The car jerked forward, grinding around a sharp curve, starting up the steep incline that would hurtle us around the rails.
Fred thrust an arm around my shoulders and laughed. “You see how this works, Honey? They drag you to the top by means of a hook and a mechanical chain belt. Then you’re on your own. The inertia built up from the first dip carries you all the way to the end. Fascinating, isn’t it?”
The chain clanked beneath us, dragging the car toward the highest point of the spindly structure. Far below an empty car spun around a curve, flicking metallic sparks in the darkness.
“Fred, you might as well tell me,” I said.
“Tell you what?”
“Why you came up to that cabin yesterday afternoon.”
His eyes clung to the rails ahead of us. “What cabin?”
“The one on top of the mountain.”
“Is that where I was?” he asked, not looking at me.
“What do you mean?”
“I told you there was a blank period after I found Angela. Another one occurred later that afternoon. I woke up near the falls, face down in the rain.”
The car jerked on the tracks.
“Don’t alibi, Fred.”
“I’m not.”
I unbuttoned my sweater, revealing broken skin above the V of my bra. “See this?”
He winced, sucking loudly on his teeth.
“A cane,” I said, buttoning the garment up again. “I have another memento on my shoulder and one above my right knee.”
“I—I don’t understand,” Fred stammered, shifting his eyes to the rails.
“I didn’t think you would. Fred, where were you before this—this second blackout occurred?”
He shook his head dazedly. “I—I don’t remember exactly. I believe I was in Thor Tunny’s office. Toy wanted to talk to me—”
The car reached the top of the incline, lurched for an instant as the hook disengaged, and then pitched forward on the rails. The steel, dimly lit abyss below screamed toward us. The wind tore at our lungs. We swung into the first dip with such a grinding, heart-thumping roar that the beamed structure seemed to be breaking apart around us, flying past our heads, whirling.
I felt Fred’s arms grip me in a wild frenzy, one hand smothering my eyes. I struggled, reeling sideways in the car as it banked around a steep turn, careening above the beach. He pushed me against the door of the car, snapping my head back, forcing me over the side.
“Fred!” I screamed. “Fred!”
“Honey!” his voice echoed above the din.
I felt my arms flailing, legs kicking wildly.
The car banked again into a steep dive.
SIXTEEN
Half out of the car, I rode the next turn screaming at the top of my lungs. The sound rattled above the gnashing metal, searing through the wood beams of the roller coaster ride, splitting up through the night.
“Fred!”
“You killed her, Honey!” he roared.
“No!”
“You killed Angela!”
The car swerved violently, throwing Fred against the opposite side. I caught my balance, swung an elbow into his face. Blood spurted from his nose and he crumpled to the floor, arms trying to shield him from my heels that kicked viciously.
We careened around another curve, lights blinking above the car, a sign whirling by that blared: PLEASE KEEP YOUR SEATS UNTIL COASTER IS AT A FULL STOP!
A platform swung into view with a young man crouched with a hook. He snagged our car and pulled it to a stop.
“What’s the matter?” he demanded, peering down at Fred twisted on the floor, blood staining his coat.
“Nose bleed,” I said abruptly. “He’ll be okay. Help me get him out.”
Fred stood up slowly, his crippled leg bent under him, face red. He staggered onto the platform, worked his cane into position and took my outstretched arm.
“What—what happened?” he muttered, shaking his head, pressing a handkerchief to his nose.
“Is he going to be all right, lady?” the young man asked, forehead ridging.
“Yes,” I said. “Where’s the nearest phone booth?”
“There’s one over by the merry-go-round.”
“Thanks.”
I helped Fred down a flight of steps and we crossed the night-damp pavement silently, brushing past startled onlookers, until we reached the pay booth.
“Honey, I—I’m bleeding,” Fred announced, leaning against the glass doors. “What happened?”
“You tell me, Fred!”
“I—I dunno,” he stammered. “Seems to me we were sitting at a bar having a drink and then all of sudden—boom—the lights went out.”
