Bring Back Her Body Page 8

  “Uhm,” Cain said.

  • • •

  When he awoke again, it was still very dark. The room felt empty and he reached out a hand. There was a warm spot beside him but that was all. Groggily he got to his feet and fumbled his way to the hall. The light was on and noises came up from below.

  “Lisa?” It was a tentative call.

  “In the kitchen.”

  Cain turned and padded to the bath. He let the cold shower sluice him down until he was chattering. He dried and dressed, conscious that something in the back of his mind was bothering him. He was not quite sober. He still had a fine edge. But he knew it was unwise to keep that edge, and so when he went downstairs, he gulped at the coffee Lisa served him.

  He took the second cup more slowly. “Guess I passed out,” he said idly. He leaned forward and took a freshly lighted cigarette from Lisa.

  She scowled at him. “You just passed out the first time,” she said. She looked faintly like a comfortable tabby cat.

  Cain felt the something that was bothering him tug insistently at his mind. “First time?” he echoed.

  She was staring at him, her eyes wide. “Cain …” And then she laughed, shrilly. “You don’t remember!”

  He did now; it showed in his eyes. He remembered faintly, too faintly to be sure that it wasn’t just a dream. He gulped. “Lisa, I …” And then it came to him and a sigh of relief burst out. “But you’re already married!”

  She laughed again. She laughed until the table shook and the coffee slopped out of their cups. She said, “If I weren’t, it wouldn’t matter. You moralistic idiot. There are no strings, Cain.”

  He was silent, gulping at his coffee again. Finally he said, “A profitless evening.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice was acid.

  Cain flushed. “I meant that even if we have the underwear, we don’t know whose it is.”

  “We can try it on Honor. I mean — I can.”

  “No strings,” Cain reminded her dryly. Finishing his coffee, he got up. “Back a ways, it seems I was interrupted. I’m off to work.”

  He fled. Outside, he got out his flashlight and made his way to the garage. The coffin sat as before as if waiting. He approached it swiftly. He wanted a good look at that wax mask of Paula. In fact, he wanted to take it with him. He was prying up the lock with a crowbar when Lisa came softly up behind him. Cain grunted as the lock gave, dropped the bar, threw back the lid and let his light shine inside.

  Lisa’s scream shattered the night. Toby Patton lay there — a knife buried to the hilt in his chest.

  • • •

  Lisa’s screams kept beating on his ears until he turned around and slapped her viciously. She went to one knee, gasped, struggled to her feet and ran. Cain caught her in the kitchen and hit her again. She stopped fighting and her eyes became clear. “That was no dummy,” she said.

  “I know,” Cain told her. “Toby really got it this time.”

  “Cain, let’s get out of here. Let’s clean up and go — if we have to swim.”

  They started with the basement, cleaning what they had touched. Lisa showed Cain a door that led into an old basement, a room lined with shelves of empty jars. He pushed the suitcases in there. Lisa pointed out the old-fashioned cellar door at the far end. “We can always come for them that way.”

  They finished upstairs and Cain went down to dispose of the empties and replace the nearly full bottle. The sight of it made him gag. He was about done when he heard Lisa. She appeared at the head of the stairs.

  “Cain, car coming.”

  He jumped across the room and threw the master switch, plunging the place into darkness. He stood silently, listening to her move about. Then she said, “It’s that damned caretaker, Cain. He and his wife must be coming home from a damned party or something. They’re driving into the garage!”

  Cain said, “Come down here, damn it,” and flashed his tiny beam on the stairs.

  In a moment she was stumbling into his arms. He wrapped them around her and held her briefly while she got herself together. Then they went into the cellar and out by the old doors and stepped into the weed-grown backyard where the wing met the house. Lisa gasped as she ran beside him.

  “Snap out of it!” he ordered her. “How do we get away from this damned place?” He stopped suddenly. “Why in hell are we running? We can face the cops, can’t we?”

