A Touch of Death (Hard Case Crime Book 17) Read online

  I said nothing. I was busy with a lot of things. She knew the house had been searched before, but still she hadn’t reported it to the police. That meant she couldn’t, and that I was still right. She was in whatever it was right up to her neck. She couldn’t report me either.

  Her eyes were slightly mocking. “But I see you admit you had started to search the place. What changed your mind? I was asleep and wouldn’t bother you.”

  “It got a little crowded,” I said. “With three of us.”

  “Three?”

  “The other one was the man who tried to kill you.”

  “Oh, we’re going back to that again?”

  “Listen,” I said. I told her what had happened.

  “You don’t expect me to believe that?” she asked when I had finished.

  “When you go back to the house, take a look at what’s left of your records and the player. We rolled on ’em. The other guy was a heavyweight, too.”

  “He was?” she asked. She was thinking about it. Then she shrugged it off. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Suit yourself,” I said.

  Then I stopped. We had both heard it. It was a car crossing that wooden culvert at the edge of the meadow. It came on, and pulled to a stop right in front of the porch. I could hear the brakes squeak.

  I shook my head savagely and motioned for her to stay where she was. She couldn’t be seen through the front window. I stepped out into the other room. The coat, with the gun in it, was on the back of a chair against the other wall. As I started across I could look out the front door and see the car. There was only one person in it, and it was a girl. I could hear the radio, crooning softly.

  I went out and walked around the car to the driver’s side. She smiled. She was an ash blonde with an angelic face and a cool pair of eyes, and you knew she could turn on the honey-chile like throwing a switch at Boulder Dam. She turned it on.

  “Good moarornin’,” she said. It came out slowly and kept falling on you like honey dripping out of a spoon. “It’s absolutely the silliest thing, but I think I’m lost.”

  “Yes?” I said. She was eight miles from a county road and twenty from the highway. And she didn’t look much like a bird watcher. “What are you looking for?”

  She poured another jug of it over me. “A farmhouse. It’s a man named Mr. Gillespie. They said to go out this road, and take that road, and turn over here, and go down that way, you know how people tell you to go somewhere, they just get you all mixed up, it’s the silliest thing. Actually. All these roads with no names on them, how do you know which one they mean?”

  Maybe I imagined it, but the patter and the eyes didn’t seem to match. And the eyes were looking around.

  The radio had quit crooning and was talking. I didn’t pay any attention to it. Not then.

  “Did they tell you to go through a gate?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes, definitely a gate. Mr. Cramer, he’s the manager of the store, he was the one that found out Mr. Gillespie had forgotten to sign one of the time-payment papers when he bought the cookstove and took it home in his truck. Anyway, he definitely said a gate, and then about a mile after the gate you turn— I know you’re not Mr. Gillespie, are you? You don’t look a bit like him.”

  “No,” I said. “My name’s Graves. I’m on a fishing trip.”

  “My,” she said admiringly, looking at the white shirt and the tie, “you go fishing all dressed up, don’t you? My brother, when he goes fishing, he’s the messiest thing, actually, you should see him.”

  “I just got here,” I said. “A few minutes ago.”

  Her story was plausible enough. She might be looking for somebody named Gillespie. God knows, she sounded as if she could get lost. She could get lost in a telephone booth, or a double bed. But still …

  An icicle walked slowly up my spine and sat down between my shoulder blades.

  It was the radio. It was what the radio was saying.

  “… Butler …”

  “Are you fishing all alone?” Dreamboat asked.

  All I had to do was stand there in the sunlight beside the car and try to hear what the radio was saying, and remember it, and listen to this pink-and-silver idiot, and answer in the right places, and at the same time try to figure out whether she was an idiot or not and what she was really up to, and keep her from noticing I was paying any attention to the radio.

  “Mrs. Madelon Butler, thirty-three, lovely brunette widow of the missing bank official sought since last June eighth …”

  Widow. So they’d found his body.

  “Mrs. Butler is believed to have fled in a blue 1953 Cadillac.”

  “I don’t see any car,” she said, looking around. “How did you get here?”

  “… sought in connection with the murder. Police in neighboring states have been alerted, and a description of Mrs. Butler and the license number of the car …”

  “Pickup truck,” I said. “It’s in the shed.”

  “… since the discovery of the body late yesterday, but no trace of the missing money has been found. Police are positive, however, that the apprehension of Mrs. Butler will clear up …”

  The man had known the body’d been found, and that they were going to arrest her. He didn’t want her arrested. He still didn’t. Maybe this lost blonde wasn’t lost.

  “Malenkov,” the radio said.

  But she was going to get lost, and damned fast.

  “—drink of water,” she was saying. She was smiling at me. She wanted to come into the house. She wanted to look around.

  I smiled at her. “Sure, baby. But water? Look, I got bourbon.”

  I was leaning in the window a little. I slid her skirt up.

  “Thought I saw an ant on your stocking,” I said. I patted a handful of bare, pink-candy thigh. “Come on in, Blondie.”

