The Love Talker Part 23

If she didn't freeze to death first, and if he didn't come back to finish the job he had begun. . . . Too many ifs for comfort.

Lizzie had been right all along. There were inhuman things in the dark woods-the misshapen, malevolent goblins of greed and madness. Too bad Lizzie had not responded to temptation like her namesake in the poem. "No, their offers should not charm us; Their evil gifts would harm us." The moral was clear: people who messed around with the fairies got in trouble. Trouble was definitely what she was in, thanks to Lizzie's meddling. Laura and Lizzie, two little girls victimized by goblins. "Fruits like honey to the throat, But poison in the blood...." Odd, how readily the words came back to her after all those years.

A sound penetrated her fading consciousness, and she came back to her senses with a start of terror. Her thoughts had been wandering as her body sank into the deadly, ultimate sleep of cold. There was no point in conjuring up imaginary nightmares, the real situation was nightmarish enough; and no point in waiting supinely for death. Maybe she could find a jagged rock or a piece of gla.s.s and cut through her bonds. Heroines in thrillers managed to do things like that.

Before she could put this brilliant scheme into execution the sound came again, and this time she was alert enough to understand what it meant. She forgot she had decided to be a heroine and tried to shrink into the smallest possible s.p.a.ce.

In that instant, as the unseen person inched closer, her mind played one of the tricks minds play under stress. She remembered the odorous, messy Wade house where Rachel had been baby-sitting, and she identified the vagrant smell that had been part of the general aroma of sloppy housekeeping.

Until that moment she had believed she had fitted all the pieces of the puzzle into their proper places. This revelation revealed new gaps whose existence she had not suspected and supplied the missing pieces. She would have screamed then, if she had been able to do so.

Her sense of hearing, magnified by the absence of sight, told her that the person was now in the cave, so close she could hear his heavy breathing. When the flashlight flared she closed her eyes; but in the dazzle she had caught a glimpse of a face-the face she had once feared, and now hoped to see. Was it too late? Had the girl come with him?

"Oh, my G.o.d, I was afraid. . . . Laurie, darling. . . ." Jeff's voice, harsh with fear, Jeff's hands, pulling the cloth from her mouth.

He gathered her up into his arms, holding her so tightly she couldn't breathe or talk. The warmth of his body against her chilled flesh felt heavenly, but Laurie fought to free her face from the m.u.f.fling folds of his wool jacket. Why didn't the idiot untie her?

"Don't," she croaked. "Don't do that-"

"It's all right," Jeff muttered. "You're all right now. I'll get you out of here, love. Thank G.o.d I was in time."

Laurie considered trying to bite him, but abandoned the idea. His jacket was too thick. She had enough fragments of cloth clogging her tongue as it was. "Untie me," she mumbled. "Quick, quick."

"Right." He lowered her gently to the floor and began working on the knots that bound her wrists. Laurie held herself still with an effort. She wanted to squirm and yell. Her mouth felt as dry as flannel. A thread was caught between two teeth, and the minor irritation almost drove her frantic.

The flashlight, resting on the ground, gave her her first sight of the cave. The rough, uneven walls arched up into darkness. From her prostrate position Laurie could see very little, but what she saw brought a wry smile to her lips. A small Coleman stove, kitchen utensils, and canned goods stored in a wooden crate; a heap of gaudy pillows, a box fitted up as a dressing table, with mirror and piles of cosmetics. It was a child's playhouse, furnished with pilfered or scavenged sc.r.a.ps-a place for make-believe, for pretending, for the fairy-tale fantasies of an immature mind playing at romance.

She was unable to enjoy the sad, sardonic humor of the setting because of the fear that made her numbed nerves tingle. The flashlight beam failed to illumine the mouth of the cave and Jeff's agitated panting drowned out lesser sounds, but she could have sworn someone was coming. The sense of an inimical, imminent presence was overwhelming.

"Hurry," she gasped.

As she spoke her hands fell free and Jeff s.h.i.+fted position to work on the cloth that fastened her ankles. "Hurry," she said again. "We've got to get out of here before-"

"Sweetheart, don't worry," Jeff said. "I'm here. I'll take care of you. I love you-"

"Oh, shut up," Laurie exclaimed. "Shut up, Jeff."