“They came on, Fred. They came on. You wait a minute. I’ve got a call to make.”
I stepped inside the booth and deposited a dime in the slot. Then I dialed Mark Storm’s office.
“What do you want, Honey?” the lieutenant growled, after he came on the line.
“Did you ever check out any of those people at Sol Wetzel’s party?” I demanded.
“Sure, why?”
“What’d they say?”
“They said it was one hell of a shindig. The wildest party they’d been to in a long time. So?”
“So, did anyone mention a tape recorder or any mystic business?”
“Yeah,” Mark returned gruffly. “One guy said they held a seance, brought back voices of the dead and that kind of crap. He swore the voices, though, were pre-taped.”
I glanced through the glass at Fred’s twisted, bloody face. “That’s all I wanted to know. Thanks, Lieutenant.”
“Thanks for what?” he bellowed. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”
“I will be,” I said, “before the night’s over. And sleeping peacefully for a change. See you later, alligator.”
I hung up, then dug through the Southern Directory for Rip Spensor’s telephone number. A woman’s voice answered.
“Who’s this?” I demanded.
“Who’s this?” she countered.
“Toy?”
“Yes.”
“Toy, this is Honey West. Are you alone?”
“Well, no,” she stammered. “Ray’s here, and my father. What do you want?”
“Listen,” I said. “I don’t care how you do this, or what excuse you use, but get them both into a car. Drive up to Sol Wetzel’s house. I’ll meet you there in about an hour.”
“But—but I don’t understand.”
“Something very vital has cropped up in the Angela Scali case,” I said. “You won’t believe what I’ve discovered. It’s fantastic.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll explain when I get there. Just do as I say. And remember one thing. Don’t let either of them out of your sight for a minute, understand?”
I didn’t wait for her answer. Fred gaped at me when I came out of the booth, blood still streaming from his nostrils.
“Honey, what is all this?”
“Fred, do you remember an old saying, ‘A dog’s bark is worse than his bite?’”
“Sure, but—”
“You keep thinking about that,” I said, grasping his hand. “And nothing else. Come on.”
It took us about fifteen minutes to walk the six long blocks to my car, Fred hobbling badly on his artificial leg. I didn’t bring up Angela Scali again, because I knew it was apt to produce another dire situation with Fred. He sat grimly silent beside me as I drove out the Long Beach Freeway to Hollywood, his jaws clamped tight, eyes staring fixedly in his head.
When we reached Box Canyon, he asked me where we were, but I didn’t answer. I kept my hand close to my revolver in readiness for any eventuality. He didn’t move. Not even after we pulled up behind Thor Tunny’s car parked in Sol Wetzel’s driveway.
“Okay,” I said, climbing out onto the familiar damp pavement. “Now I want you to do exactly what I tell you to do. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“You’ve got me, Honey,” he said,
blinking above the knotted handkerchief he still pressed to his nose.
“Maybe I will thirty minutes from now, Fred. Until then you hold fast, understand? Whatever you see, whatever you hear, try and ignore it. Keep thinking about Bastogne. About the war.”
He nodded. “Kind of crazy,” he said, perplexedly.
“This is going to be a crazy thirty minutes, Fred.” I lifted the reel of tape from the seat, watching his eyes as I took it from under a newspaper.
“What’s that?” he demanded.
“I hope it’s the answer, Fred. Because if it isn’t you’re dead.”
He followed me to the front door, shuffling awkwardly on his cane. I didn’t help. I couldn’t erase the events that had occurred in the roller coaster when he’d forced me against the side.
Toy Tunny answered the bell. She was wearing a blue dress and a small hat and looked like she was ready for a wedding, or a funeral. Her father sat in the living room, stiffly erect in his chair, hands clasped over his stomach. He wore the same suit he’d been wearing the night before, with one slight addition. The medallion dangled on his chest, glittering in the light of a table lamp. Ray Spensor stood at the bar, a drink clenched in his fingers, a look of fearful uneasiness creased on his heavy-jawed face.
“I guess you all know Fred Sims,” I said, gesturing at the newspaperman.
