite different.
I understood. This afternoon had been pure hell for him. He was used to being in the thick of things, taking command, giving orders, directing everything with crisp efficiency, and he was here, with me, while others did the job he longed to do himself. He wanted to be at the helm, where he belonged, but he chose to stay here with me, watching over me, because I took precedence over everything else. I understood that, and I appreciated it. I wanted to tell him so, but I couldn’t.
“You haven’t eaten anything since breakfast,” I said. “Let me—”
“Don’t bother,” he said brusquely.
The telephone rang again. He sprang up to answer it. He listened with a grim expression. His jaw was thrust out, and the muscle at his temple twitched. He delivered instructions, his voice low and urgent. I could tell he was speaking to Constable Clark. He listened again, said a terse good-bye and hung up. He stared down at the phone, thinking, forcing himself to be patient, to control his sense of frustration.
“Why don’t you go,” I said. “You—you might be able to help. If you were there, you might be—”
“Forget it, Jane.”
“I appreciate your—your concern for me. I needed you. If you hadn’t been here, God knows what I’d have done—how I’d have managed. I’m better now. There’s no reason for you to stay.”
“I can’t leave you alone.”
“That’s nonsense. There’s a policeman next door, that man with the red hair. There’s a policeman down the street, watching. There’s one in the fields behind the house—I rather think that’s a sufficient number to protect me.”
“It isn’t that—”
“I know why you feel you have to stay, Stephen. There’s no need now. I’m not going to go to pieces. I’m not going to do anything foolish. I’m going upstairs to try and rest. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep, but I’m going to try. I’ll need all my strength for later on.”
“Well—” He hesitated, filled with indecision, torn between the desire to leave and the feeling that he should stay here with me. “If only I could leave for an hour or two. I feel so damned helpless with only these phone calls to keep me posted. If I could just make sure they’re doing everything possible—” He frowned. “I’d feel better if I could just be sure.”
“There’s no reason why you can’t.”
“You’ll be—”
“I’m going to rest. I’ll be fine.”
His facial muscles relaxed. I could see his relief, even though he tried not to show it. “Very well,” he said crisply. “Look, it’s five now. I’ll just run down to the station, see what they’re doing. I’ll be back by seven at the latest. You try to get some rest.”
“I will,” I promised.
He left. A moment later I heard the car motor explode into life, heard the wheels crunching over crushed shell as he backed out of the drive and into the street. I stood in the middle of the room for a moment, wanting to cry, wanting him back, and then I sat down in the gracious wingback chair covered in crushed garnet velvet. I watched the afternoon sunlight slanting through the windows in wavering rays, making hazy pools on the old carpet with its floral design in brown, gold, gray and green, the colors faded. I glanced around the room as though I’d never seen it before, taking in details, and the tears wouldn’t come. Numbness was gone, panic past, and my calm was the calm of resignation. There was nothing I could do but wait. And pray. I couldn’t cry, not even now, and I couldn’t break down. It would have helped, perhaps. Perhaps if I could have given way, I would have felt better afterwards. I couldn’t. Nor could I even think of trying to sleep. I had merely said that for Stephen’s sake, because he wanted so desperately to leave.
I don’t know how much time passed, forty-five minutes, an hour, maybe more. The sunlight was fainter, hazier. I seemed to be in a dream, and time had no meaning. I got up. I wandered out of the room, into the hall. I looked at the telephone there. I should call Great-Aunt Georginna and see how Keith and Liz were doing. I had no idea what Stephen had told her when he placed that call to her, but I knew she hadn’t protested when he said the children were coming to stay. I placed the call, waited. Her butler answered. Outrageously wealthy, Aunt Georginna still had a butler in this day and age, two footmen, too, and a whole bevy of stable boys. They were devoted to her, strangely enough, any one of them ready to spring to her defense when outsiders called her mad. The butler summoned her to the telephone. Her voice was as rough and rumbling as I remembered.
“Jane? What the bloody hell is going on? I haven’t a clue! Years pass and I hardly ever see you. Hardly see that brother of yours either. I don’t even ge
t a Christmas card. You’d think I had leprosy! And then out of the blue a stranger calls me. He says he’s from Scotland Yard. He says Elizabeth and Keith are coming to stay with me. He says I’m to ask no questions and pretend I’m delighted to see them, keep them occupied—he talks to me like I’m some kind of—what the bloody hell is all this! And why isn’t Becky here, too! You know she’s my favorite.”