It was too late. Her instincts had not been wrong. Someone was coming.. . . No. Someone was already there, and had heard. In the dim, remote boundary of the light she saw a face and knew it-the same face she had seen outside Jeff's window in the dark of midnight.

No wonder she hadn't recognized it. Jealous rage distorted the features and gave the skin a livid flush. It scarcely resembled a human face, much less that of a lovely young girl. But I should have identified the hair, Laurie thought. What was she wearing that night, to give the impression of gauzy lavender wings? Some exotic negligee ordered for her by an infatuated lover? Or a costume, for the further beguilement of poor Aunt Lizzie?

The scream she tried to utter stuck in her throat, but her convulsive movement made Jeff look up. He tried to turn. His position was too awkward and Rachel was too quick. The blade of the knife burned in the light before it was buried in his upflung arm. The two bodies went down together, in a tangled, writhing ma.s.s.

Laurie scratched frantically at the knots holding her feet immobile, but her hands were so numb with cold they refused to obey her will. One of the most horrifying aspects of the struggle was its silence. Jeffs injury and Rachel's insane fury made them equals in strength, so that they lay almost motionless and neither had spoken or cried out. Then Jeffs voice rose in a hoa.r.s.e, urgent shout. "Run! Quick, before she-"

The speech ended in a grunt and a horrible soggy thud as his head hit the floor.

Kneeling over him, her tumbled hair masking her face, Rachel remained unmoving for a few moments. Then she flung her head back. Her hair lifted like a pale, soaring flame before it settled around her shoulders. Its silky fairness framed a face as coldly beautiful as that of Andersen's Ice Queen. Very slowly, still on her knees, she turned until she was facing Laurie.

Laurie had not prayed aloud since childhood. All she could remember at this moment was "Now I lay me down to sleep," and that didn't seem particularly appropriate. At least she hoped it would not prove to be appropriate. But she felt like praying. She had never seen anything, on or off the screen, that frightened her as much as Rachel's face.

She continued to pick at the knots but she knew she wasn't making any progress. Jeff lay still, his eyes closed, a trickle of dark blood puddling out from his arm. Laurie swallowed, cleared her throat, and screamed.

She did it to relieve her feelings, not because she expected a response. When a voice answered, she almost toppled over in sheer surprise.

"Laurie! Laurie, where are you?"

"Here! Hurry! Help!"

Rachel, caught in the hypnotic web of her deadly intent, appeared not to have heard the exchange, but when a heavy body forced itself into the cave she was jarred out of her reverie. She got to her feet in one smooth movement. She held the knife in her right hand, and even in her absorption in her own prospects of survival Laurie was sickened at the sight of the dark, wet blade.

"He-e-elp!" she shrieked.

"I hear you, I hear you," her rescuer said irritably. "Stop yelling. The echoes in this place are fierce." He rose cautiously to his feet.

"Hi there, Rachel," he said pleasantly. "Give Uncle Doug the knife, okay?"

Rachel backed away. Her foot struck the pathetic makes.h.i.+ft toilet table. The mirror crashed to the floor.

"Now see what you've done," Doug said. "Seven years' bad luck. Give me the nasty knife before you hurt yourself."

He put out his hand. Rachel slashed at it. The movement was almost careless-the petulant slap of an angry child, rejecting authority-but a dark line sprang up across Doug's palm and blood began to drip from his fingers. He didn't look at it, or lower his hand.

"Now, now, mustn't do that." Out of the corner of his mouth he added, in a lower voice, "Am-scray, sis. What are you hanging around here for?"

"I can't walk!"

"Hop, then. Or crawl or wriggle or squirm. Just move. Don't worry about your clothes, Uncle Ned's waiting. Good thing it's him and not Ida. Wouldn't she be shocked. . .." In the same quiet voice he went on, "Okay, Rachel, time to go. Want to ride in my nice pretty car? Maybe you'd like to drive. You're a good little driver, aren't you?"

He had been slowly inching forward, so imperceptibly that Laurie had not noticed until she realized he stood between her and the girl. No dream lover of her wildest fantasies had ever looked as good to her as Doug did then, his hair wet with melting snow, his tall body tense despite its appearance of relaxed confidence. She knew she was safe now. The way to the exit was open. She started moving toward it, but she didn't crawl into the tunnel until she had seen Rachel drop the knife and collapse, sobbing, into Doug's waiting arms.

