Simon explained about the heater. The man sniffed and wiped a drip from his thin nose with the sleeve of his faded flannel shirt. “I'll get to it soon as I can, but you'll have to leave it overnight.”
She and Simon exchanged startled glances, then she shrugged. “I guess it's either that, or head back to Lewistown as is.”
“No way,” Simon said. “The temperature in these hills can plummet at night.” He dipped his head to get the garage man's attention. “Are there any motels?”
“Only one is the Mountain View.” He pointed down the street. “Four blocks that way.” He eyed their clothes. “Ain't what you folks are used to, that's for sure.”
“Thanks,” Amy said, and started the motor.
Simon caught sight of the motel first. “God, what a dump.”
She pulled into the Mountain View's rutted driveway and parked in front of a door marked office. Rust streaks from a broken gutter stained peeling white paint. She exhaled deeply. “I guess this is what you call roughing it.”
They went inside, found no one there and rang the bell on the desk. Five minutes went by before a frail, white-haired man tottered in. “Can I help you?” Pale watery blue eyes peered at them through thick-lensed glasses.
“We need a couple of rooms,” Simon told him.
“Yes, sir.” The man frowned, opened a drawer, and hunted inside. “Now what did I do with those cards? My son usually tends the place, but he's away right now.” After two more attempts, he finally came up with what he needed.
They registered and got their keys. “If you'll open your door, I'll bring in your luggage,” she said. A few minutes later, when she came into his room, she was struck by the incongruent picture he made. Cracked and yellowed plaster walls, cigarette burned linoleum, and Simon standing in the middle of the tawdry surroundings wearing a Lord & Taylor suit.
“It's all my fault,” he said. “I got you into this mess. First, I get you damned near killed and now this.” He waved his hand.
“Don't be silly. I insisted on coming.”
“Well, I've lived in this kinda country. I should have known how it'd be.”
“Stop it, Simon, we're here and we'll make do.”
“Yeah, take a look at that. You weren't kidding about roughing it.” He pointed to a lumpy bed covered with grayed sheets and a raveled wool blanket. “And wait until you see the bathroom. Damn thing looks as if it was put in before I was born.”
She set his suitcase in a corner. “Let's change clothes and go get something to eat. When we're warm and have a full stomach, maybe we can find a funny side to all this.”
He pinched his lips together. “That'll take some doing.”
She turned up the thermostat. “The place will look less bleak when it's warm.” In her room next door, she changed into slacks, rejoined him and drove the car to the garage. After arrangements had been made with Mr. Demski, they walked across the street to the restaurant.
She grinned at him as she held the door open. “One thing nice about White Bird, you needn't make a lot of choices.”
He managed a smile. “Cause there aren't any.”
They settled in a booth of the nearly empty cafe and she looked around for the blonde waitress. A thickset lady with permed gray hair appeared instead. She beamed at them with lively brown eyes and took their order. Later, after they'd eaten a surprisingly good steak, she returned to ask if they wanted desert.
Both of them chose the apple pie with hot cinnamon sauce. “It's good,” the woman said. “I made it myself.”
Amy smiled at her. “Jack of all trades, huh?”
“Kind of. What're you kids doing in this end of creation? You lose your way?”
“We're looking for a relative,” Simon said. “You ever heard of the Dorsets?”
“Sorry. I've only been here a couple a months. My brother's ailing and I came to look after him.” She pursed her lips. “Why don't you try old Doc Yates? He seems to know everybody"—she winked—"and what they've done that they shouldn't.” She jerked her head toward the street. “He's just up the block.”
When she returned with their pie, she leaned toward them and said in a low pitched voice, “You best go when you're done here. Doc tends to hoist a few, soon as his patients are gone.”
By the time they got outside, night had fallen. In the center of the street, a light with a metal reflector twisted and clanked with each gust of icy wind.
Amy turned up her coat collar to shield her face. “Spooky, isn't it?” Each word made a frosty puff in the night air.
“You said it. Add a few bats and ghosts and we'd be ready for Halloween.” Simon set off in the direction the waitress had indicated.