“I can’t talk about it now, Aunt Georginna.”
“You’re in some kind of trouble. I knew it. All right, all right, I won’t ask any more questions! But I expect to have a full account later on, make no mistake about it. Do you realize it’s been five years since I laid eyes on you, child? Haven’t seen you since you left for London. Do you imagine I have no feelings? You children—Ian’s even worse! I came to Abbotstown last October, popped in for a friendly visit. Those three brats scurried away like rats leaving a sinking ship, and your brother turned pale and didn’t even offer me a cup of tea! Think I can’t take a hint? And me with no one else to leave my money to—”
“How are Keith and Liz?” I interrupted.
“They’re all right. Keith’s in the library, looking at the books. He’s worried about something—seems upset, hasn’t said ten words since they arrived. Elizabeth is cavorting about with that Hammond—that child wears the most outlandish clothes! Such a chatterbox! Neither one of them’s overjoyed at being here—you’d think I was the Bride of Frankenstein, and me the kindest-natured soul in captivity! Just because I’m a bit loud doesn’t mean I have no feelings. I’m hurt, deeply hurt by the attitude all of you have toward me. A poor widow, left alone in her prime, and my sole surviving relatives treat me like—oh well, not another word on that subject! This fellow Hammond—knows his horseflesh, no mistake. He’s staying the night, says he wants to keep an eye on the children. I suppose I’ll learn what all this means eventually.”
“I—I want to thank you for taking them on such short notice. I know it’s an imposition, but—”
“Imposition! No such thing! I’m delighted to have ’em. I intend to make friends with ’em this go-round. Listen, girl, I don’t know what’s happening, but you buck up, you hear me? You’re a Martin. You’ve got built-in strength and resilience. Martins have always been able to take things on the chin, stand up in the face of adversity. You’re no exception! A Martin has never knuckled under, not once in the long and bloody history of the family. You keep that in mind! Hear? Whatever it is, you’re going to see it through. Blood will tell. If you need anything at all, money, anything, you know where to reach me, and don’t waste a single minute worrying about Keith and Elizabeth. They’re going to take to me this time, or I’ll bloody well know the reason why—”
I said good bye. I hung up. Aunt Georginna was rowdy, coarse, undeniably eccentric, without a single enchanting quality to her name, but for some strange reason her gruff, crotchety words had acted like a tonic on me, banishing my lethargy, snapping me out of the tremulous, dreamlike state I had been in previously. Before talking to her, I had been resigned, unable to function, and now, inexplicably, I was filled with a curious energy. I’d go mad if I had to sit around much longer, waiting, worrying. Surely there was something I could do. I suddenly remembered Becky’s notebook. She had lost it. I had promised I would help her find it. It would give me something to … I stood very still. The notebook. The notebook! Becky had written everything down in …
I remembered her chattering to Stephen the first night he came. “I’m working on a case right now, as a matter of fact,” she had told him. “Of course, no one takes me seriously, I’m just a kid, but before I’m finished everyone is going to sit up and take notice. I wish I could tell you about it, but it’s very hush-hush. I have to be sure of my evidence before I start—” And I remembered what Keith had told me about Becky and Bob Hamilton: “She doesn’t talk about her friendship with him, just babbles on about his murder, says she has private information, claims she knows the motive. Nonsense, of course—” Was it nonsense? Ever since the boy’s death, Becky had been snooping around the university, asking questions, eavesdropping, jotting down notes in her notebook. I remembered Cynthia telling me that Becky had brought one of my books for her to see. That indicated that Becky had been fairly well acquainted with the girl, and she had been perched up in the elm tree eavesdropping on Cynthia and Augusta Tuesday afternoon when I went to search for her. How many other times had she been hiding, listening to private, perhaps intimate, conversations?
