"What do you think?" Moira whispered. "Is there.. anything we can do for him?"
There wasn't any sense in trying to fool her. "Just one thing," I said. "You'd better go into the other room."
Her eyes widened indignantly. "Go into… you mean, leave him? What do you think I am?" She looked down, and scratched the dog gently between the long hound ears. It never took its eyes from her face. She spoke again without looking up. "Go on, damn you! What are you waiting for? Quick, before he moves and hurts himself some more!"
I did it, never mind how. She made it a little awkward, sitting there holding him, but it's something I'm good at, and I did a clean and satisfactory job. She sat there for a while longer with the head in her lap. She was crying helplessly, the tears streaming down her cheeks unheeded. Presently I went into the bathroom and started the shower running. Then I went back and picked her up and walked her in there and shoved her under the water, underwear and all. Sentiment is all very well, but she could grieve just as hard without looking like a major war casualty.
I got aspirin from the medicine cabinet, swallowed three tablets with water, and waited to make sure she'd be all right in there. After a little, some wet lingerie came flying over the frosted glass shower door, barely missing me. If she had that much strength, she'd live, and I found a sponge and mopped up what she'd tracked across the living-room rug. There wasn't anything to be done to the charnel house that had been a bedroom, short of a complete redecoration; I just closed the door on that.
When I returned to the bathroom, she was still in the shower. At the lavatory, I took care of the deficiencies in my own appearance as well as soap and water could. A razor would have been nice, and she had one, but I could find no spare blades, and I'd been married too long, once, to entrust my face to an edge that a woman had used on her legs and armpits. I went into the kitchen to start breakfast, which may seem callous, but the situation required some heavy thinking, and I don't think well on an empty stomach. I didn't figure the kid's digestion was the kind to be permanently inhibited by grief and horror, either.
Waiting for the stuff to cook, I glanced at the front page of the newspaper we'd brought inside. One column was headed Radioactivity Claims Two at Los Alamos. The paper reminded its readers that a technician had just died locally, and said investigations were being made to determine if certain installations weren't being just a bit careless with the hot stuff. I read the piece to the end and decided it wasn't a nice way to die, but then, what is? I heard Moira's voice call to me.
"Mart, where are you?"
I laid the paper aside, and went into the living room. She was standing at the door of the second bedroom- the bathroom was between the two-drying her hair. I went up to her. She was quite an intriguing sight, clean and shining. She looked at me, and down at herself, and grinned. It was a little weak, but it was a real grin.
"Well, I can't help it!" she said defensively. "All my clothes are in… in there, and I just couldn't bring myself…" Her grin faded, and her eyes were suddenly wet. "Poor Sheik. He was… so lovely, and so shy, and such a clown. and so brave, when he really understood that somebody was hurting me."
If she could talk about it, it was going to be all right. I said, "If you'll tell me what you need and where it is, I'll go in and get-"
I stopped. She wasn't listening to me. She was looking towards the front door. I turned. We hadn't heard a sound. They must have left it slightly ajar when they hauled me inside. Now it was open, and Beth was there.
Chapter Fifteen
You HAD TO hand it to the kid. She didn't do any silly, self-conscious, September-Morn stunts with the towel. She just kept right on drying her hair. After all, it was her house, and if she wanted to entertain gentlemen in her living room without any clothes on, it was her business.
"I'd appreciate it," she said, "if you'd close the door, Mrs. Logan. From either side."
Beth said dryly, "Yes, I can see how you might feel a slight draft, Moira."
She stepped inside and pushed the door closed behind her. She looked slim and kind of elegant, although she wasn't really dressed up. She was wearing a white silk shirt or blouse-I never have learned how they make the distinction-with her monogram on the pocket: E for Elizabeth. She'd been Beth to me but I remembered that she was Elizabeth to Logan. Her skirt was nicely tailored of some fine khaki material, or maybe the stuff is called chino when it joins the aristocracy. Her legs were bare, which always seems a pity to me; but the stocking business is dormant throughout that country all summer. She had enough of a tan to get by with it; and her neat, polished, saddle-leather pumps did nice things for her ankles.
