The Love Talker Part 22

Mary Ella's eyes remained fixed on her clasped hands, which rested genteelly on her lap.

"You borrowed books from Aunt Lizzie," Laurie went on. "You couldn't bring them home. Your father doesn't approve of reading for pleasure. But you could read there, in the woods, last summer. Rachel covered up for you; she picked nuts and berries enough for two. Mary Ella, what did you do in return-for Rachel?"

Mary Ella didn't stir. A squat, unresponsive lump, she continued to sit with folded hands and downcast eyes. Perhaps it was the very hopelessness of her pose that moved Laurie. It made her all the more determined to reach Mary Ella. Both girls were physically imprisoned, but this girl's mind and imagination had been walled in too. And that was the worst kind of tyranny, worse than stone walls and iron bars.

Laurie leaned forward and took the girl's limp hands in hers. "I will help you, Mary Ella. I can do it. Your parents won't dare interfere; they won't risk losing their lease. Nor, if I know them, will they turn down a chance to make money. I'll tell them I want to hire you to help with the housework. You can come every afternoon, and read. There's a good library at Idlewood. And when you're ready for college I'll lend you the money-coach you-help you get aid or a scholars.h.i.+p, whatever it takes."

It was like watching a statue come to life. The blaze of dawning hope in the girl's eyes almost made Laurie regret her reckless promise. Who do you think you are? she asked herself. G.o.d? Pygmalion?

"What do I have to d-d-d-----" Mary Ella began.

"You don't have to do anything. I'll help you in any case. I promise. But Rachel is in bad trouble, Mary Ella. I want to help her too. So far nothing serious has happened, but if this goes on, someone is going to get hurt. You covered for her, didn't you? She could get out at night-down those back stairs- but she couldn't do it without your knowledge. Don't you see, he's using her, making her do wrong things.

She's still a minor; no one will hold her responsible. But he must be stopped."

"He's going to m-m-m-marry her."

"Maybe that's what he told her. But even if he would-even if he could, she's underage-would you really want her to marry a man like that? A man who would seduce a young girl and try to injure a harmless old lady who has always been good to him?"

As she spoke she realized that the ideas she was presenting were not new to Mary Ella. The girl was not stupid; in fact, she was probably a lot smarter than her older sister. But Rachel would have resisted the voice of reason and caution, and Mary Ella would have no choice but to support her. The alternative would have been for Mary Ella to betray Rachel to their parents.

"B-b-but what can I do?"

"Nothing. You've confirmed what I suspected. That was all I wanted you to do." Laurie stood up. "Maybe I can keep you girls out of this. I'll try. If there is trouble, you come to me, understand? Straight to me. Now tell me how to get to Mrs. Wade's house."

Mary Ella gave her directions. Emotion seethed in her pitifully homely face now and Laurie sensed, with some dismay, that part of the emotion was admiration for her. She felt like the unfortunate Chinese gentleman who, having saved a drowning man from the river, had found himself stuck with the rescuee for the rest of his life. She meant to keep the promises she had made, but how she was going to do it she did not know; like Scarlett O'Hara, she decided to think about that tomorrow. She started toward the door. Mary Ella tried to speak.

"B-b-b-be c-c-c-----"

"Careful? I will, don't worry. I won't say anything to your mother."

"N-n-no! I m-m-mean. ... I want to t-t-t-----"

Laurie patted her on the shoulder.

"I'm in a terrible hurry, honey. I want to get this settled. We'll talk later, okay?"

When she reached the kitchen Mrs. Wilson was cutting out biscuits with the stolid efficiency of a machine. Laurie gave her a bright smile.

"Mary Ella says it's fine with her," she announced. "I'll come back and talk to you and your husband about it another time-tomorrow, maybe. I want to get home before it starts to snow."

Pine sleety flakes stung her face as she ran across the yard toward the car, but she scarcely noticed the threatening weather. It would have taken more than a little snow to stop her now. The chance of talking to Rachel privately was too good to miss. The situation was bad-in fact, it was a horrible mess-and a lot of people were going to be hurt before it was over. Yet Laurie's dominant feeling was one of relief. It could have been so much worse.