  He felt the shaking of her body and the blubbering of her breath and he slapped her. She said, “No. Not yet, Cain. Please. We can’t. I can’t. Let’s get home.”

  Cain felt the conflict within him. He knew that he should call the police even if he didn’t have much use for them. He knew, too, that such a call would see them in for possibly endless questioning. Also, he felt that to call them might throw Lisa into trouble that she could not get out of. He didn’t reason it very clearly; he just knew that somewhere along the line she had been forced into playing ball with Toby. That was the only logical explanation for her staying close to him.

  He wanted more time to think about it so he caught her hand and started forward again. They were on the edge of the woods, some distance from the house and they didn’t look back.

  “We’ll find a boat of some kind,” he said, and felt her pulling at him to hurry.

  They reached Toby’s dock but there was no boat. Cain started up the beach and she followed, stumbling once in her haste. The second time she went down she stayed that way, her head hanging, her arms supporting her weight.

  “You’re wasting our time,” he said harshly. “Go back to the dock and wait for me. Get!”

  She rose and walked slowly away from him. He turned and hurried on. He went as far as the terrain would permit and saw nothing but a sunken rowboat half filled with sand. He started back, seeking an answer to the problem. They could, of course, hike to the highway and hope for a bus in the morning but, dressed as they were, looking as they did, that would be painfully obvious.

  He stopped and looked across the water wistfully. He could almost guess which was his place, which the Ryerson estate with all its boats. He started to turn and stopped again. It was just a dot suddenly touched by the path of moonlight and yet he could have sworn he saw someone standing up, moving around. He strained his eyes, then eased up, looked away and back. It was a boat though it was barely moving, coming in easily as if it were drifting.

  Cain walked on slowly, still watching. There was no further movement aboard and then the boat drifted out of the moonlight into darkness. Cain wondered if someone were in trouble. If so he just might be able to make a deal for his passage back.

  He got out his light and blinked it. There was no answer. He tried again, waited and gave up. Even if it were empty he might have transportation. He was still watching when it drifted back into the moonlight. Now it was closer and he saw no one at all. It was, he noted, a little runabout like the one Ryerson’s had. A common enough boat and capable of being rowed.

  He waited no longer but struggled out of his shirt and trousers, kicked off his shoes and plunged into the surf. The cold water chilled him but after a few strokes the warmth began to come back and he propelled himself powerfully across the smooth water. He reached up when he hit the hull, grabbed a handhold and swung himself on board. The boat rocked sharply.

  Someone yelled, “Hey!” and Cain turned to see a head appear over the stern.

  He said, “Oh no!” as the whole body followed the head. It was Honor Ryerson and she wore even less than he.

  Cain retreated behind the tiny cabin and crouched. “I won’t answer any questions until you get me something to put on.”

  “Want my jeans, Cain?” He was silent and a towel came damply out and hit him. He grabbed it and put it around his waist and waited. She said, “I’m dressed. I just got undone because I had to go overboard.”

  “You should carry a bathing suit.”

  “Like you?”

  Cain shivered miserably in the knotted towel. She said, “It conked out on
me. And I can’t find the trouble.”

  He took her flashlight and peered down at the motor. Honor stood beside him, grease on her snub nose and on her chin. Cain handed up the light, and directed her to flash it as he moved his hand. He couldn’t see very well and finally his hand went out of sight. He felt a wire where no wire belonged, ran it down and got his hand around an object that felt like an oversized coil. Gingerly, he traced the wire and loosened it, traced its partner and loosened that and then removed the coil and carefully brought it to light.

  The edge of the flashlight touched his face. His jaw was set hard as he looked at what he held. He set it down gently. “Who runs this rig besides you?”

  “No one. It’s my special job. I’m careful with it.”

  “I used it.”

  “Because I told Thomas you could have anything I’ve got.”

  Cain said, “That would sound just fine to strange ears,” and dived back into the machinery. When he came up for air he had the carburetor in his hand. He began to disassemble it with the tools he had found by his feet.

  “When did this conk out?”