“What do you want, Miss West.” Thor Tunny demanded angrily.
I laughed. “Well, to tell you the truth, I thought maybe we’d have a quiet little seance.”
“What?” Ray Spensor broke, leaning away from the bar.
“I’m surprised at your exclamation, Mr. Spensor,” I said, shifting my gaze at his reddened face. “I thought sure with your abilities to make things appear and vanish, you’d be the first to shout hurrah.”
“Don’t be mysterious, Miss West,” Toy blurted. “We didn’t come here to be entertained.”
“Neither did I, Miss Tunny,” I said. “But I’m serious about the seance. I’d like to try to bring Sol Wetzel back from the dead.”
Ray Spensor jerked, nearly spilling his drink, and choked badly. “Don’t be a fool!”
I smiled. “I assure you I’m not. You see, before he died Wetzel wanted to show me something. Something which I’m certain would have explained Angela Scali’s murder. I’d like to bring him back for just one moment so that he might tell us what that was.”
“Honey,” Fred spat, “don’t be ridiculous!”
I shrugged, concealing the reel of tape behind my purse. “I’m sure one of you must know how to recall Sol Wetzel. How about you, Mr. Tunny?”
“No!” the cult leader hurled.
“He may even tell the name of his murderer,” I said. “How about you, Mr. Spensor?”
“Are you out of your mind?” he returned. “I studied mysticism in Cairo after the war. The senses can create awesome things. This would be insanity.”
“Perhaps,” I said. “It’s worth trying, isn’t it?”
“Miss West,” Toy added quickly. “I’m afraid you’re against a stone wall. You lied to me over the telephone. You have no new information at all. So we’ll say good night.”
I removed my revolver and leveled it at them. “I’m afraid you won’t, Miss Tunny. Draw up a table, Fred. We’re having a seance whether they like it or not.”
Fred nodded, moved to a round table in the corner and drew it into the center of the room.
“Five chairs, Mr. Spensor,” I directed. “And quickly!”
The husky pro football player responded, glancing nervously at Thor Tunny. He pulled five chairs up around the table.
“Now sit,” I said.
They sat slowly, eyes fixed on each other, hands resting on the table top. I dimmed the lights and joined them, revolver resting in my lap, tape hidden underneath the gun.
“Who will do the honors?” I asked, surveying their faces.
“I guess I will,” Toy broke suddenly. “I’ll call for him, but it’s futile. You can’t bring back the dead when there is any friction or resentment in the room. Sol would never answer.”
“Try, Miss Tunny,” I said.
“All right,” she said, the faint light glowing on her round cheeks. “Everyone join hands. There must be absolute quiet for at least two minutes.”
We joined hands slowly, Toy taking Fred’s outstretched fingers, the newsman taking mine. Thor Tunny reached over and caught my right hand grimly, accepting Ray Spensor’s in his right. Ray completed the circle by grasping Toy’s pudgy left hand. Heavy silence fell over the table. Only the tick of the clock on the mantle made any sound. I kept the tape in my lap with the revolver, both in readiness.
Finally Toy lifted her face up into the dim light and muttered, “Sol? Sol Wetzel? Can you hear me?”
There was no answer. Wind began to whip leaves and branches against the house, brushing ominously.
“Sol Wetzel? I am calling you,” she continued tautly. “Can you hear my voice? Can you hear me speaking to you? Come through the barrier. Speak!”
The house creaked. Fred’s hand tightened on mine. The clock ticked.
“Solomon Wetzel? I implore you to come forth into this light of lights. To speak,” Toy urged. “Tell us what you know of Angela Scali. Tell us what you hold in your hand.”
Ray Spensor coughed suddenly, choked it off with a lowering of his head, peered up into the light. Fred sat stiffly immobile at my side.
“It’s no use, Miss West,” Toy said, shaking her head. “There is too much turbulence in the air.”
Thor Tunny said, “Perhaps with the lights extinguished altogether, Miss West.”
I stiffened, then rose slowly. “All right. First let me check the outer bedroom door,” I said. “I want to make certain it’s unlocked.”