"It does seem unfair," Doug remarked, "that you haven't even caught a cold."

"Cold! I feel as if I'd died and gone to. . . ." Laurie caught the eye of her eldest aunt and omitted the last word.

She was swathed in blankets clear up to the chin. They weighed her weary body down so she couldn't even wriggle. She was in her own white bed and the lights shone serenely on the familiar furniture-the ruffled shades, the Beatrix Potter prints, the rows of brightly bound fairy tales in the bookcases.

Uncle Ned had forgotten to take off his red knit cap. The pom-pom nodded absurdly as he leaned over to pat the place where Laurie's hand might have rested if she could have gotten it out from under the blankets.

"Everything's all right now," he said. "You're fine."

"I'm fine," Laurie agreed.

"Good. I'm going to feed d.u.c.h.ess." He stood up. "Get some sleep," he said. "Dear."

He was almost out of the room before Laurie realized what he had said.

"Uncle Ned . . . give d.u.c.h.ess a big fat bone for me, will you?"

"Well, she deserves it," her uncle said calmly. "Might not have found that hole in time without her."

The door closed quietly behind him.

"You know," Doug said, "he is the most uncanny character in this whole scenario. Out of this world."

"Shut up," Laurie said. Uncle Ned had called her "dear." In any other man, the emotion that had produced that word would have expressed itself in extravagant endearments and embraces.

"Ned suffered in the war," Ida said. "He has never been the same since."

"I like him the way he is," Laurie said. She added, "I like all of you the way you are."

They sat alongside the bed, all in a row, like spectators at a play. Ida had selected a straight chair. She sat bolt upright, her hands folded. Her face was a mask of wrinkles and her eyes were sunken, but they had a peaceful look Laurie had not seen for some time.

Aunt Lizzie was still wearing the peasant blouse and embroidered skirt. Fake jewels festooned her ample bosom. Her hair was agitated and her eyes avoided Laurie's.

"Oh," she murmured, "don't you think we might have a little snack? The stress of the day .. . And dinner will be late, I have not had the opportunity to-"

"Not now, Aunt Lizzie," Doug said. "We have a few things to discuss first."

He sat on a footstool, his long legs bent, his knees absurdly elevated. Laurie smiled at him. "My heroic rescuer," she said.

Doug grinned. "Don't bother soothing my male ego. You can brag all you like, you're ent.i.tled. This is the last scene and you get to play the detective. Tell us, O great sleuth, how you figured it out-and almost got yourself killed."

"Just good old feminine intuition," Laurie said. "I couldn't have proved anything. Luckily Rachel didn't know that. What did you find out from the bookstore in Baltimore?"

"I found out that Jefferson Banes had bought those figurines. The proprietor didn't know his name but she remembered him very well."

"That was careless of him," Laurie exclaimed. "He should have known we might trace them to him."

"Sure he knew. Why do you suppose he was so anxious to get rid of the snapshots? But I doubt that he had any scheme in mind when he bought the figures, or even when he took the pictures. It did begin as a joke, just as the kids said."

"Not the kids, just Rachel," Laurie said. "With some help from Baby Betsy, who is going to turn out to be a real menace someday. Why is it we can't think of a golden-haired infant as a monster? And I'll never believe Rachel meant it as a joke."

"You're rambling," Doug said. "Start from the beginning."

"At the beginning I suspected you," Laurie said, and had the mean satisfaction of seeing Doug's jaw drop and his eyes widen. "You'd be surprised what a solid case I built up. I even wondered if you were really who you said you were. I hadn't seen you for a long time, and I didn't recognize you at the airport, and-"

"How absurd," Ida said crisply. "Did you suppose we would not know our own nephew?"

"I realized that, eventually," Laurie said. "But-"

"Don't go on," Doug groaned. "I don't want to hear any more about that part of your brilliant deductions."

Laurie decided she had better not go on. To justify her suspicions by explaining that she had never felt for Doug as a sister ought to feel would sound ... It might be misunderstood.

"Didn't you suspect me?" she asked.

"Not for an instant."

"I think that's an insult."

