by Andre Norton
With some difficulty Fredericka managed to do as he ordered. “Now,” he continued, “I can tell you this much. Your news about Chris’s possible information and about that letter have proved to be pure gold. You are the best Dr. Watson any man could want.”
“Did you find the letter then?”
“No. It had disappeared. And it was too late to ask Margie—poor kid. But Chris, bless him, had some old envelopes Catherine had given him before. He hadn’t got around to taking the stamps off and so I found the address I wanted. That’s why I’m going to Washington—”
“But—Peter—” There were a thousand questions Fredericka wanted to ask but he held up his hand.
“I’ll tell you all when I know all, Fredericka. Right now you mustn’t know anything, not even what you’ve told me and what I’ve told you. Keep it absolutely to yourself. You understand?”
“Yes. But—”
“No ‘buts’ about it.”
The sound of a car outside and steps on the path interrupted him and Fredericka’s mind leapt suddenly to another quite different subject. “Please, Peter, don’t tell Thane I let Sergeant Brown off. You can see how all right it is,” she said urgently.
“Well, then, if you insist on deception, you’d better come to the airport with us and keep Carey amused until Jim gets back. When will that be?”
“Before dark, he said.”
Peter looked at his watch. “Three-twenty. I guess you can string Carey along that long. But you’re not to come back here until your protector returns. Go to the inn, if necessary. I don’t want you to be here alone. Understand?”
“Yes,” Fredericka answered. She was torn between joy at his concern and anger at his officiousness. Surely she could look after herself. Everything had been quiet for days now.
Thane Carey was now banging at the front door. When Fredericka and Peter joined him, he said at once: “Where’s Jim?”
“Gone for a coke,” Peter said quickly. “It’s O.K. I did duty for him and now Fredericka’s coming along to wave me goodbye.”
Thane grinned. “O.K.,” he said, “but I’m not sure I like your interfering with the law like this.”
They piled into Thane’s small car and it was not long before Fredericka realized that its size was deceptive. She watched the speedometer creep up to seventy with some anxiety.
“Come, Carey,” Peter said, “we’re not all that late, are we?”
Thane grinned again; “Police privilege.”
“Showing off,” Peter remarked and then added with more firmness, “Come on, Carey, if you could see Fredericka’s face you’d know she doesn’t like it any more than your wife does.”
“O.K. O.K.” Thane answered amiably and the car slowed imperceptibly. “Good car though, isn’t it?” he asked Fredericka.
“Wonderful,” Fredericka managed.
“You women are all the same,” Thane said. He was now driving at a steady fifty. “You’d rather creep along like this, than fly and be free and, incidentally, just as safe with a good man at the wheel. But you’d never hesitate to dash across the road in front of a bus or hop on a moving train.”
“Well, if they do those things and I say if, then they’re in a good position to realize the hazards of fast driving,” Peter contributed. “Now if a female jumped out from the roadside when you were doing eighty plus, you’d save her life, no doubt, by smashing up the car and killing yourself.”
“Not a chance of it. But I see your reasoning.” Thane laughed.
“I guess it’s as well for me to keep quiet,” Fredericka said, “since I’m so outnumbered, and just a female.”
“How wise you are, Fredericka. Now if only my wife—you know Connie, don’t you.” He broke off abruptly: “Do you know, friends, we’re here. In spite of having to crawl, I believe it’s a record, even for me.”
There was no sign of the plane on the field so they all climbed out of the car and went into the barracklike wooden building where they found a counter and hot coffee. As they sat on their stools and, by mutual consent, talked quietly about unimportant matters, the door banged open suddenly and Roger Sutton came charging into the room. He went first to the ticket window and they could hear him asking in a loud voice if the plane was late. He then turned as if to come over to the counter but, seeing the others, he swerved quickly and hurried off toward the door.
Peter got down from his stool and called to the retreating back.
If Roger heard, he took no notice, but Peter followed him outside.
“He acts frightened,” Fredericka observed.
“I think it’s just his usual shyness,” Thane said slowly. “I’ve got to know him better since the—well, since I’ve been spending so much of my time at the Farm, and I like him. In fact, I would say that the hope for that family lies there.”
“But hundreds of men must have had worse face injuries than his—in fact I’ve seen plenty of them in the library in New York. If he has stuff in him why can’t he rise above it?” For some reason she did not want to confess to Thane that she had talked to Roger in the woods and seen his naked hatred for his sister.
“I’m no psychiatrist, Fredericka, but I would say that some of the best men are the most sensitive. If this last operation is successful, he’ll look a lot better and then if only he could marry and feel like a normal human being…”
“When I first heard about the family I imagined he and Philippine might have more than a cousinly feeling toward each other but now James Brewster seems to have cut him out.”
“It’s more complicated than that, I think. He likes Philippine and gets on with her because she is—well, almost professional, in her attitude toward his injury. It makes him feel at ease with her. But I don’t think it’s more than that, or ever was—”
He stopped speaking as Peter came back with Roger who lagged behind him and was obviously reluctant to join them. Could anyone look more guilty then he does, Fredericka thought. I wonder if Thane and Peter are right to be so sure of his innocence. Perhaps they weren’t. Perhaps Peter was taking the same plane on purpose.