She had her white Stetson on. Combined with the practical material of her skirt, it gave her an outdoorsy, western look. Apparently she was taking herself quite seriously, these days, as the lady of the ranch. I couldn't help thinking it was too bad he couldn't take her back to the family estate, if any, in old England; she'd have had lots of fun dressing up in tweeds, and she'd have looked swell in them, too. "Did you want to see me about something, Mrs. Logan?" Moira asked.
Beth said, "If I did, I picked the right time, didn't I, dear? For seeing you, I mean… Actually, I was looking for Mr. Helm. I started to knock and the door swung-"
"There's a bell, honey," Moira said. "You know, an electrical device operated by a small white button. What made you think you'd find Mr. Helm here?"
It was a good question. Beth didn't answer. I was shocked to see her standing there, obviously caught, like a schoolgirl, in a barefaced lie. It takes practice to become a good liar and she'd never given the subject much attention. She'd had an awkward question thrown at her, and she'd tossed out a phony answer without thinking, and now she was stuck with it. She obviously didn't know how she'd known she'd find me here. In fact, she hadn't known she'd find me here at all.
Moira didn't smile or show any visible signs of triumph. "Well, I'll leave you to discuss your business with Mr. Helm," she murmured.
Now, at last, she wrapped the big towel casually about her, before turning away. It was impeccable strategy. A woman's rear leaving the room naked never looks very dignified. I followed her into the bedroom. She turned on me fast.
"God damn it, get her out of here before I scratch her lousy eyes out!"
"Relax, kid," 1 said. I looked around. "What about the neighbors?"
"What do you mean?"
"Guns have been fired. Men have been torn to bloody shreds by wild beasts-"
"Ah, think nothing of it. We're all air-conditioned, hadn't you noticed? Anyway, if St. Peter were to blow his trumpet, those biddies would just gripe about that inconsiderate little trollop in the blue house turning her TV up too high…" Moira drew a long breath. "What the hell does she want here, anyway?"
"I don't know," I said. "But I think it would be a good idea to find out, don't you?"
She glanced at me, hesitated, and said, "That depends,
"On what?"
"On whose side you're on."
I looked down at her for a moment, and she looked right back with those sea-green, grown-up eyes. I took her face in my hands and kissed her on the forehead.
She let her breath go out softly. "Well, all right!"
I asked, "Do you want me to get you some things from the other room?"
"Skip it. She's got me so mad I could wade through dead bodies knee deep. You'd better get out there and entertain her… Malt"
"Yes?"
"Don't make a habit of it, baby. What the hell good is a kiss on the forehead, for God's sake!"
I grinned and went out of the room. Beth had laid her western hat aside. Without it she wasn't Elizabeth of the Double-L Ranch any more; she was just a slender attractive woman to whom I'd once been married. Her light-brown hair looked smooth and soft. She was looking at a bookshelf, obviously cataloguing the kid's literary tastes for future reference. She turned as I came up.
"Matt," she said gently, "I'm surprised at you. That child!"
I sai
d, "All available evidence proves she isn't, including, I believe, her birth certificate. Anyway, it's really none of your business now, is it, Beth? As I recall, you said it was a mistake and we shouldn't repeat it."
"No," she said. "I was just a little surprised, that's all, seeing you here."
"That's not the way you said it the first time. You said you'd come here to find me, remember?"
She smiled ruefully. "I know. It was silly of me, wasn't it."
"Have you thought of a better story?"
She said, "Well, no, I-"
"Of course, as a last resort, there's always the truth. What the hell are you doing here, Beth?"
She said, "Why, I-" Then she laughed. "You know, it's funny to be called that again. He calls me Elizabeth, you know."