"Forget it," Doug said. "When did you realize that my pure nature and innocent face made your foul suspicions impossible?"

"Not until I was looking at the photo alb.u.m and realized that Jeff looked astonis.h.i.+ngly like Uncle Ned. The same high cheekbones and long nose, the same smile. I'd have seen it much sooner, only . . ."

"Age changes people," Ida said drily. "You were not to blame for failing to see the resemblance, Laura. You did not know us when we were young. Your mother resembles her father, not the Mortons. But that I should not have seen it ... Perhaps I did. That dreadful subconscious mind you young people are always talking about-I liked him without knowing why. Without wanting to know why."

"He was very likable," Laurie said gently. "I'm sure he was telling the truth when he said it wasn't his idea to hurt Aunt Lizzie. It was Rachel's. She was responsible for all of it-the music, the lights in the woods, even the car, that night it almost hit me. She was driving it. She had stolen the keys from Jeff."

"Why did he come here, then?" Ida demanded. "Why should he seek us out unless-"

"He wanted money," Laurie said. "He admitted that. And it wasn't hard for him to find out who he really was. Modern psychologists feel that adopted children have the right to learn about their natural parents. I guess it's a good idea, generally. Not many cases turn out like this one.

"In the beginning Jeff was motivated by normal, understandable curiosity: Who was my natural mother? Why did she give me up? But that last question can lead to considerable resentment-even to hate. Jeffs adoptive parents died years ago, leaving him almost nothing. When he traced you and learned that there was a lot of money in the family . . . Well, he decided you owed him."

"We did," Ida said.

"Maybe so, I can't argue that. But the method he chose. . . . He meant, I think-though he never would have admitted it-to indulge in a little blackmail. You'd have paid it, wouldn't you?"

"I don't like that word," Lizzie complained, wrinkling her brows. "Naturally we would have given the dear boy-that is to say, he was a dear boy, if it had not been for this unfortunate-"

"I understand," Laurie said. "But I'm afraid he didn't. He didn't realize that you would have acknowledged him joyfully and shared ungrudgingly, especially after he had earned your affection and trust. It's such a tragedy, when you think how it could have been-comfort and security and love for all of you. All lost, because of his weakness."

"That's water over the dam now," Doug said. "Go on."

"I know. I just can't help regretting. . . . Well, anyway, after I spotted the resemblance I realized that Jeff might be-er-related to the family. And if he was, then he had a motive. I had always known he had the means and the opportunity to play the tricks on Aunt Lizzie, but I had never considered him a serious suspect because I couldn't figure out why he would do such things. The only thing he couldn't have done was make that telephone call, and I had already realized that the villain, whoever he was, must have enlisted some girl to do that for him-"

"He!" Doug exclaimed, in pretended outrage. "So naturally you thought of me-the notorious Don Juan, the Casanova of the architectural profession."

"Rachel thought you were pretty cute," Laurie snapped. "I saw the way she looked at you. And how about Sherri? Not to mention Vi, and heaven knows how many other-"

"Vi is my real dream girl," Doug said. "I'm planning to let her support me with the profits from her disreputable trade while I pretend to set up an office."

Laurie didn't have the heart to continue the badinage. She had been skirting around the core of the solution, knowing how it was going to hurt; but sooner or later the words would have to be said. The aunts knew what was coming. Both sat staring down at their tightly clasped hands. For once in their lives they shared a common emotion.

Laurie took a deep breath and plunged in.

"Jeff could have proved the-er-relations.h.i.+p," she said. "I'm not sure how . . . Don't they take fingerprints, or footprints, or both, at hospitals?"

Ida cleared her throat. She did not look at her sister, who was pleating the fabric of her skirt with shaking fingers.

"Papers were signed," she said steadily. "The proof did exist, yes."

"Then Jeff had a legal claim, a.s.suming there was no will that specifically cut him out. I haven't checked with a lawyer, but I suspect Jeff would be considered the nearest heir, superseding Doug and me. Illegitimacy is no bar to inheritance these days."

Lizzie was crimson from throat to forehead. The evil word had been uttered.. Relieved that it was over, Laurie hurried on.

"It was at this point that I went completely astray. I a.s.sumed Jeff had seduced poor innocent Rachel and forced her to help him. Actually it was the other way around.