Knowing that it would be best to turn away, Fredericka swung around to face the coffee urns and tried to catch the eye of the waitress who was having a heart-to-heart talk with a mechanic at the other end of the counter.
Peter sat down beside Fredericka, and Roger next to him. There was a moment of awkward silence and then Thane leant across Fredericka and Peter to say: “Everything all right at the Farm, Sutton?”
“As right as it can be,” Roger muttered.
“Is Mrs. Hartwell at the hospital?”
“Yes. She was there all night.” Then with surprising force, he added: “It’s a good thing, too. Mother’s had just about all she can stand.”
“I know,” Peter said quietly. Then he interrupted himself to say; “Coffee?” as the waitress came up to them.
“Yes, large and black. Nothing to eat.”
Fredericka now stole a look at Roger under cover of the general discussion. One hand was tightly clenched, the other, which shielded his face, was trembling and held stiffly open to show the long bony fingers. Fredericka had never seen Roger dressed in anything but faded blue jeans and an old shirt and she was surprised to observe that he now wore immaculate town clothes, conservatively cut. As she stared she became aware that he had removed his hand from his face and that two large dark eyes were regarding her intently. The eyes were set deep in his skull and the scarred tissue around them was purple and white in patches. His mouth was twisted sideways as though he was leering at her. She looked away in confusion. Then, ashamed that she had done so, she said hurriedly: “At any rate, Philippine will look after Mrs. Sutton, won’t she?”
Roger made no answer. The coffee arrived and he drank it down in great gulps. Then he got up before anyone could think of anything else to say. “Thanks, Mohun. See you on the plane,” he muttered, and walked rapidly away.
At that moment they could hear the roar of the engines outside and
Peter also got up, as the loudspeaker blared the announcement of imminent departure.
“So long,” he said lightly. “Be a good girl, Fredericka, and remember all Doc Mohun’s orders.”
She smiled and he started to walk away. But, at the door, he stopped to put out his cigarette, and then came back to say: “Keep an eye on her, Carey. She needs watching.”
“I’ll do my best,” Thane agreed. “Only, for God’s sake, hurry back. I’m beginning to feel like the boy on the burning deck, or the one who kept his finger in the dike, or what have you—”
But Peter had gone before he finished speaking.
“Well,” Thane announced, “that seems to be that. Now,” he added thoughtfully, “just what did he mean about keeping an eye on Miss Fredericka Wing? Is Sergeant Brown falling asleep on the job?”
“Oh, no, he’s wonderful.” She was able to answer this question with genuine enthusiasm. Then, aware that Thane continued to look at her steadily with a very police-like stare, she went on hurriedly, “I—I guess Peter just thought I was a little lonely or—or something.”
“I see. Well, now, I have to go back to the Farm and to the hospital. As a matter of fact Connie’s fed up with me about this damn case. Could you, do you think, go along to the house and have supper with her?”
“Oh no—really—”
“Oh, yes, really. Please. As a matter of fact it would ease things for me if I could just have you along when I break the news to her about being out tonight, too.”
Fredericka remembered how much she had liked Constance Carey when she met her at the bazaar and it did not take her long to decide that she would much rather have supper with her than go back home before Jim Brown was well and truly back. She’d asked him to get supper, so she’d no doubt get it for himself. Besides if Thane were to drive her home now he might easily discover the absence of his henchman; and that she must prevent at all costs.
“I’d love it,” she said quickly, “if you don’t think I’d be just one more thing—”
“No, I can promise you that. Connie likes company and I had thought I could be home tonight so she hasn’t made any plans to entertain herself. You see, Peter’s sudden departure has upset all our calculations a little.”
They were now speeding along the highway. Quite suddenly Thane braked the car and swung off on to a little-used country lane.
“We live quite far outside South Sutton as you’ll see. It has its rural advantages and a swell view but, at times like this, even I can see that there are some obvious disadvantages. It’s damn lonely for Connie. We’ve only got the one car, which really belongs to the police force, and a bicycle isn’t all that much fun in hot weather.”
Fredericka looked around her with interest as they drove into a small yard neatly laid out with a white picket fence and a flourishing garden. The house which was also painted white seemed to be turning its back on them but there was no hint of untidiness around the back door entrance as Thane plunged in unceremoniously and led the way, hurrying on ahead. Fredericka looked quickly at the neat new kitchen. “Goodness, Thane,” she said, “it’s so beautiful and shining. How did it ever happen like this?”
“All on the instalment plan.” Thane stopped for a moment to look about him. Then he added cheerfully: “And I have to admit that Connie is a swell housewife. Not a flick of dirt anywhere. But just wait till you see this—” He opened a door at the other side of the kitchen and Fredericka gasped because they seemed to be looking out on to an open ledge of rock. The whole long living room hung over a cliff that dropped away sharply beneath them, and the side of the room opposite them was one great window. The woods came down to the left and right but the trees had been cut away from the cliff’s edge in front to give a clear view of the soft sunset sky, the sleepy town lying just below them, and, beyond it, the green valley with its wide river reflecting the pink glow of the sky.