She had no trouble finding the Wade house. It was one of a group of cheap modern homes in one of the small subdivisions that had sprouted like mushrooms among the fields. She rang the bell. Through the flimsy walls she heard voices, male and female, raised in heated argument, and felt a stab of alarm until she realized it was the television set. So poor Rachel gorged herself on soap operas whenever she got the chance. Such shocking frivolities were undoubtedly forbidden at home. Laurie wondered how Mr. Wilson had been persuaded to expose Rachel to a household whose standards were so relaxed.

She was about to ring again when the door opened a crack. A wide blue eye appeared in the opening.

"I can't let anybody in," Rachel said.

"That's a very sensible rule, but it doesn't apply to me. No one could possibly object to your letting me in."

"I promised Miz Wade I wouldn't."

The door started to close. The opening was too narrow to admit Laurie's foot, and she a.s.sumed the door was on the chain. She spoke quickly. "Rachel, I know all about it. Didn't you realize you were committing a crime?"

Rachel was no longer visible-even her eye had disappeared-but Laurie heard her quick intake of breath. For a moment nothing happened. Then the chain rattled and the door opened wide.

"I don't know what you mean," Rachel said.

For an instant even Laurie half believed her. The upturned, flower-fair face, the s.h.i.+ning azure eyes, the cloudy aureole of hair . . . It's a good thing I'm not a man, Laurie thought cynically.

"Oh, yes, you know," she said firmly. "Let me in. We can't talk here." The girl continued to bar the door, and Laurie went on, "I don't blame you, Rachel. You're young, and he can be very persuasive. Maybe we can figure out some way of putting a stop to this without going to the police."

Alarm flared in the girl's face at the mention of the word. She stepped back. Laurie followed her into the house and closed the door.

She was in a tiny foyer with doors on two sides. Silently Rachel led the way into the room at the right-a living room, with an imitation fireplace on one wall. The cheaply built house, surely only a few years old, was already showing signs of wear, and if Rachel's duties included housecleaning she had not yet begun the day's ch.o.r.es. The wall-to-wall carpeting, an impractical cream color, was sadly spotted and stained. The furniture needed dusting. The floor was littered with toys and the coffee table was covered with magazines, most of them devoted to the intricacies of daytime TV. The house smelled faintly of spoiled food and of another odor Laurie could not immediately identify. Clearly, Mrs. Wade was what Aunt Ida would have called a slattern. But she was a cheerful slattern; for all its disorder the house had a warm, comfortable atmosphere quite unlike the cold neatness of the Wilson home.

"Where is the baby?" Laurie asked. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the TV drama.

"Asleep."

"He must be a darned good sleeper. Turn that off, Rachel, will you please?"

Rachel complied. When she turned to face Laurie she was more composed than the latter had expected, although her pretty mouth was not as pretty as usual.

"Did you mean that, about the police?"

"Now, Rachel, you can't be that naive," Laurie said, in mingled pity and exasperation. "I don't suppose he told you what he intended to do-"

"It was a joke!" Rachel wrung her slim hands. "I guess it wasn't a very nice joke, but-"

"It wasn't a joke. He wants the money."

"Only what's coming to him."

"So you do know that much."

Rachel's eyes fell. Her long, thick lashes were tremulous against her cheek.

She'll be all right, Laurie thought. There isn't a policeman or a judge in the state who'd believe anything evil about her. I don't believe it myself. But was I ever as stupidly trusting as she is? Oh, Lord, I suppose I was.

"I'll be honest with you, Rachel," she said. "I haven't decided what to do yet. I just figured this out a little while ago, and I'm still dazed. I would rather not go to the police. I never thought I entertained any of those corny old ideas about the family honor and the family name, but I guess I do. It will be a horrible shock to the aunts, to learn that one of their own flesh and blood .. . He hasn't done anything so far that would demand a criminal charge-except for trying to run over me, and he'd probably claim he, only meant to frighten me."

She was talking to herself rather than to Rachel, trying to clarify her confused thoughts. Rachel watched her from under her lashes, her hands tightly clasped.

"The important thing," Laurie continued, "is to make sure he's stopped-that he can't ever profit from this situation. I can arrange that. . . . Or can I? I'll have to tell Aunt Lizzie the whole story. d.a.m.n, this is more complicated than I thought."