"I know," I said. "Talking of surprises, think of the one I got, discovering you married to the former bodyguard of Sally Fredericks, a very competent gent packing an automatic pistol in a well-fitting shoulder holster. Considering the reasons you left me-"
She winced. "I know it must seem strange. I-"
She stopped. The kid was coming towards us from the open bedroom door. She'd put on sandals, a pair of plaid shorts-quite snug and predominantly blue-and a crisp white short-sleeved shirt, worn outside the shorts. Under other circumstances, I might have said it looked like a boy's shirt. With her inside it, the resemblance wasn't noticeable. Her hair was still damp about her head, and she'd got a dry towel with which to work on it some more.
She said, "Did I hear my dad's name being taken in vain?"
I had to think back to recall that Sally Fredericks had been mentioned. I said, "We were actually speaking of his one-time best boy, the Duke of Nevada."
"Ah, the Duke," Moira said, rubbing her head energetically. She turned to Beth. "I think we should have him in here, don't you, Mrs. Logan? He must be getting lonesome, waiting out in the car, or wherever he is, waiting for you to make your report."
Beth frowned. "I don't know what you mean. Larry isn't-"
The kid lowered the towel. Her bright hair was a wild, tumbled mess about her head, but suddenly she didn't look very cute or particularly funny; even if she had, the expression in her eyes would have kept anyone from laughing.
"I'm surprised at the Duke," she said softly. "Sending his wife… He must be getting old. I guess he just can't take it any more." She was watching Beth with dangerous intentness. "Can you take it, Mrs. Logan?" I asked, "Kid, what are you driving at?"
She wheeled on me. "Where are your brains, baby? Okay, you were married to her once, does that mean you have to stop thinking when she walks in the room? What's she doing here? Haven't you figured it out yet? They didn't want you, did they? I heard them talking; they were surprised to find you here-just as she was! That means they didn't come from Dad. He wouldn't send anybody after me. If he wants me, all he has to do is pick up the phone. I'm not scared of him; I'll come. He certainly wouldn't send a couple of goons to rough me up; he reserves that privilege for himself! Well, who else could have sent them but Duke Logan, hitting back at Dad for something? He's still got friends who'd do it for the Duke. But they didn't come back, and he's getting old and cautious I guess, and he's pretty well known around town, so after waiting awhile he sent his wife in here to scout around cautiously and find out what went wrong… Isn't that right, Mrs. Logan?"
She'd swung back to face Beth, who licked her lips. "I don't know what you-"
Moira had her by the arm. Before I understood what she was about, the two of them were at the bedroom door-the closed one. Moira turned the knob with her free hand, kicked the door open, and gave Beth a hard push.
"Can you take it, Mrs. Logan? Take a good look and go make your damn report!"
Chapter Sixteen
WHEN BETH came back from the bathroom, the kid had arranged a little tableau for her. I was sitting on the living-room sofa, and she was sitting cross-legged on the floor between my feet, and I was working on her hair with the towel. We must have looked quite cozy and domestic.
Beth came in looking pretty good, considering. She'd pulled herself together nicely; she just had the pale, shaken, slightly disheveled look of anyone who's just lost a meal down the drain. She stopped in the doorway to look at us, and I thought she winced slightly-I guess it's always hard to face the fact that anyone you've lived with for years can be happy with somebody else, doing all the things you used to do together, and maybe a few more besides.
Moira said, "I poured some coffee for you, Mrs. Logan. I think it's still hot… Ouch, take it easy, baby!"
Beth stood there looking at us for a moment longer. Something else was on her mind now; she looked kind of lost and bewildered.
"Coffee?" she said. "How can you…?" She glanced towards the closed door, and away. "Shouldn't we… do something?"
"What?" I asked. "Only God can do what they really need done."
"But-"
I said, "They'll keep. For a while at least." She winced again at my crudity, as she was supposed to do. It was time she woke up to the fact that she was in the big league now. She'd been in it before, of course, but she hadn't known about it until the very last. This time she'd married into it from choice, unless the Duke had deceived her about his background, and he looked like the kind who'd be honorable as hell about things like that. I said, "Something has to be done, sure, but when I do it, I want to know it's right. Sit down and drink your coffee, Beth."