  “When I was a little over halfway here. I couldn’t go back as easily because of the current.”

  “Uhm,” Cain said. He unscrewed the jets and squinted through them at the light. “You should clean this more often,” he said. He blew mightily and the jets cleared one by one. In ten minutes the motor was purring at him.

  “Thanks, Cain,” she said. “I don’t know why the carburetor didn’t occur to me.”

  “Didn’t it spit a while before it died?”

  “Yes, it’s been doing it all evening.” She handed him some waste. “Where can I take you?”

  “To Toby’s dock for my clothes and Lisa and then home.”

  “Oh, she’s with you.”

  “Damn it,” Cain said. “She helped you out last night and you can do the same for her tonight whether or not you have a fancied grievance.”

  “Oh, does she need help?”

  “Yes,” Cain said. He added grimly, “And so do you.”

  Honor made no answer but appeared to be concentrating on getting the boat into the dock. For the first time Cain became aware that she had been and still was running without lights.

  Lisa stood up and jumped aboard as they came abreast of her. “Well!”

  Honor said cheerfully, “Hold tight while Cain goes for his clothes.”

  “Is he undressed again?” Lisa saw the towel and began to laugh. “Cain, you’re becoming positively psychopathic about this.”

  Cain told her where to go and stalked off down the beach. In a few moments he was back, dressed and in better humor. Clothing gave him a dignity he found he could not possess without it. When he came on board Lisa was walking nervously in the tiny space.

  “Let’s hurry,” she said. She kept looking toward the trees as if expecting someone to appear there at any moment.

  “To my place,” Cain told Honor.

  She asked no questions. Cain sat on the motor hatch, cradling the coil he had found. There was no conversation at all until they had tied up at Cain’s dock and were in the cabin. Lisa, as usual, busied herself making food and coffee and, though Cain did not feel he could eat, he found himself wading into a pile of sandwiches with a will. Only Honor seemed unenthusiastic. It was gray, dull daylight with clouds coming up when they had finished.

  Cain said, “Honor, has anyone but me used your boat lately?”

  “No. I don’t let anyone.”

  “But they could have access to it?”

  “I suppose,” Honor said. She sounded puzzled. “But it’s in the boathouse and we keep it locked. There’s a good view of the door from the house and access would be pretty difficult.”

  “Unless someone swam under,” Cain said. He shook his head. “Not likely.” He took the coil and motioned for Honor to follow him outside. He set it carefully on the sand, a good distance from anything and pointed. “That was hooked to your motor.”

  “I thought a dirty carburetor was the trouble.”

  “Most of it was, fortunately. This stops motors permanently.”

  Honor looked it over carefully and then looked at Cain and shrugged. “It looks like one of those whistle smoke bombs to me. Who was the practical joker who …” She stopped. “But it didn’t go off.”

  “One of the delayed types,” Cain said. “There’ll be a series of little relays inside, each requiring so much current built up before they release and let the juice through. That way it wouldn’t go off until you’d run the motor for a pre-determined length of time.”

  “But I’ve been running it a lot tonight. I …” She stopped and flushed. Cain heard her whisper, “Damn!”

  He ignored her obvious blunder for the moment. He said “Honor, I’ll give you odds that this little gadget doesn’t just whistle. It’s a miniature mine. The Navy had some.” He didn’t add that smugglers did too, with a switch ready to throw if they needed to jettison both cargo and ship. Throw the switch and you still had so many minutes to get away before the Revenue boys got there. Cain had seen it work once — on a full-sized fishing smack, not a dinky little runabout. There was some wood and an oil slick. That was all.

  “Cain?”

  He turned to her and saw the struggle going on inside her written on her face. She was finding it hard to believe him. Then as she had a good look at his face, he saw horror and fear in her eyes. He said, “What were you doing cruising at this time of night?”

  “Maybe I have insomnia,” she said, looking squarely at him.

  “Damn it …”

  “For that matter, what were you doing over there without a boat?”

