The Love Talker Part 8

This fairy was perched on the branch of a fir tree. A pine cone, nearby, gave a good idea of its size. It had wings and long hair and was unquestionably female. Its face was even more unpleasant than that of the first creature. The hair was Medusalike, resembling strands of thick wool or mult.i.tudinous antennae. Some of the strands were blurry, as if they had been moving when the picture was taken. Hair, hide, and face were pale lavender.

Hastily Laurie flipped through the remaining photos. One had turned out badly; the creature had moved and would not have been identifiable if she had not seen the other pictures. The last of the collection was the best-or the worst; a whole bevy or band or pride of the creatures in what appeared to be animated conversation on a maple branch. Their bodies were partially concealed by the brilliant scarlet and gold leaves, and Laurie was glad she didn't know what they were talking about.

The pictures had been taken several months before. The autumnal leaves and green gra.s.s proved that.

It was with some reluctance that Laurie forced herself to meet her aunt's waiting eyes. Lizzie looked apprehensive and triumphant at the same time. She did not need Laurie's verbal comment to know that she was impressed; her face must have shown her shock and surprise.

"Amazing," Laurie muttered.

"Aren't they? If Conan Doyle could have seen these!" Lizzie's eyes sparkled. "I met him once, you know. A man of great sensitivity, but ..." She lowered her voice as if about to impart a great secret. "But I suspect just a teeny bit gullible. His pictures were nothing like these. I hate to say it, but I think he was taken in. Cutouts, my dear; obviously paper cutouts."

"Really?" Laurie scarcely heard what she was saying. Her mind was in a whirl. She looked through the pictures again and found them even more disturbing the second time. "Auntie, can I borrow these?"

"No!" Lizzie s.n.a.t.c.hed, so quickly that one of the snapshots bent in her hands. "No, you promised. They are very rare. I can't take a chance of their being mislaid."

"I understand." Humor them, Laurie told herself. You are supposed to humor crazy . . . Crazy, my eye, she thought. If she's having hallucinations, so am I.

"Well, then, couldn't you get copies of them? I promise I won't publish them or-"

"Oh, you couldn't do anything like that! It would be dreadful. I promised to keep them a secret."

"Whom did you promise? Who took these?"

In her urgency she forgot to guard her voice, and Lizzie retreated, clutching her photos, with an exaggerated expression of terror on her wrinkled face.

"Now stop that, Auntie," Laurie exclaimed. "You know I'd never do anything you didn't want me to. I'm sorry I spoke so brusquely, but I'm very interested."

"Well, perhaps I can get copies of them."

"I would appreciate that."

"I'll try. You can see, can't you," Lizzie said, rather pitiably, "why I was so interested?"

"Yes," Laurie said. "I can see."

She left Lizzie rummaging in her wardrobe and went down the hall to Doug's room. He was not there. A tap on Ida's door received a rather grumpy response.

"I am dressing, Laura. We are leaving shortly. Are you ready?"

"I will be."

Laurie went downstairs. The family inhabited only the central portion of the house; the west wing was not used, though its antique-filled rooms were meticulously cleaned at regular intervals. The heat was kept to a minimum in that area, however, and Laurie hoped she wouldn't have to track Doug through the chilly corridors. She found him in the parlor, in his favorite position on the sofa. A half-empty gla.s.s stood on the floor by his trailing hand; his eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily through his nose.

Hands on her hips, Laurie stood looking down at him. He was her mother's son, her half-brother; but the traditional blood tie did not color her feelings toward him. He was virtually a stranger. A good-looking man, certainly, but it wasn't the Morton brand of good looks. He didn't in the least resemble their delicate, fine-boned mother. Maybe he looked like his father. Laurie had no way of knowing. There were no pictures of Mr. Wright in Anna's house. Perhaps Anna had slashed them to bits; such was her engaging habit whenever she shed a husband.

Laurie wished she could draw. It would be fun to do a caricature of Doug as a modern knight, rec.u.mbent on his tombstone. The casual modern clothing would be a funny contrast to the stiff position, ankles crossed like a dead Crusader's, arms folded on his chest.

Doug's eyes opened. They were a bright, clear brown with little flecks of gold, not the dark Morton brown.

"I was not asleep," he said.

"Of course not." Laurie pushed his feet off the couch and sat down. "Did you talk to Ida?"

"Yep."

"Well?"

Doug reached for his gla.s.s. How he could drink without spilling when he was practically p.r.o.ne Laurie did not know, but he managed it.

"Lizzie used to walk in her sleep when she was a kid," he said. "Then the habit stopped-until a few months ago. Ida caught her one night, heading out the kitchen door. She didn't think too much of it until last week. Lizzie got out again and they didn't find her until the next morning."

"My G.o.d," Laurie gasped. "But she looks all right- didn't she get sick?"

"The Lord looks after fools and children," Doug answered. "It had rained earlier that evening, but after midnight the rain stopped and the temperature rose. That's one of the reasons why she didn't even catch cold. That, and the fact that d.u.c.h.ess had gone with her. They found the two of them curled up under a tree, warm as toast."

"My G.o.d," Laurie repeated helplessly.

"Uncle Ned usually leaves d.u.c.h.ess loose in the house at night," Doug went on. "Under the fond delusion that she's a watchdog. She is insatiably curious-and Lizzie left the back door wide open when she went out. d.u.c.h.ess went along for the walk."

"That must have been when Ida wrote us," Laurie said. "I'll bet the poor old dear has been sitting up nights watching Lizzie. Why didn't she tell us about it?"

"You know how she is-tough as rock. She was ashamed of her panic after she had written. I think she was trying to make herself confide in us, but it's hard for her to admit there is a situation she can't handle-or that one of the marvelous Mortons has become senile."

Laurie shook her head. "It's more than that, Doug. Lizzie isn't seeing things. Or, if she is, I'm seeing them too."

"The photographs?"

"Yes. I tried to get them away from her so I could show you, but she's like a child with a favorite toy. Doug, I've never seen anything like them."

"Not hummingbirds, or shadows?"

"Not by a d.a.m.ned sight." Laurie went on to describe the snapshots, aware that she was not doing them justice. "It was their faces," she ended. "Half human, half . . . something else. And filled with malice. They were disturbing, Doug."

"I've got to see them."

"I asked Lizzie if she could get copies. She said she'd try. Doug, no child took those photos. Either they were faked by someone a lot smarter than I am, or-"

"Come on. You don't really believe that."

"I don't believe in fairies, not after seeing those snapshots," Laurie said vehemently. "Goblins, gnomes, evil spirits, maybe."

"Aren't there bad fairies as well as good ones?"

"Fairies are soulless," Laurie said. "Neither good nor bad. Some are benevolently disposed toward mortals, however, while others are definitely malicious. The book I was reading last night talked about a group called the Unseelie Court-"

"Un-sealy?"

Laurie spelled the word. "It comes from an old Celtic word meaning 'holy.' The Seelie Court was the good guys, and the Unseelie-"

"I get it. I guess I should have a look at those pictures. They must be remarkable to shake you up this badly."

"What are we going to do now?"

"Get ready to go out to dinner," Doug said. "You better hurry."

"But I can't-"

"Of course you can. Tomorrow we'll pay a call on the Wilsons. I'd like to talk to those remarkable children; they seem to be at the bottom of this in some way. But we can't do it tonight; nice little kiddies spend the evening doing homework and go to bed early. We'll take turns watching Lizzie's door after she goes to bed, to make sure she doesn't go for another late stroll. I told Ida we'd take on that job."

"Of course."

"Then what else is there to do right now?"

"Nothing, I guess. Why don't we ask Jeff to share the watch?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because he's a suspect."

"A ..." Laurie's voice failed her. "What are you talking about?"

"It follows, doesn't it? If somebody faked those photos, then Jeff is an obvious candidate."

"But why would he- "Why would anybody? Since there is no sensible motive immediately apparent, Jeff is as good a prospect as anyone."

"But . . ." Laurie stopped. "You're jealous," she said.

"Of whom?" Doug c.o.c.ked a lazy eyebrow at her. "You or Lizzie?"

The Schotts' home was not far away. Doug drove the family Lincoln; as he pointed out, it was ridiculous to ask Jeff to take them and come back for them when he was quite capable of handling the car. The night was cold and overcast. As they descended the steps their breaths made meeting patches of whiteness in the air.

Doug stowed his ladies carefully in the back seat. Even Laurie did not disdain his helping hand; she was wearing the highest, most tottery high-heeled shoes in her possession, for reasons known only to herself. Uncle Ned, in his duffel coat and red knit cap, got in the front beside Doug and helped him drive.

"Watch out for the bridge. It always freezes before the road. Fifteen miles an hour is plenty fast enough. Make sure you look both ways when we come to the intersection. The trees block your vision. This next curve, there's a family of racc.o.o.ns that crosses the road sometimes. I always make Jeff slow down when we come to ..."

Laurie had to admire Doug's patience. He followed Ned's instructions to the letter, without so much as a snarl.

Like the Mortons, the Schotts were "old family." The area had been settled by two different national groups, the Scots and the Germans. If they had ever been antagonistic, their enmities had long since been forgotten as the "old families" drew together against the newcomers. Mary Schott had been a MacGregor. Though she was younger than Lizzie by about ten years, they were good friends. She greeted them all with cheerful cries.