Fredericka forgot Thane completely as she walked past him to stand in the window.
“It is heavenly, isn’t it?” a woman’s voice asked quietly. Fredericka swung around. She had not seen Connie sitting on the long couch by the fireplace. Now she, had put down her book and was standing up with a look of eager expectation on her face. Fredericka felt the other woman’s friendliness and warmed to it as she had when they first met. “Incredibly beautiful,” she answered simply. “You—you lucky things—”
“You’re staying for supper with us, aren’t you?” Connie asked at once, but Fredericka noticed that she looked across at Thane shyly, as if for approval.
“Not us, darling, you, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, Thane, not again, or rather still.” She stopped and then added quickly, “But I’ll have to forgive you since you’ve brought me Fredericka.”
“I’m so glad he did,” Fredericka said with genuine pleasure. “I’ve been wanting to see you again ever since the bazaar but I’ve been tied to the shop and well, what with one thing and another—”
“Yes—one thing—and another,” Connie agreed, laughing a little uneasily. “I’ve meant to pay a visit to you and the bookshop but I’m getting lazier and lazier. You can see how far out we are, though, and I’m not what one would call a keen cyclist.” She turned to her husband: “Must you go this minute or can you stop for a drink?”
“This minute, I’m afraid, darling. But I promise to be back early, so I can visit a little with Fredericka before I drive her home.”
“Oh Thane,” Connie’s voice had now become tense and strained, “isn’t the end of this miserable business in sight yet? It seems to get worse and worse. Do you know how Margie is?”
“I’m going to see her first. But we’ve got to face it, darling; I’m afraid there just isn’t any hope. The doctors say she would have been dead two days ago if it wasn’t for her youth.” He paused. “But I think I can honestly say that the end of this case is in sight—just, if we can only get around this last corner. We’ve got very real suspicions but as yet no proof.”
Fredericka started to speak and Connie put out a restraining hand toward her. “Don’t ask him,” she advised. “He only wants you to; and I can tell you that he’ll be both evasive and maddening. Never marry a policeman!”
After Thane had gone, Connie busied herself with supper. Fredericka, when her help was refused, sat by the window watching the stars come out in the darkening sky. How long the day had been between sunrise and sunset. But now her early morning’s contentment had returned. Thane was her friend, and Connie—and Peter. They didn’t suspect her. When all the ugliness of this evil thing had been wiped away, she would still have these friends and the beauty and peace of this New England country summer.
As they ate their meal, night came down quickly and Connie lit a lamp on their table. It made a small warm glow in the darkness; like a camp fire in the woods, Fredericka thought. When their meal was finished they sat on, talking quietly and easily about themselves. Fredericka told Connie of her writing and why she had come to South Sutton. Connie confessed that she had been a New Yorker, too, and that she had given up a job in an advertising firm to marry Thane when they had met during a summer course at Columbia a year ago. Then, inevitably, they came back to talk about South Sutton and the murder of Catherine Clay.
“I think there are plenty of people in the village who think I am a witch—even that I am guilty.” Fredericka now expressed the thought that had been worrying her all day and felt better for it.
Connie laughed again. “It’s inevitable in a one-horse town like this. Unfortunately for you this business had to happen the minute you arrived—and in your hammock. Seriously, Fredericka, you can’t blame them for rolling all the horror up with you. It’s so much more convenient to put it on to an outsider.”
“Oh, I know.”
The day’s anxieties rushed back into the peaceful room. Sensing this, Connie said quickly: “Anyway, you know how we feel and I know Thane’s no fool and that he’s got his eye on the guilty one right now.” She hesitated, then she sa
id slowly: “And I know for certain that he’s not looking at you.”
“Who, then? Who do you think did it?” Fredericka asked. “I’ve made a list of suspects and I’ve been through it over and over again, adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing, but nothing makes sense.”
“Murder doesn’t make sense in spite of all the books say.” Connie stopped suddenly and a silence fell between them. At last she went on slowly: “You ask me whom I suspect. I don’t. I know.” Fredericka started to break in but Connie hurried on. “Thane hasn’t told me his suspicions, as you can see, but he doesn’t need to. So—well, because I do know, I can’t very well speculate.” She stopped and then said; “Please let’s get away from this dreary subject. It—it’s giving me the creeps.” For a moment she seemed to be searching desperately for something to say. Then she went on: “I’ve been meaning to ask you what you’ve done with that quilt. It’s a wonder that I can bear the sight of you. I never wanted anything so much in my life. I even made Thane buy ten tickets.”
“Oh, Connie, I’ll have to give it to you as a reward to Thane for saving the witch from burning. But I’d hate to. I’m mad about it, too; only I’m ashamed to say that I’ve not so much as looked at it since I won it. As a matter of fact, I think it’s still sitting on a chair in my kitchen—”
Connie looked at her in unashamed horror, but before she could speak, Fredericka went on quickly: “I—I know I’ve been terribly careless but I’ve been trying to run a bookshop under difficulties. It was the very night I brought that home that I—I found the body.”
Connie reached a hand across the table and grasped Fredericka’s firmly. “Don’t take everything I say seriously. The quilt was only a change of subject,” she said quietly.