"I'll help you," Rachel said suddenly.

"What?" Laurie had almost forgotten the girl as she wrestled with her dilemma. "How can you help?"

"If I do, you'll have to promise not to tell Poppa," Rachel said.

"I don't want to tell him, but I don't know-"

"Please!" Rachel lifted her clasped hands as if in prayer. Her wide cornflower-blue eyes entreated. "I've got something you can use to keep him from hurting Miss Lizzie. It's a-a plan, like, that he wrote out, in his own handwriting. So if anything did happen to Miss Lizzie, they could prove he did it and then he wouldn't get the money. Once he knows you have the paper ..."

"Hmmm." Laurie eyed the girl thoughtfully. "You aren't as naive as I thought. You're right, a person cannot profit from a crime. You really have such a thing-practically a signed confession?"

"Yes." Rachel nodded vigorously. "He wrote it down so I wouldn't forget what to do. Come with me and we'll get it right now."

"Where is it?"

A delicate rose-pink blush stained the girl's cheeks.

"In a place we had. A place where we used to meet and .. . I'll show you. It's not far."

"But-" Laurie caught the girl's arm as she started toward the door. "Rachel, we can't just walk out. What about the baby?"

"I'll run next door and ask Miz Filcher to come over for a few minutes. We can be back in half an hour, honest. And then," Rachel said, "you'll have the proof. He won't be able to hurt anybody."

She ran out.

Laurie tried to collect her wits. Obviously Rachel feared one thing above all else-that her parents would learn about her pathetic love affair. "A place where we used to meet, and . . ." No need for the girl to finish that sentence. Laurie didn't blame Rachel for being frightened, or for betraying her lover with such unattractive promptness. In Rachel's eyes, and in that of her parents, attempted murder was far less reprehensible than fornication. That's what Wilson would call it, along with a number of other forthright biblical nouns. Laurie s.h.i.+vered as she pictured Wilson's rage. He'd beat the girl half to death. No, she did not blame Rachel.

The girl was back almost at once, flushed and panting.

"Hurry," she begged, tugging at Laurie. "She's coming over as soon as she finishes peeling the potatoes. Let's go, right now."

"Are you sure-"

"She said she'd come. Please hurry. Please!"

They stepped out of the door into a cloud of white. The snow was coming fast and there was already a slick coating on the driveway. The bad weather gave an additional reason for haste.

"How far is it?" Laurie asked, as they got into the car.

"Only a few miles down the road. Turn right when I tell you."

The turn was into a woodland track, rutted and slippery. Laurie fought the wheel as the car skidded. When they had gone a short distance, Rachel directed her to turn off the track and stop in a small clearing. The girl jumped out.

"This way," she said. "It's not far."

Laurie got out of the car, feeling stiff and slow and elderly by comparison to Rachel's quicksilver movements. She was beginning to have doubts about getting out of the glade; the car had settled into its resting place with a cowlike stolidity and a squelch of mud. She comforted herself with the knowledge that she couldn't be too far from home. If worse came to worst, they could walk and someone could drive Rachel back to the Wades.

The snow clung to her eyelashes and blurred her vision. Rachel was so far ahead that she was barely visible; the curtain of white flakes gave her slim figure an eerie look of semitransparency, and her cloud of pale-gold hair was the only bright spot in the gathering gloom.

There was a path of sorts. Tall pines leaned in overhead and cut off some of the snow, but there was enough of it on the ground to make walking treacherous. Laurie was about to shout at the agile little figure ahead and announce her intention of giving up for that day when Rachel stopped. Her face was pink with cold and her eyes danced. Of course, Laurie thought; she's relieved to have this almost over. She knew she was doing wrong. She just didn't know how to get herself out of it.

"We'd better come another time," Laurie said. "I don't think-"

"But we're there," Rachel said.

Laurie had been so intent on keeping her footing that she had given scant attention to her surroundings. Now she saw that the path had gradually descended until high banks closed in on either side. This must be an old streambed. The banks were rocky in some places and in others were thickly covered with tough wild vines, seemingly impenetrable, even in winter. Twists of honeysuckle, tough as wire, writhed over the corpses of the fallen trees they had strangled. The stark black-and-white landscape, the lowering gray sky suggested the setting for one of the more morbid Grimm fairy tales.