  “I went by car,” Cain said. “Someone stole my car. Therefore, I had no car.”

  “There are taxis on Kitsap and Toby has a phone, I’m sure.”

  Lisa laughed. “You can’t win, Cain. Why should she answer you if you don’t answer her.”

  Cain said, “Let’s go back inside.” He saw that Honor was nervous now, unable to stand still, shuffling her feet, moving a few steps one way and then back. She was frightened, too.

  “Who would want to blow you to hell?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked miserable. “I want to go home. I’m sleepy.”

  Cain and Lisa watched her turn and walk off a few steps and then begin a trot and finally break into a run that carried her swiftly to her boat and away. As if, Cain thought, she were afraid they would stop her. When she had disappeared around the headland, he went to his garage for some tools. The bomb was on his mind. He hated to think of it there on his land, evil, waiting to burst and destroy. He opened the shed door and stopped.

  His car was there, its dusty rear end facing him complacently. He walked around it slowly, studying it. But everything appeared normal. The keys were in the ignition and he pocketed them. He turned on the shed light and opened the hood and looked down. He took a flashlight and made a careful survey. There was no sign of anything extra attached to the motor. Satisfied, he gathered his tools and returned to the beach.

  Lisa was still there. He said, “My car is back.”

  “That was considerate.” She watched him work. He made her stand far back but she kept edging closer, peering. “Cain, how would anyone get a bomb like that?”

  “Munger could. He had some, I know.”

  “Then so could Toby.”

  “If Munger wished it, yes.”

  “Of course,” she said quickly. “But Toby is dead, Cain. He couldn’t have put it on her boat.”

  “No,” Cain said. “Not unless he did it before he was killed. I don’t see how …”

  “Who killed Toby, Cain?”

  He didn’t answer. He was pulling the fangs on the bomb. Trickles of sweat coursed down from his temples along his bony cheeks and dripped from his chin. Once he stopped and took a deep breath until his hand ceased shaking. He was glad the Navy had taught him something during the war besides how to kill.

  He stood
up and looked at the detonating assembly, turned and threw it as far as he could into the water. Then he took the bomb and tools to the garage. Lisa walked by his side.

  He said, “I don’t know who killed him, Lisa. But I’ll be the chief suspect.”

  “Why you?” She sounded very sleepy. Cain was bone tired, abysmally weary. He stumbled a little as he climbed on deck.

  “Because,” he said, making out the bunk, “I worked him over twice in one night.”

  “I think I’ll be suspected first,” she said. “He evicted me.”

  “Hardly a murder motive.”

  He had the bunk out now and he started to strip back the blankets to get at the top mattress. Lisa put a hand out, stopping him. “Don’t be silly, Cain. It’s too light to sleep outside.”

  “No,” Cain said stubbornly. He reached again but she hipped him aside and climbed into the bed.

  Lisa yawned. “Pull those curtains, Cain.”

  He did so and when he turned, she had her back to him. He undressed, glowering at her. Sleeping on the deck was going to be hard. He reached for some extra blankets. Lisa said sleepily, “They’ll suspect one or the other of us, Cain. It won’t make much difference.”

  “It seems to me it makes a lot of difference,” he said.

  “We’re linked together now, Cain. Irrevocably.”

  Cain said, startled, “We are?”

  “In the eyes of the public, the newspapers. It will come out that you put me up here. Anyone can see this has only one bed. The papers will imply things whether they are true or not.”

  Cain stood with his armload of blankets and looked at the back of her head. He shrugged, “Well, in that case …” He put the blankets back and crawled in beside her. Lisa turned, putting her head on his shoulder. He could feel the strong line of her leg and thigh against him through her pajamas. Reaching out, he found her hand and held it.

  “I sure got you into something,” Cain said. They were both asleep before she could point out the fallacy of the statement.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CAIN could feel someone’s hair tickling his ear. He opened his eyes halfway, lazily, sleepily. It wasn’t hair after all. It was a pair of warm, full lips. He could feel them when the voice said very softly: