The Love Talker Part 18

"Uh-huh." Doug grabbed at Laurie. Jeff resisted. For a moment she hung ludicrously between them, with Doug clutching her shoulders and Jeff retaining his grip on her knees.

"Hey," she said in feeble remonstrance.

Somehow-she was not quite sure how-Doug managed to get a firm hold on her. Jeff let go.

"I'll take care of her," Doug said.

"Thanks, Jeff," Laurie added.

"Any time." Jeff politely closed the door for them.

"He's mad," Laurie said. "You hurt his feelings."

"I'll hurt more than his feelings, if he . . ." Doug broke off. He peered more closely at her. "What's the matter?"

"I just saw a fairy, 'Tripping hither, tripping thither, n.o.body knows where or-' "

"Sshhh. Do you want to wake the whole house? Thank G.o.d the aunts are in bed."

"What time is it?"

"A little after eleven." Doug started up the stairs. "You've had quite an evening, haven't you?"

"I fixed old Herrrrrman," Laurie said with satisfaction. "Want me to tell you how?"

"I don't want you to tell me anything until you've slept it off."

"I'm not drunk."

"Oh, yeah? Not that I blame you."

"You're sweet," Laurie said. His grip was a little too hard for comfort, but at least it had some emotion behind it. Not like old wooden Jeff, she told herself, ignoring the fact that her own inappropriate comment had been responsible for Jeff's coolness. She nestled her head against Doug's shoulder. "You're a nice brother," she told him. "It's nice to have a brother. I never knew how nice it was to-"

"Oh, shut up." Doug dumped her on her bed.

"Help me off with my coat."

Doug did so. Then he stood stiffly with the coat over his arm like a well-trained butler.

"Now help me off with my dress."

"Drunks," said Doug viciously, "deserve to sleep in their clothes." He dragged the blankets over her and stalked out.

Laurie framed several witty, caustic retorts in her mind, but she fell asleep before she could say them.

She woke in the dead hours of the morning, every sense tingling.

With the unreasonable luck that often attends drunks and children, she was wide awake and in full possession of her wits, without the slightest trace of the hangover she fully deserved. She knew what had awakened her, and as she sat rigid, her ears c.o.c.ked, she heard it again: music. The same minor, haunting melody that had drifted out of the dark woods once before.

She shot out of bed as if propelled by a spring and reached for the light switch. The clock on the mantel said three thirty-five. The music went on, rising and falling in unending monotony. Its lack of resolution scratched at the nerves.

Laurie had no trouble remembering the events of the previous evening, a scant four and a half hours ago. The annihilation of Hermann, Jeff's kiss, the fairy at the window, Doug's anger ...

She didn't blame him for refusing to help her undress. If Ida had walked in on them during that process, the poor old lady would have fainted dead away. Apparently, though, Doug had relented and returned after she fell asleep. The window had been opened a few inches. The icy breeze made her s.h.i.+ver, which was no wonder, because she was wearing only her bra and panties. Good old Doug .. .

The music rose to a pitch of plaintive appeal, and Laurie heard-or thought she heard-a rustle of sound from below, like bedclothes being thrown back. She s.n.a.t.c.hed at the first garment that came to hand. It was the flowing, fur-trimmed golden robe Lizzie had tried to lend her for her date with Hermann. Laurie dropped it over her head and fumbled for her slippers. She would have preferred more practical attire, but apparently Doug had hung her dress up in the closet, for it was nowhere to be seen.

At least the robe wasn't too long. It hit her a good two inches above the ankles and did not impede her speed as she hurried down the stairs. Lizzie's door was closed. Laurie eased it open, and heard, with relief, the sound of slow, tranquil breathing. She must have imagined the sound of rustling bedclothes-or else Lizzie had stirred, rolled over, and gone back to sleep.

If the old lady had not wakened by now there was a good chance she might sleep on. Laurie had to hope for the best; there was no way of barricading the door. Dimly, through the closed window, she could still hear the plaintive music.

Holding tight to the rail, she ran down the stairs. Maybe if she hurried she could catch the musician and put an end to the whole business. Where the h.e.l.l was Doug? There was a light in the kitchen, so she headed in that direction.

Head down on the table, his cheek resting on his arm, Doug slept the sleep of the just and weary. A gaudily jacketed paperback book lay beside his hand. Laurie considered trying to wake him and decided it would take time she could not spare. No wonder he was exhausted; she was supposed to share the night watches, and she had copped out on him. s.n.a.t.c.hing a coat from among the garments hanging in the entryway, she opened the door and went out.

The icy night air made her catch her breath. She fumbled in the pockets of the coat. No gloves, but there was a scarf, and she put it over her head, knotting the ends under her chin.

A pale, pa.s.sionless moon slid through banks of gathering cloud and the shadows on the ground below s.h.i.+fted with it, shaping monstrous moving patterns on the snow. The bare black branches of the dormant roses stretched up like skeletal arms groping from a grave. Nothing moved except the shadows, but the music continued, so close now that it seemed impossible she could not see its source.

Laurie went forward. Instinct kept her in the shadow of the hedge-the old, primeval instinct that moves man to seek cover in the face of the inexplicable. She was fairly sure the musician was not hidden in the woods. They were too far away. He must be concealed in an outbuilding, or behind the boxwood. Laurie s.h.i.+vered. If something crouched in those shadows, piping music to the moon, it could continue its serenade undisturbed by her.

The windows of Jeff's cottage were dark. Naturally he was asleep at this hour. Any sane person would be. So what did that make her? Crazy. No question about it, she was out of her mind to prowl the night alone, while some maniac tootled on a flute. She should have awakened Doug.

Laurie came to a decision. She would go to Jeffs place. It was closer than the house. She need not traverse the boxwood alley, she could go around, past the garage and the toolshed.

Her slippers had rubber soles, good for walking on the slippery crust of snow, but not warm enough for a winter night. Her feet were already cold. She was grateful for the warmth of the long robe around her calves, especially since the coat she had taken appeared to be one of Lizzie's. It barely reached her knees. She hugged it closer around her body and went on, trying to move quietly. She reached the toolshed and stopped to catch her breath. Her pulse was racing, though she had not walked fast. Then a nasty chill ran through her as she realized that the music was now very close.

It was not her imagination. The unseen musician must be within a few yards of her.

Her heart sank down into her slippered feet. Jeff's cottage was only a few yards away.

She didn't want Jeff to be guilty. But if he was the trickster, this was the time to catch him in the act. She didn't dare go back for Doug. The music had been playing for a long time, it might stop any second. Gritting her teeth, she tiptoed on.

She had almost reached the garage before she saw it. The empty square of darkness where the closed doors should have been would have warned her if she had not been so intent on her suspicions of Jeff.

She stopped to stare and to wonder, and as she did so the darkness took shape and rushed toward her.

Part of her mind shrieked in wordless archaic terror. Another part recognized the object for what it was, but the knowledge did nothing to relieve her fear. At the last possible moment she forced her paralyzed muscles to move; the fender of the car brushed her arm as she threw herself to one side.

For the second time that night she went sprawling on the gravel, and for the second time hard hands yanked her to her feet. Jeff's face was ghastly in the gray moonlight.

"Are you hurt? Did it hit you?"

"Just brushed me." Laurie was amazed at the calmness of her voice. "Hurry, Jeff. See who's driving."

She craned her neck to look past him as he continued to hold her. The car had rolled gently to a stop at the end of the curved drive, its b.u.mper nudging the white-painted gate. The door on the near side-the driver's side-was closed. But Laurie thought she saw movement on the other side.

"Hurry," she said urgently. "Before he gets away."

Jeff stared wildly at her, his eyeb.a.l.l.s gleaming. Then he ran.

Laurie sat down on the driveway. She felt quite composed, but she preferred to sit. The moon went in, behind a cloud. Her teeth began to chatter. .

After an interval she heard a car door slam. Jeff came trotting back.

"n.o.body," he said briefly.

Laurie squinted, trying to see his face. The moonlight flickered on and off like a faulty light bulb.

"d.a.m.n," she said. "He got away."

"Stand up, you'll catch cold." Jeff extended his hand. Laurie let him pull her to her feet. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Just a few more inches of skin gone," Laurie said morosely. "Hey-what about footprints? If he sneaked out on the other side of the car, there should be t-t-t____ "You're cold," Jeff said cleverly. "Get in the house."

"But the t-t-t-t-----The footprints!"

"I'll check as soon as you're inside." He looked at her inquiringly, and despite his obvious concern the corners of his mouth twitched with amus.e.m.e.nt. "T-t-t-----?" he asked.

"Tracks!" Laurie got the word out.

He would have carried her, but she refused the offer. After all, a woman had to have some pride, and she had lost a good deal of dignity already. Her frustration about life in general focused on nearer objects; when they entered the kitchen and found Doug still placidly sleeping, she heaved him upright and shook him till his hair fell over his eyes.