Rachel reached out a mittened hand. Laurie blinked. For a moment, to eyes blurred by moisture, it had seemed like magic. A black hole had appeared amid the tangled honeysuckle.

"A cave," she exclaimed.

"It's really big inside," Rachel said. "Come on. I'll show you."

Before Laurie could protest Rachel had dropped to her hands and knees and crawled into the hole. Her voice echoed hollowly: "Come oooooon. . . ."

Laurie had no intention of following.

"Get your paper and come back," she yelled. "We haven't got time to fool around. Hurry, before-"

She never finished the sentence. It was interrupted by a m.u.f.fled crash and a shriek.

Sometime later, when she had been called upon to defend her decision, Laurie insisted that she had had no choice but to enter the cave. If Rachel had been injured, she might require immediate attention. At the time she didn't think so clearly. In fact, she didn't think at all; she simply responded to the wordless demand of that cry of pain.

After the first few feet the surface under her hands was rock, not dirt, and even in the darkness she sensed that the tunnel had opened up into wider s.p.a.ces. She called the girl's name, and winced back as a thousand mocking echoes answered. Surely Rachel couldn't have gone much farther. . . .

The sudden flare of light was as startling as a blow. Laurie's eyes closed involuntarily. She did not see the rock fall, but she felt it, in a sharp burst of pain on the back of her head, before the blackness of unconsciousness engulfed her.

CHAPTER 12.

"Stupid," Laurie told herself. "Dumb. Idiot. Fool."

She was calling herself names, but she wasn't doing it aloud because her mouth was filled with nasty wet cloth. Her wrists were tied behind her, and her feet were also bound. She was so cold her teeth would have chattered if they had had room to do so. Someone had removed most of her clothes. The chill, harsh stone of the cave floor sc.r.a.ped her bare back as she wriggled, trying to free herself. It wasn't as cold inside as it had been out in the open air, but it was cold enough.

The bonds that held her were not rope or wire; they felt like soft cloth, but they did what they were designed to do, and the fact that they were fairly comfortable, even when she strained against them, was not rea.s.suring. Quite the reverse. They confirmed a theory she had formulated as soon as she woke up to find herself half naked and half frozen. Once the freezing process was complete the bonds would be removed, leaving no telltale marks, and she would be dumped somewhere in the woods-fully clothed, of course-a victim of exposure and her own folly.

How had he known they were coming to the cave? Rachel might have telephoned him when she ran next door to ask the neighbor to watch the baby, but Laurie didn't think the girl had had time for that.

At that point in her reflections she remembered the note she had left on the kitchen table. "Stupid" was too feeble a word. Not only had she mentioned that she was going to the Wilsons, but she had added: "I think I've got it!" She couldn't wait to rub it in... . . Why hadn't she had the elementary common sense to realize that a note could be read by someone other than the person it was addressed to?

Because she was stupid. Because she had never really believed he meant to harm any of them, even Aunt Lizzie. There were other ways of getting what he wanted-safer ways that did not necessitate murder. Theoretically anyone was capable of killing, given the proper provocation-in self-defense, or to protect a loved one. But to kill for money-surely that presupposed a degree of emotional sickness that should have been visible to a smart observer-such as herself. He didn't seem like that kind of person.

The only sound she could produce was a groan, so she groaned, and the mocking darkness moaned back at her in a hundred voices. To think that she had called Rachel naive!

Her last, faint hope of survival was based on that very naivete of Rachel's. She couldn't believe that Rachel had deliberately led her into the clutches of a killer. Nor was it likely that he would hurt Rachel. He must believe the girl to be thoroughly under his spell, and he wouldn't want to risk too many "accidents." There was a chance that he had simply sent Rachel back to her baby-sitting, trusting that a combination of fear and love would keep the girl quiet. But she might not keep quiet. She had been visibly shaken by Laurie's mention of the police. If the note was found ... if they went to the Wilsons and then to Mrs. Wade's, following her trail ... if they could force Rachel to talk. . . .