My pulses leaped. Could it be that …
It was much too improbable. It was too absurd even to contemplate, but still my mind clicked away like a machine, recalling things, computing them. How much had she overheard? How much had she learned? “… says she has private information, claims she knows the motive …” I had paid little attention to what Keith said, had paid even less to Becky’s constant prattle about her “investigations.” She was, after all, just a child, and a mere child … could a mere child have succeeded where a whole police force had failed? No, I told myself. It was all a lark, a game she was playing. She knew nothing. It was just talk. And yet … Cynthia had been having an affair with the man. Sly, observant, roaming around relatively unnoticed by adults, Becky might have found out about that. If so, then she would … she would have known who the man was. And she would have recorded his name in …
It was a slim hope, a very slim hope, and it was probably desperation that put these thoughts in my head, but if the notebook did contain the name, then the police would know who he was, know where to look for him. They would be able to find him, find Becky. Casting aside all other thoughts, I hurried upstairs to her room. She had looked for the notebook, but her search probably hadn’t been a thorough one. Mine was. I looked in all the drawers, in the closet, under the bed. She had misplaced it yesterday afternoon. It was bound to be here somewhere. Perhaps it had dropped behind the dresser. It hadn’t. Perhaps she had left it in the jeans she had been wearing the day before. I looked. No, it wasn’t there either. I continued to search, filled with a cold, steely determination. I had to find that notebook. I might be foolish, I might be wasting my time, but I had to know. If there was even the smallest chance that … Half an hour later, everything in shambles, I had to admit that the notebook wasn’t anywhere in the room.
The back garden, I thought. Perhaps it had fallen out of her pocket while she was out there. I hurried downstairs, passed quickly through the kitchen, rushed outside. The sky was a clear, pale blue, the horizon ablaze with gold and orange banners that melted and smeared, growing darker. Long shadows were spreading across the lawn and the light was gradually fading as I conducted my search, resolute, determined to find the notebook. I searched beneath the low stone wall. She was always climbing that wall. Perhaps it had slipped out of her pocket as she swung herself up on the branch of the pear tree. No luck. The notebook wasn’t there, nor was it in any of the flower beds. It wasn’t near the potting shed, wasn’t under any of the shrubs. The shadows lengthened. The light grew hazier. I had to concede defeat.
Defeat? No. There was one more place I must search.
Standing under the trees at the foot of the property, I stared across the fields, shimmering in the dark haze of sunset, the gold of sunflowers and goldenrod heightened by the deepening light. I couldn’t. I couldn’t go back there. Not now. It would be night soon. It was folly even to think about it. But … the notebook wasn’t in her room, wasn’t in the garden, it must be there. I had seized her hand violently, and she had stumbled as we rushed out of that room with the gaping hole, had stumbled again as we hurried down the front steps. It had probably slipped from her pocket then. It was only after we returned that she had missed it. I had to go. I knew that. There was no danger. Even though I didn’t see him now, the man in the green cap would be about, and the police had already searched the old house. They were looking for a child, though. They would have paid no attention to a small notebook with a battered leather binding. Stephen would be returning soon, and I
knew he wouldn’t hear of my going, wouldn’t permit it. It wouldn’t take me long. Perhaps I’d be back before he returned. Certainly I’d be back before eight.
Squaring my shoulders, a set expression on my face, I started across the fields toward the old ruined house.
14
The sky had turned a deep indigo blue, melting into gray black. The horizon was dark orange, clouds a lighter orange, rimmed with black. The air seemed to be tinted blue, and on either side of me the sunflowers were fast losing their colors. I walked briskly, the ground spongy beneath my feet. A bird cried out shrilly, startling me, and burst out of a clump of flowers with a noisy flapping of wings. I didn’t look back. Not once. If Stephen arrived before I returned, he would simply have to worry. It might be folly, it might be sheer madness, but I had to get the notebook, and I knew it had to be at that ruined, decaying old house. I moved even faster, almost running now. All the light would be gone in twenty minutes or so, perhaps even sooner. I stumbled over a rock, almost falling. A moment or so later, I plunged into the woods, the open fields behind me.
The woods were black and brown, dense, shadows building, wavering rays of dark orange light frequently slanting through the thick canopy of leaves and branches above. My excitement mounted. There was no time for fear now, no time to dwell on the sinister atmosphere that seemed to pervade the air. I stepped on a large root. I stumbled, falling against a tree trunk, the rough bark bruising my back. I was breathing rapidly, my lungs hurting, seeming about to burst. I realized that I had been running, running without even being aware of it. I leaned against the tree, panting, trying to catch my breath. I heard something thrashing about near the edge of the woods. I thought I heard a cry, a dull crash, but it was all far away, muted by the sound of my breathing. My heart was beating rapidly. I took a deep breath, forced myself to calm down. A moment later I proceeded on my way, and the woods were silent now, still, not a leaf stirring. The stillness was even more alarming than the sounds had been, but I paid no attention. I was almost there.
Meet a Dark Stranger Page 19