I indicated a chair. She hesitated, and went quickly over and sat down. After a moment, she picked up the cup and saucer from the small table nearby and began to sip the coffee gingerly.
I said, "They were friends of the Duke's, weren't they?"
She didn't look up. "Please call him Larry," she said. "He's… trying to live down that other name and everything that went with it. Yes, they were his friends, or at least men he'd known when…" She stopped.
"When he was in the rackets," I said.
"Yes." Nobody said anything for a while. Beth lifted her head abruptly. "You have to understand. It was the children. He threatened to-"
"Who threatened?"
"Her father. Fredericks."
"Threatened to what?"
She looked at her coffee cup. "Terrible things. He was using the children-my children-as a club against Larry, to make him-"
"To make him what?" I asked when she stalled again.
She shook her head quickly. "I can't tell you that."
I passed it up, and said, "Logan's had a boy of his own for years. He's been vulnerable to that kind of threat for years. And if he's anything like the man I think he is, he'd know the way to deal with it."
She shook her head quickly. "He hasn't had me for years. Fredericks thought I… I'd weaken and put pressure on…" She was silent for a little while. Then she said breathlessly, "He was right! Oh, he was absolutely right! I couldn't stand it. Not knowing what might be happening when they were out of my sight for even a moment You saw the way it was out there. I was going crazy!"
"So the Duke decided to relieve the pressure?"
Beth hesitated, and glanced at Moira, and burst out, "Why should she be immune? If he can threaten my children-"
I said, "Well, it didn't work. It's kind of too bad. I don't figure the two goons were any great loss, but that was a damn nice dog."
Beth's head came up sharply. She looked at me, a glance of sheer horror. I wasn't showing the proper respect for human life. Well, it was time she got used to that.
I said, "There's just one thing everybody seems to have overlooked." Neither of them was obliging enough to feed me the proper question. Suddenly I felt old and sad and tired. I said, "Those are my children, too. If Duke Logan can't protect them properly, I guess I'll have to." Nobody said anything to that, either. I gave the kid's head a last vigorous rub, and dropped the towel over her face. "You're dry. Go comb yourself out, you look like Medusa with a head full of snakes."
"What are you going to do, baby?"
"I have to make a
phone call. It's kind of confidential, so I'd appreciate it if you-both of you-would go into the other room and close the door."
Moira got up and turned to look at me searchingly. "I said you were a government man. I'll bet you're calling Washington."
She was perfectly right, of course. She usually was. I said, "Go comb your golden tresses like a good girl."
She studied me for a moment longer. Then she moved her shoulders minutely, dismissing whatever it was that had bothered her. I wished I could dismiss what was bothering me so easily.
"The gadget you want is over there," she said. "There are no extensions. Come on, Mrs. Logan, he wants privacy."
I watched them go out of the room together, Beth slender and ladylike and half a head taller. The kid looked small and bouncy beside her. I went to the phone and called the regular Washington number and went through the routine formalities. Then I had Mac on the line. One thing about the guy, he may be a tricky bastard to work for, but he's never off playing golf when you need him.
"Eric here," I said. "I thought you'd like to hear about my vacation, sir."
Mac's voice was dry. "Are you having a wonderful time, Eric? Do you wish I were there-so you could punch my nose?"
"You might have told me my family was involved."
"It seemed better to let you discover it for yourself," he said. "You might have had some inconvenient scruples about visiting them as an agent on official business; you might have felt I was asking you to spy on them."
"Weren't you?"
He laughed and ignored the question. His voice became more businesslike: "I'm acquainted with develop.. ments up to Paul's last report. I also have a medical statement indicating that Paul's injuries were more purposeful than malicious, if you know what I mean. Not that there weren't indications of gratuitous violence, but on the whole it appears that Paul's assailant had a definite aim in mind." Mac cleared his throat. "Did he talk?"
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