Amy matched her stride to that of his crutches, each step making a squeaky crunch in blue-white ankle-deep snow. Near the end of the block, they came to a neatly trimmed hedge. When she glimpsed the beautifully preserved Queen Anne Victorian house it surrounded, she stopped in amazement. White gables topped off blue, fish-scale shingled walls.
She clasped Simon's arm. “Isn't it beautiful?” She took a few more steps. “Look at the arched bays and all that stained glass.”
“It's something all right. Seems out of place in a decaying town like this.”
The hedge ended a little farther on at an elaborate wrought iron gate. From an overhead bracket hung a sign with Harold Yates, M.D. painted in crisp black script.
“Get a load of the grounds.” Simon opened the gate and started up the walk. “He must work at Marchmont too. Takes money to keep up a mini-park.”
They climbed wide porch steps. “Maybe,” she said. “But, salaries are seldom high at state-run institutions.” She lifted the brass knocker and gave the metal plate several sharp raps.
Footsteps sounded, the door swung wide and a balding, stoop-shouldered man stood swaying before them. “Well, what can I do for you, young lady?” Simon stepped into the circle of light, and the man spied his crutches. “Come in. Come in.” He made a broad gesture that nearly unbalanced him. “Doc Yates never turns away a wounded pilgrim.”
Simon shrugged and led the way inside. The drawing room they entered had a decorative pressed tin ceiling, parquet floor and a carved marble mantelpiece that Amy would have given her eyeteeth to own.
“Sir, we don't want to take up your time, we...” Simon began.
The doctor shambled up behind them. “No problem. No problem. Jes go on in there.” He pointed to a door. “I'll be with ya soon as I find my white coat.” He grinned at Amy, laid a finger along side his bulbous, blue-veined nose and snickered. “Gotta look pro-fesh-in-ul doncha know.”
Simon let out a noisy breath. “Dr. Yates,” he said. “This is a personal, not a professional call.”
The doctor rocked forward onto his toes, then back onto his heels as he absorbed this bit of news. “At's great. Don't get to talk to anyone new in this God-forsaken hole. Sit down. Sit down.”
He waved them to a tufted, gold velvet sofa and lowered his bulky body onto a throne-like chair. An instant later, he levered himself upward. “I'll getcha a drink. Can't go out in this cold unless you're fortified.”
Simon put out his hand. “No. No. Please don't bother. I'm wobbly enough on these aluminum pins as it is.”
The doctor directed a longing glance toward the cherry wood cabinet and sank back in his chair. “So who are you and what's your problem?”
Simon introduced Amy and himself, then leaned forward. “I was told you could help me locate a relative of mine.”
Dr. Yates's deep chuckle caused his ample belly to jiggle. “Don't doubt it. I been birthin’ babies and helpin’ the old ones take their last breath for close onto forty years. What's this person's name?”
Simon's eyes centered on the doctor's face. “Elise, Doctor Yates. Elise Dorset.”
The man's face turned chalk-white, his eyes bulged, and his mouth worked like a fish gulping air. “Who sent you here with their filthy lies?”
Simon's hand closed over hers and
gripped it hard. “Marchmont said—”
Dr. Yates plunged to his feet. “I knew it.” He staggered across the room, turned, flattened himself against the wall and glowered at them. “Wade won't get away with this. I know things.” A furtive, calculating expression spread over his face. “Lots of things.” He pointed a shaky finger at them. “You tell him that. Now get out of my house.”
Neither of them spoke until the doctor's gate closed behind them, then Simon grabbed her in a one-armed hug. “Talk about a hunch paying off.”
She hugged him back. “And how. Off hand I'd say you lit a fuse.”
He let her go. “Right. But if those two start comparing notes, it won't be too healthy for us around here.”
She hurried along at his side. “Why should the mention of Elise's name scare people?”
“It's weird. If she was a threat to Marchmont, you'd think he'd have been relieved by her death. But that wasn't the impression I got.” He blew on his hands to warm them. “Move closer to the buildings. The wind's less sharp there.”