"So good to see you two children again! Hermann was thrilled when he heard you were back, Laurie. And Doug, how you have grown!"

"People do," Doug said moderately, surrendering his jacket to George Schott, who slapped him on the back with such hearty goodwill that he staggered.

"Sure does make a fella feel old," George said. "Seems like only yesterday you and Hermann were fis.h.i.+ng in the creek down there, playing ball-"

"And trying to gouge each other's eyes out," Doug said. "We fought a lot, as I recall."

George threw his head back and roared with laughter.

"You sure did. Boys will be boys. Best thing in the world, learn to defend themselves."

"Balderdash," said Uncle Ned distinctly. "Fighting never makes any sense."

"Good old Ned." George let out another shout of laughter. "Always the peacemaker, eh? Remember the time you came down and wanted me to thrash Hermann because he gave Doug a b.l.o.o.d.y nose?"

From the contemplative expression on Doug's face Laurie thought he remembered the occasion quite well. She didn't; but she did recall that Hermann was three years older than Doug, and that he had always been heavy for his age. Doug had been wiry and slim.

Balancing on the unaccustomed stilt heels, she swayed, and Doug caught her arm.

"What are you wearing those stupid things for?" he whispered. Thanks to her added three inches, his mouth was now on a level with her ear.

"Never mind."

When the visitors' outdoor clothing had been carried away by the maid, the Schotts led them into the living room. The house, like that of the Mortons, was very old. The gracious room, with its wide carved moldings, was furnished in impeccable taste. Every piece looked as if it had been selected by the editorial staff of a "beautiful house" magazine, and Laurie had a feeling that if a single object had been moved so much as an inch from its designated place, the Schotts would have called in a decorator to replace it.

Hermann was busy with ice and bottles. The gilt b.u.t.tons of his tartan waistcoat strained across his rotund tummy. Laurie was happy to see that her guess had been correct; in her high heels she was a full inch taller than Hermann.

"Excuse me for not greeting you right away," Hermann said. "But I always say the best hospitality is to have the drinks ready, isn't that right? And . . . here ... we ... go! Sit yourselves down, folks, and the waiter will pa.s.s among you."

He was even worse than she had antic.i.p.ated. Laurie was ready for a drink-perhaps alcohol would numb her critical faculties-and she was annoyed to observe that Hermann had not bothered to consult her tastes. The Schotts drank Old-Fas.h.i.+oneds, so everybody drank Old-Fas.h.i.+oneds. There were a few gla.s.ses of sherry for the ladies, who were served in strict order of age, so one gla.s.s of wine was left on the tray when Hermann came to Laurie. Bending with some difficulty from the region of his waist- that feature could not be more closely defined-he proffered the tray and grinned horribly.

"It's been too long, my dear," he whispered.

"Since what?" Laurie hesitated for only a moment. She did not like Old-Fas.h.i.+oneds, but anything was better than sherry. She took one of the fat, squat gla.s.ses with some difficulty. It was so draped with bits of fruit she could scarcely get a grip on it.

Hermann's smile wavered, then reappeared broader than ever.

"Little devil," he whispered, winked, and moved on.

Laurie saw that Doug had been watching. The muscles in his thin cheeks twitched. He was trying not to laugh. She took a firm grip on her gla.s.s and of course did not throw the contents at him.

Laurie was sitting on a loveseat. Now that it was too late, she realized she had been maneuvered into this position, and she had a strong hunch that when Hermann finished serving the drinks, he was going to occupy the place next to her. She grimaced at Doug and jerked her head sideways, hoping he would get the hint and sit beside her. He gave her a blank stare. She suspected he knew quite well what she was trying to convey.

However, retribution was about to fall on Doug's unsuspecting head. The pitter-patter of dainty feet was heard without. As one man the Schotts stopped what they were doing and turned, like well-trained extras, to stare at the open archway. The Emperor comes, Laurie thought. His Majesty approaches. . . . And then, as she saw who it was: Here she is, Miss America!

The newcomer wore a long taffeta gown of a bilious shade of green. It was exceedingly low cut and quite inappropriate for a quiet family evening, particularly since none of the others were in evening dress. The contours displayed by the low-cut neckline were worth the display-if, Laurie thought, you liked lots of pink, plump, healthy flesh. The girl's face was pretty-if, thought the same critic, you didn't mind a complete absence of intelligence, humor, and amiability.

George Schott rose ponderously from his chair.

"Here she is," he boomed. "Our little Sherri. You all remember Sherri, I'm sure. Grown, hasn't she?"

Sherri pouted prettily.

"Oh, Daddy!" she said.

She whirled into the room, nodded at the Morton ladies, and s.n.a.t.c.hed Laurie's limp hands. "I bet you don't remember me," she said.