“That’s a good idea,” Tunny said, releasing my hand. I moved across the room, entering the bedroom, fingers still gripped around the spool and my revolver. I knew I had to work quickly, and in the dark. I crossed to where I’d left the tape recorder and no sooner had the tape threaded on the machine when I heard a sound coming from the living room. I froze in my tracks.
“I am here!” a voice cried, lifting resonantly.
I raced back to the door and saw Fred Sims standing upright in the dim light, his face pale and twisted.
“My God,” he whispered, “it—it’s Angela!”
The voice seemed to rise out of thin air above the table. “Frederic, my love!”
“Speak to me, Angela,” Fred urged breathlessly. Tears began to stream down his cheeks.
“Someone has been calling, Fred,” the voice floated. “Sol cannot hear you as I can. Speak!”
I gripped the edge of the door, hair rising on the back of my neck, as I stared into the room at the four frozen people.
“Angela,” Fred cried. “She made me do it. I couldn’t help myself.”
“Who, Fred?” the voice demanded.
The table suddenly overturned, Thor Tunny tumbling to the floor, Ray Spensor falling backward.
I saw her rise in the contorted light, flick open her thick-lipped mouth, scream in pathetic horrifying gasps of despair.
“Angel!” Toy screamed. “Angel! I didn’t mean to, believe me!”
She whirled toward the door, but Fred swung his cane furiously in the air, striking the pudgy girl and knocking her to the floor.
Toy rolled over, choking, half-screaming, “Kill her, Fred! Kill her!”
Fred’s cane thudded ruthlessly on Toy Tunny’s head, until the force of his hate was spent, and he stood over her, his face twisted his shoulders shaking with choking sobs.
SEVENTEEN
“She’ll live,” Mark said, as he came down the hospital corridor, face deeply lined, hat twisted in his big hands.
He thrust his elbows on the nurse’s reception desk and stared at me, an unlighted cigarette dangling from his lips.
“She lost a lot of blood,” he added.
I winced. “Now you know what almost happen
ed to me.”
The deputy clenched his teeth. “Yeah. Let’s get a cup of coffee.”
We found a diet kitchen, along one of the back corridors, where a pot of coffee was brewing on the stove. Mark poured us each a cup and settled heavily into a chair.
“Fred Sims,” he said softly, chewing on his knuckles. “My God.”
“I tried to warn you, Mark,” I said, leaning against the corner and exhaling hard.
“Why didn’t he tell us he was married to the Italian Angel? Why did he help her disappear?”
“Love works in devious ways, Lieutenant. He couldn’t help himself.”
“Yeah, but fifteen years later,” Mark said, almost to himself.
“You’ll have to go back farther than that,” I said. “Fred’s from a broken home. He spent a lot of time alone as a kid. Most of it brooding, depressed. That was probably what made him a hero at Bastogne. Up until that time he hadn’t had much to live for.”
“So he lost a leg in Germany,” Mark roared. “That didn’t wreck him completely.”
“No, but it deepened his neurosis. Made him withdraw even farther from society. Fred’s a lonely man, Mark. Lonely men do only two things. Drink and die.”
The deputy rubbed his forehead with the flat of his hand, peering up at me. “Where’d you read that, in one of Fred’s columns?”
“No, I think it was someplace in Hemingway. Fred was a target, Mark. A man displaced. Like Adam Jason. Their thoughts and beliefs were all tangled together.”
Mark got to his feet, shoving his cup on the counter. “I feel like getting drunk—and don’t tell me I’m a lonely man.”
“There’s a bottle in my office,” I said. “You want to join a lonely woman?”
“Why not?”
We walked outside into a lemon-colored dawn that stretched like silk across a cloud-clear sky. The unplayed tape lay on the front seat of my convertible.
“What’s that?” Mark demanded.
“A bit of undigested evidence,” I said. “Before I had a chance to play it for our cast of characters, Angela Scali interrupted with her curtain speech.”
Honey West: A Kiss for a Killer Page 14