Ponderous gray stone hunkered like great prehistoric beasts on both sides of them greedily sucking up the street light's faint beam. Wind whined through vacant rooms, banging doors, rattling broken windows. Frigid air seared her lungs with each breath. She lengthened her stride. “Never thought I'd look forward to reaching that motel.”
Something rustled in the doorway beside her. She swung to the right and saw a dark form detach itself from the gloom. A man! She got out a scream before he grabbed her and muffled the sound with his hand.
“What the hell—?” Simon began. An instant later, she heard the metal clangor of his crutches, a grunt, and the thud as someone fell.
“Got him,” a voice wheezed in the darkness. “Damned city-bred punk didn't know what hit him.”
Oh, God. The bearded man!
“Good goin'. Con.” The man who held her tightened his grip around her waist and dragged her inside. She twisted, kicked, got an arm free and hit out at him, but his heavy coveralls cushioned her blows.
When he reached the middle of the barnlike room, he dumped her on the floor. The minute his hand unclamped from her mouth, she let out a piercing scream.
“Dammit, Cecil, shut her up. Can't you do anything right?”
Cecil sprang toward her. “Smart-ass bitch. You'd better pipe down, if you know what's good for you.”
She scooted backwards, hoping to elude him in the dark.
“Don't try it, damn you.” He flung himself on top of her.
They rolled on the floor, kicking bottles, cans, and cardboard cartons. Finally, he wrapped his thin wiry legs around her, held her down, and tore off her coat.
Boards splintered somewhere and in the faint glimmer of the swinging street light she saw Simon ram his head into Con's belly. Hope renewed her strength and another resounding shriek burst from her. Cecil punched her in the jaw and for a second everything went gray at the edges.
“Save your breath, lady. Nobody in this town's gonna do nuthin'.” He chuckled over his private joke. “They know who butters their bread.” He ripped her blouse from neck to hem, then snatched off her bra and tossed it aside. “Man, would you look at that,” he breathed. “For a skinny broad, you sure got a great pair of knockers.”
“Get off me, you filthy bastard.” She heaved her body upward in an effort to unseat him.
He laughed, bent down and licked her breast. “Let's have some fun. What do ya say, baby?”
Simon stopped pummeling Con and turned his head. “You try it and I'll kill you.” Con's fist caught Simon off balance and he crumpled to the floor.
Con stood over him, and the sound of his rasping wheeze filled the room. “That'll hold you, you nosy sonuvabitch.”
Cecil ran his hand down her bare belly until he found the band of her slacks. He gave a couple of yanks, the zipper parted, the seams ripped. He tossed them aside. Breathing fast, he clawed at her stockings until he got them off and gazed down at her bikini panties. “Whoo—ee lady, you really turn a guy on.” He unzipped his coveralls. “I'm gonna take her in the back room, Con.”
“Bull said to strip her, knock her out, and let the weather do the rest,” Con bellowed. “Now, you get with it ‘fore I club you one.”
“Ah, geez Con, I'm really hurtin'. I ain't had a woman since Bull sent those last two kooks to the cage.” He got to his feet. “Who's to know, if you don't tell him?”
She bent her leg, straightened it, and rammed her foot into his crotch. He let out a strangled scream and collapsed in a moaning heap. She scrabbled through the litter, found a rock, and brought it down on his head.
“What's going on over there?” Con started toward her, his big arms outspread.
Naked except for her shredded blouse and panties, she leaped up and scuttled into the shadows. If she could keep out of his reach until she got to the door maybe ... Something sharp stabbed into the sole of her left foot. A twist of pain caught her and she cried out.
Con reached her in one stride. “Think you're going to get away, do ya?” He backhanded her, she went flying, struck the wall, and slid down.
In a red haze, she saw the glint of light on metal as Simon swung his crutch. She fought off faintness until darkness closed over her.
Nine
A noise brought Amy to. She jerked upright and looked wildly around the lighted room. What had happened? Where was she? Simon appeared in a doorway. “Oh, thank God, it's you.” She flopped back on the pillow. This was his motel room and his jacket covered her half naked body.
Simon sat on the edge of the bed and gently bathed her bruised face. The cold cloth took away her weakness, but didn't quiet the quivering in her stomach. If Simon hadn't recovered, both of them would be ... She grabbed Simon's hand. “What happened? Are they dead?”
A muscle knotted in his jaw. “No. Bent my crutch on the big one, but his head's hard. That scrawny bastard didn't rape you, did he?” She shook her head and he released his breath.
A terrifying thought made her struggle upward. “Will they come here?”
“They might.” He eased her back on the pillow. “You lie still, I want to take a look at your foot.” He wiped blood from the sole of her left foot with the washcloth. “This is a good sized wound, Amy. You'd better see a doctor when we get to Lewistown.”
She sat up. “I have to take a shower.”
“There's no hot water.” He went over and moved the thermostat back and forth. “And it's colder than hell in here.”
“I don't care. That slime ball had his hands on me. He ... he...” She shuddered. “I have to get clean.”
He pulled the blanket around her. “Stay put. I'll go talk to the manager.” He frowned, then crossed to a wooden kitchen chair that leaned against the wall. He worked the wobbly leg loose and handed it to her. “If anybody tries to gets in, hit'em.”
As he started out, she noticed he didn't have his crutches. “You aren't supposed to put your weight on your foot for a week.”
He bowed his shoulders, but didn't turn around. “Just add it to the list of other things I shouldn't have done.”
In a short while, she heard banging noises coming from her room next door. A few minutes later, Simon appeared carrying a blanket and her suitcase. His face was tight with anger.
“The manager's gone. A note on his door says he won't be back until morning.” He flung the blanket on a chair, and set her suitcase beside the bathroom door. “And there isn't any hot water or heat in your room either.” He pushed the heavy bureau in front of the window. “I'm going to barricade us in. Okay?”
“Yes, oh yes.” When he started shoving the bed toward the door, she eased her weight onto her foot and insisted on helping. He protested but she wouldn't be put off.
After they got the bed into place and had moved the dresser in front of the one window, Simon gazed around the room. “That's about all we can do.” He picked up the blanket he'd brought. “I'll spread this on the bed while you put on your night
things.”
“But...”
“I'm going to stand watch.”
She folded her arms. “But, Simon.” Her shivering made her determined stance look ludicrous. “Your eye is bruised and God knows what else. That man hurt you. I know he did. You need to rest.”
Simon tucked in a blanket corner and squinted up at her. “Your legs are turning blue and you're getting blood on the linoleum.”
She sighed noisily, took her suitcase, and went into the bathroom. The shower dribbled, the faucets dripped, the toilet flowed steadily. Frost coated the window and a thick layer of ice covered the sill.
Reluctantly, she unzipped Simon's coat, stepped into the rust stained bathtub, took a speedy shower, and tried to dry herself on a threadbare towel. Goose flesh pimpled her skin as she pawed through the clothes she'd packed. After she got her flannel pajamas on, she'd feel fine, she told herself. She dressed quickly, wrapped a handkerchief around her foot, put on a pair of socks and rejoined Simon.
He lay the coat she handed him on a chair and turned back the covers of the bed. “Get in before you get any more chilled than you are.”
Her chattering teeth prevented her from arguing. She did as he directed, curled up in a ball, and waited for her body to thaw out. Cold air came in from the walls and up from the floor. She couldn't stop shaking.
She heard footsteps, peeked from the covers, and found Simon draping the towels and bath mat over her.
“We have to get you warm.” He unzipped his jacket and put that over her too.
She reared up in bed. “You can't do that, you'll freeze. Maybe we could find a way to get into the other rooms. They must have blankets in them.”
He shook his head. “My key fit all the doors so I checked. All the rooms were bare. Not even a mattress.” He clumped back and forth. “I'm sorry, Amy. I've done some screw-loose things in my time, but this tops them all.”
“You're not God, Simon.” She flipped back the blankets. “Get in here.”
“No, I'll manage.”
Her shivering grew more violent. She stiffened her muscles in an attempt at control. “Don't be a damned fool.”
With Deadly Intent Page 9