Jeff watched for a while and then went out to look for footprints, remarking, "I hate sadism."

One of Doug's eyes opened. It glared wildly through his tangled hair like the eye of a cornered rat peering through dry gra.s.s.

A brief but animated dialogue ensued. Doug swept the hair from his brow with a gesture worthy of a Bronte hero.

"I can't believe it," he mumbled. "Never slept so hard . . . Wait a minute. Did you say you got hit by a car?"

"A near miss." Delayed reaction struck Laurie. She dropped into a chair, her legs extended, and contemplated the ruin of Aunt Lizzie's golden robe. Her b.l.o.o.d.y, dirty knees protruded through the rents in the skirt.

Doug stood up. He turned on the cold-water tap, stuck his head under it, and shook himself like a big dog.

"Speaking of dogs," he said, although Laurie had not done so, "where's that d.a.m.ned d.u.c.h.ess?"

"I don't know and I don't care. Don't you see, Doug-we're making progress. The musician was in the garage, that's why the music sounded so close. Little pixies can't drive cars. Somebody was behind that wheel, and it wasn't Jeff."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. The car was still moving when he picked me up."

The door opened and Jeff came in. He met Laurie's questioning eyes and shook his head.

"Nothing."

"But how could anyone get out of that car without leaving footprints?" Laurie demanded.

Jeff answered slowly, "There isn't much snow by the gate, under those big cedars. What there is is crusted hard. Maybe someone could go on all fours, crawling. . . . But I'm not sure that's what happened, Laurie. It may be my fault. I might have forgotten to set the parking brake."

"And the car just happened to start rolling when Laurie was in front of it?" Doug demanded.

"There is a slight incline. Not much, but it might be enough to-"

"And the garage doors? Don't you usually close them?"

"Yes, of course. But . . . d.a.m.n it, I don't remember! I had intended to go out this evening. Miss Lizzie said she needed milk for breakfast and there's a store in Frederick that's open late. I got involved in my work and decided it could wait till morning. So-well, I might have left the doors open."

"I don't think the car could have moved unless the engine was running," Laurie rea.s.sured him. "I don't remember hearing it, but it idles very quietly, you know, and I was concentrating on the music. No, Jeff, I'm sure it wasn't your fault. It was a deliberate attempt to run me down."

A strangled, unpleasant gurgle drew her attention to Doug. He was staring at her, his eyes bulging, his forefinger rigid and quivering as he pointed. She would not have been surprised to hear him shout: There's the culprit!

"Look at her," he gasped. "Look at-"

"I know I look awful," Laurie said irritably. "Hadn't you noticed? I've wrecked Aunt Lizzie's dress and-"

"Lizzie's dress. Lizzie's coat. A scarf over your head, hiding your hair .. . Oh, boy. If that car was a murder weapon, it wasn't aimed at you, Laurie. The intended victim was Aunt Lizzie."

CHAPTER 10.

In a jostling, jumbled rush they all headed for the stairs. Aunt Lizzie's placid breathing mocked their fears. She didn't wake even when Angel Baby raked Doug's ankles with teeth and claws, and he let out a muted scream.

Uncle Ned and Aunt Ida slept too. d.u.c.h.ess was in the library, under the table. She lifted one eyelid and thumped her tail agreeably at them before returning to her nap.

"It's like Sleeping Beauty," Laurie muttered. "Everybody in the whole d.a.m.n place is unconscious. How did d.u.c.h.ess get in here?"

"She sneaks in when she gets a chance," Jeff answered. "Then she hides so Miss Ida won't throw her out. She must have fallen asleep and been shut in."

So that accounted for d.u.c.h.ess-though, Laurie thought, not entirely. Uncle Ned always put the dog out for a brief run before he went to bed and then left her to "guard" the house. Everyone seemed to have been unaccountably neglectful of their duties that night.

Doug insisted on inspecting the scene of the crime and was furious when Jeff said he had returned the car to the garage.

"I'm going to be in enough trouble when your uncle sees that dented fender," Jeff protested plaintively.

"What difference does it make?" Laurie demanded of her brother. "You think you're Sherlock Holmes? If our villain left a clue in the car it's still there, but I doubt he'd be dumb enough to forget his wallet or his gla.s.ses-"

"What makes you think he wears gla.s.ses?" Doug asked.

"I don't!"

"Well, if you don't think he wears gla.s.ses, why did you-"