Stranger in the House

by MacDonald, Patricia

  “Do you hear me?” she cried. “Paul!” But there was no answer from the loft above.

  24

  “I’m sure there’s some perfectly simple explanation,” said Edward, cranking up the air-conditioning in the car, “although it’s a shame you have to go through all this.”

  Thomas, who was slumped in the seat beside him, did not appear to be listening.

  “If I know Anna,” Edward went on, “she probably couldn’t sit still either. She’s probably out looking—”

  Thomas pressed the button beside him and rolled down his window. “Can’t stand air-conditioning,” he explained. “It’s my wife’s influence. It always feels too cold for me.”

  Edward glared at his passenger. “I prefer that you keep the windows up.”

  But Thomas was cocking his head at the open window. “The telephone’s ringing in your house,” he said.

  “Let it ring,” said Edward. “The machine will get it. It’s probably just the Meechams, calling about dinner,” said Edward. “I’ll see them at the club later.”

  “It could be Anna,” said Thomas. “She might have tried our house first and couldn’t get me. Stop the car. Let’s go back and get it.”

  “They’ve probably hung up by now,” said Edward irritably.

  “If it’s Anna, she’ll leave a message.” Before Edward could prevent it, Thomas had jumped from the car and was sprinting back toward the house. Edward pulled up the emergency brake and slid out of the car to follow him.

  He reached the front door of the house some seconds after Thomas and leaned against it, panting from lack of breath. Thomas stood with his ear pressed to the door.

  “You see,” said Edward. “It’s stopped ringing.”

  “I’m sure it was Anna. Open the door,” said Tom.

  Edward glared at Thomas as he struggled to catch his breath. He glanced out toward the windmill and saw a faint plume of smoke rising in the air. “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Edward.

  “She might need me. Maybe she had an accident. I don’t know. Open the door.”

  “I think you’re overreacting a little,” Edward said coolly, “don’t you?”

  Thomas turned to his neighbor with eyes that were wholly determined. “You said you wanted to help me,” said Thomas in a voice colder than Edward’s. “If you want to help me, then open this fucking door, or I’ll break a window and let myself in.”

  The two men stared at each other for a moment. Edward struggled to check his fury and not to bash in Thomas’s insolent face. If Thomas broke the window, it would set off the alarms in the police station, and there would be squad cars here all too soon. Whoever was on the phone, Edward knew it wasn’t Anna. If he could satisfy Thomas, he might still get him out of here in time. “You’re acting irrationally, Thomas,” he said, putting the key in the lock and opening the door.

  Tom followed Edward through the house to the library. The light on the machine was blinking. Edward sighed, and pushed the button. Tom heard his daughter’s voice on the tape.

  “Mr. Stewart,” said Tracy, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for my parents. There’s nobody answering at my house. If you see my Mom or Dad, tell them to call me at this number.”

  Edward turned to Thomas, who was memorizing the number that Tracy recited. “Why don’t you call her when we get back?” said Edward.

  Thomas shook his head. “Spoken like a man who has no children.” Thomas picked up the phone and punched in the number as Edward walked back out into the foyer.

  There was no time to waste. No time at all. He had to get Thomas safely out of there before the fire began to blaze. Edward looked at his watch again.

  “I suppose she needs her ride,” said Edward, as Thomas came out into the foyer.

  Thomas did not reply but preceded Edward out thedoor. He waited for Edward down by the driveway. Edward fished in his pocket for the keys and locked the front door again. Then he followed in Thomas’s path.

  “Look, Edward,” said Tom, “thanks for the offer, but I think I’m going to look for Anna by myself. I’m going to take a ride down and pick up Tracy, and then she and I can drive around for a while.”

  Edward was about to protest, but then he thought better of it. Any which way that Thomas left the house was fine with him. Just as long as he got out of there. “Are you sure?” he asked stiffly. “I really don’t mind.”

  Thomas shook his head. “Thanks anyway.”

  “Well, then, let me at least give you a ride home,” said Edward, opening the door to the car.

  “I’ll walk home,” said Thomas politely. “I don’t want to trouble you any further.”

  “Don’t be silly. Let me drive you. I’m on my way out.”

  Thomas raised a hand in protest. “I’ve already made you late. You go ahead without me. I can use the walk.”

  Edward could feel his face reddening, but he spoke calmly. “It’s a long walk from here,” he said. “Why don’t you just get in the car?”

  “It’s not that far,” said Tom. “I’ll cut through the back.”

  Edward felt his heart pounding in his chest. He had to persuade him to get in the car. He could not let him walk through the back. Not now. He was sure to see the smoke. “No,” Edward insisted. “I’ll drive you.”

  Thomas sighed wearily. “Look, I’d rather walk. I think I’ve about exhausted your generosity as it is.” He turned and started toward the back.

  Edward clenched his jaw, and then he shouted, “How dare you?”

  Thomas stopped short and stared at him.

  “How dare you assume you can go trampling and trespassing over my property anytime you please? You and the members of your family treat this estate like a public park, and I’ve had enough of it.”

  Thomas could hardly believe his ears. A minute ago, this man had been offering to drive him all over town in an effort to help. You arrogant, pompous ass, he thought. So much for the neighborly gesture. Now I know how you really feel about us, and it’s just what I suspected. The thoughts raced through his head, but Thomas didn’t voice them. “Sorry, neighbor,” Thomas said slowly. “I feel like taking the shortcut.”

  With a deliberate stride he started around the side of the house.

  Edward raced after him. “Stop this minute,” he cried. Thomas continued on a few more strides, and then he did stop. Slowly he turned and faced Edward, who was right behind him.

  The two men stared at each other. Then Thomas spoke. “There is smoke,” he said evenly, “coming from the direction of your windmill. It looks as if there’s a fire out there.”

  Edward’s eyes were suddenly anxious. “Oh, nonsense,” he said. “Get off my property.”

  “Why didn’t you want me to see it?” Thomas asked quietly. Edward tore his eyes away from Thomas’s accusing gaze.

  “Get out of here, before I call the police on you,” Edward cried.

  “You better call the firehouse,” said Thomas. Desperately, Edward tried to block his path. With a powerful swing of his right arm Thomas caught Edward in the side of the head and knocked him to the ground. Before Edward could scramble to his feet again, Thomas had disappeared around the back of the house and emerged on the patio. He could see the gusts of smoke more clearly now, gray against the darkening sky. He began to run.

  His shoes made dents in the manicured lawn as he flew up over the rolling landscape of the estate. He leaped over a stone wall, staggered for a few steps, and then ran again. A clear view of the windmill was obscured by a bank of trees, but as he approached, he could see the unnatural brightness of flames inside. Flames were licking the frames of the tiny windows, and smoke issued from them. The area around the door was already beginning to blacken. And from inside he could hear the crackling and the faint sound of a familiar cry, which made his blood turn icy. Tears sprang to his eyes, although he did not know it. His chest rose and fell in a rapid motion. “Anna,” he said. Then he ran for the door.

  He put his fingers on the doorknob
but pulled them back again, burned by the heat it conducted. Tearing off his jacket, he wrapped it around the doorknob and jerked it open.

  Heat and smoke billowed out, blackening his face and his shirt. Inside, he could see flames in clumps burning up piles of junk and climbing the walls. The heavy smoke made the air in the room opaque, except where it was punctured by flames.

  “Anna!” he screamed. “Anna!” Through the growing roar of the fire, he heard an answering groan. He pushed into the windmill, knocking over piles of burning debris and brushing off the flaming scraps that tried to settle on him. “Anna!” he cried. “Where are you?”

  As his eyes adjusted to the gathering inferno, he saw a dark mass huddled behind the sewing machine. He lurched toward it, covering his mouth with the tails of his shirt, and bent down to see his wife, bound by ropes, crumpled in the corner, with one sleeve already on fire. She lifted her gaze to his, and then her eyes rolled back. After beating her flaming garment out with his hands, Thomas crouched down and carefully put his arms under her to lift her up. As he pulled her toward him, a line of flames burst into view where her arm dangled behind her. He gathered her stiff arms in close to him and tried to beat out the fire around her. The sight of her, bound like that, revolted and enraged him. But there was no time to loosen her bonds. It would have to wait until he had her safely outside. The flames were spreading, and he was coughing from the smoke that filled his lungs.

  Tom glanced up toward the door and saw that the path was alive with fingers of flame that he would have to skirt. Clutching Anna close to him, Thomas rose carefully to his feet, teetering under his burden. He murmured to her nonsensically as he tried to plan a path through the flames. They were all around him now, burning piles of rubbish raising the temperature in the windmill to an unbearable heat, raging and hungry for the fuel that was everywhere.

  Like a man treading in a snake pit, Thomas picked his way through the fire, aiming for the door, his wife bundled in his arms like a child. A chunk of flaming wood fell from the loft above him, narrowly missing Anna’s legs. Thomas jerked her clear of the blazing projectile and pushed his way through the fire to the door, disregarding the singeing on his flesh where licks of flame had whipped him like a lash and left their mark.

  As they reached the doorway, a flaming hull from one of Edward’s ships fell into his path. Tom jumped back, then over it, and they were through the door and out on the lawn. He staggered a few yards away from the windmill and then, gulping in air, dropped on his knees to the ground, carefully placing Anna down on the well-tended grass. Anna moaned, lying on her side, her arms and feet still bound behind her. Tom rested for a minute, and then he turned to her and put his head to her chest. She was coughing and breathing hard, but without grave difficulty. He reached over and began to untie her.

  Anna started to stir as her bonds were removed, and then her eyes opened and she rolled over. She looked up at the soot-smudged face of her husband, smiling down at her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked between coughs. She reached her hand up, and he grabbed it and held it to his cheek. Anna struggled to sit up, and then she looked around.

  “Paul,” she croaked in a voice hoarse from smoke. Thomas looked at her blankly.

  The dazed expression in Anna’s eyes turned to one of frantic alarm. “Tom, he’s in the windmill,” she whispered, an occasional normal tone breaking through the hoarse, frantic croak.

  Thomas shook his head. “I didn’t see him.”

  She grabbed his shirt. “In the loft,” she cried.

  Without another word Thomas sprang to his feet and ran back to the door of the windmill. Anna could see the flames shooting from the windows, framing the door as smoke poured forth.

  She clutched her hands to her mouth, shaking her head slowly from side to side, as she watched her husband hesitate and then plunge back into the inferno. Tears began to trickle down her face, leaving tracks in the soot on her cheeks.

  It took several seconds after Thomas had bolted away from him for Edward to realize that he was ruined. Thomas would discover that his wife and son had been imprisoned in the windmill. It wouldn’t be possible to kill them all. Not now.

  Wiping his face on his sleeve, Edward staggered back toward the house. He would lose everything now, he thought numbly. His mind could not absorb the possibility. His perfect plan was ruined, and there was no time to think of another. With that realization Edward was jolted again into an awareness of his predicament. Running was his only hope. He charged into the house, not knowing what to grab first. He thought of the money in the dresser drawer. He raced up the stairs, yanked out the drawer roughly, and stuffed the money into his pants pockets. His next thought was for his boats. He grabbed the suitcase full of boats, which he lugged down the stairs. In the foyer, at the foot of the stairs, he stopped, looking around at all the expensive things he owned. For a moment he thought that he could not leave them. Then, with an effort, he started to move.

  Alternately running and walking, he reached the car where it was parked in the driveway. He was out of breath as he put his hand on the door handle and slipped inside. He placed the suitcase full of boats in the back seat. With trembling fingers he switched on the ignition and pressed his foot down on the gas. For one second he glanced behind him and saw the smoke rising from behind the house. He faced forward and gripped the wheel tightly. He did not have much time.

  With all his weight he pressed down on the gas pedal. The car shot forward and began to careen down the long driveway. He whizzed past the manicured grounds which had been his refuge for so long. Edward kept his eye on the drive, thinking about which way to go. He decided to head for the Millgate Parkway and head north. He was unable to think about any more than that.

  The car approached the end of the drive, and Edward turned the wheel, applying the brakes so that the tires squealed as he made the corner. He glanced left and saw no one coming, as he had expected. The car, which had been going at a considerable speed, took the turn in a wide arc. As the Cadillac swung out into the road, Edward looked to his right and saw the police car, a few hundred feet from him, coming at a clip.

  He spun the wheel frantically, trying to get the Cadillac back into its lane, but the automobile was out of control now and spun out wide, starting to jackknife. The police car tried to swerve out of the way but was unable to avoid the Cadillac. The two cars collided, and both cars jerked to a halt.

  For a moment Edward sat, stunned, in his seat. Then, he saw the doors to the squad car open. A uniformed officer climbed out of the driver’s seat. Edward recognized the plainclothes officer getting out on the passenger side. It was Buddy Ferraro, the detective who was always hanging around the Langes’. Calm down, Edward thought. Remember your position in this town. Intimidate them into letting you go. By the time they realize they’re mistake, you’ll be long gone.

  Edward remained seated in the driver’s seat, composing his expression into one of icy rage.

  Buddy Ferraro walked up to the window and indicated that Edward should lower it. Edward pressed the button and the window came down.

  “Mr. Stewart,” said Buddy. “You were in an awful hurry.”

  “And your officer was driving carelessly and recklessly. I will have your badge for this, Detective. You’ve put a big dent in my car. Now kindly get out of my way and let me pass. I will settle this matter with your superiors, I promise you.”

  Buddy grimaced, and shook his head. “No, I’m afraid we’re not going to be able to do that. You see, we were on our way over here to talk to you just now.”

  “To talk to me?” Edward said. “What in the world would you have to say that might interest me?”

  “We have some things to discuss. Please get out of the car, Mr. Stewart,” said Buddy.

  “How dare you?” Edward demanded. “You’re going to be looking for another place to work.”

  Buddy looked at Edward with narrowed eyes and then glanced into the back seat where he saw the suitcases. “Are
you going on a trip, Mr. Stewart?”

  “That is none of your business.”

  “On the contrary. I think it’s very much my business, Mr. Stewart. Now, get out.”

  Trembling with genuine indignation, Edward opened the door of the car. He could hardly believe that this policeman was continuing to defy him. As if Edward’s wealth and position were of no importance. Edward knew all about people like this detective. People with humdrum lives who could only dream of the kind of life Edward had achieved. They enjoyed trying to prove that they were equals. The nobility of the common man and all that. What a sham, Edward thought. He struggled out of the car and peered at the damage to his Cadillac. Then he began to shake his head. “You know, Detective. I doubt very much if, on your salary, you’re going to be able to afford to pay for the repair of my car. I don’t know how familiar you are with automobiles of this caliber but…”

  “I’m not worried, Mr. Stewart. And neither should you be. Not about that,” said Buddy. “But there is something you might be worried about.”

  Instantly, Edward thought of the fire. He was worried about that, all right. He had to get away before they discovered it. He glanced over at the patrolman who was crouched down beside the police cruiser, examining the damage. The patrolman straightened up and looked around with a puzzled expression on his face. He sniffed the air. “Hey, Lieutenant,” he said.

  “Not right now,” said Buddy. “Mr. Stewart. A Mr. deBlakey called the station today. He’s been trying to get ahold of me for a couple of days. He wanted me to know that he had, in his possession, a Bible that was written in by Albert Rambo during his stay at Mr. deBlakey’s motel.”

  Edward rolled his eyes, and looked bored. “And this would matter to me because…?”

  “Because Albert Rambo wrote your name and phone number in his Bible on the night before he died. Can you explain to me why he did that, Mr. Stewart?”

  Edward felt the blood draining out of his face, and he swayed slightly. It’s nothing, he told himself. Nothing. They can’t hold you because a madman wrote your name in his Bible. But even as he was reassuring himself, he felt his confidence beginning to wobble. Could it be? Could it happen?