  The “You—” was as cold and deadly as a rifle shot. Then she got back into character. “Well! I must say!”

  But the only thing she could do, under the circumstances, was go. She went.

  I took a deep breath and watched the car go across the meadow and into the timber, and then I could hear it climbing the hill in second gear. It didn’t stop. I heard it die away in the distance.

  He might be out there in the timber somewhere with his gun, or he might be still in town. Maybe he’d just sent her scouting. If that had been his car following us last night, he had finally figured out where we’d turned off, and he knew we had to be back in this country somewhere.

  Well, there was a lot of it. They had plenty of places to look.

  Unless, I thought coldly … Maybe she had seen through that old varsity fumble and knew I was just trying to get rid of her. Maybe she knew she had already found what she was looking for.

  There was one way to find out. That was to stand out here in the open like a goof until he got back with the gun and shot a hole in my head. I went inside.

  Madelon Butler had come out of the bedroom and was standing by the table where the bottle was. She turned and watched me.

  “Could you hear the radio?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Why?”

  “You’d better sit down. There at the end of the table, where you can’t be seen from outside. And take a drink. You’re going to need it.”

  She sat down. “What is it now?”

  “They’ve found your husband’s body. And the police are looking for you.”

  She poured the drink and smiled at me. “You do have a flair for melodrama, don’t you?”

  “You think I’m lying?”

  “Certainly. And who was this timely courier, bringing the news? An accomplice?”

  I sat down where I could see out the door and across the meadow. “Look. See if you can get this through your supercilious head. You’re in a jam. One hell of a jam. Nobody brought any news. It was on the radio, in that car. The police are looking for you, for murder. And not only that, but the girl in the car was looking for you too.”

  I told her about i
t.

  She listened boredly until I had finished; then all she did was reach for her purse and take out a mirror and some make-up stuff. She splashed crimson onto her mouth. In spite of myself, I watched her. She was arrogant and conceited as hell, but when you looked away from her for a moment and then looked back you went through it all over again. You didn’t believe anybody could be that beautiful.

  “I’m ready to go back to town,” she said, “if you are.”

  “Don’t you want to hear me waste my breath any more?”

  “Frankly, no. I should think we’d about run through your repertoire.”

  “You don’t believe any of it at all?”

  She put the finishing touches on the lips, pressed them together, looked in the mirror once more, and then across at me. She smiled. “Don’t be ridiculous. By your own admission, you’re a housebreaker, liar, and impostor. And attempted extortionist. Quite an array of talent, I’ll admit; but to ask me to believe you is a little insulting, wouldn’t you say?”

  I leaned across the table and caught her wrist. “And don’t forget abduction, while you’re adding it up. So why don’t you have me arrested, if you don’t believe any of it?”

  “And add to the burden of the taxpayers?”

  “No,” I said. “I’ll tell you why. You can’t.”

  “Don’t paw me,” she said.

  I reached over and took the other wrist. I slid my hands up inside the wide sleeves of the robe and held her arms above the elbows. “I want that money. And I’m going to get it. Why don’t you use your head? Alone, you haven’t got a chance, and the money’s no good to you if you’re dead. Maybe I can save you.”

  “Save me from what?” she asked coldly.

  I shook my head and took my hands off her arms to light a cigarette. “Has your car got a radio in it?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I’ll tell you the easy way to find out if I’m telling the truth. Trying to go back to town is the hard way, and there’s only one to a customer. In about an hour there should be some more news. We’ll listen to it.”

  “Maybe there’s some on now,” she said. She picked up her purse and started toward the door. She had a good start before I realized what she was up to.

  I jumped after her. By the time I reached the door she had run down off the porch and was standing in the open, fumbling in the purse for her keys and looking around for the car.

  “Wait!” I yelled. She paid no attention.

  She swung her face around and saw the shed at the side of the house. The car had to be in there. She whirled, ran one step toward it, and then it happened.

  The purse sailed out of her hands as if a hurricane had grabbed it. She stopped abruptly and stared as it flopped crazily and landed six feet away from her on the edge of the porch, and we both heard the deadly whuppp! as something slammed into the front wall of the house.

  She was frozen there. I was down off the porch and running toward her before I heard the sound of the gun. Without even thinking about it, I knew it was a rifle and that he was shooting from somewhere beyond the meadow, over two hundred yards away. She started to run now. I grabbed her. It was four long strides back to the front step. I dug in, feeling my whole back draw up into one icy knot. I was a hundred yards wide, and all target.

  I leaped onto the porch. I stumbled, and slammed in through the open doorway, trying to keep from falling on her. And just as we hit the floor I saw a coffee cup on the table ahead of us explode into nothing, like a soap bubble. The pieces rained onto the floor.

  I rolled her over me to get us out of the doorway, and reached back with one foot to kick the door shut. He put another one through it just as it closed. A golden splinter tore off the wood on the inside, and on the back wall a frying pan hanging on a nail bounced and clanged to the floor.

  It was silent now except for the quick sob of her breath. We lay on the floor with our faces only inches apart. The fright was leaving her eyes now, and I could see comprehension in them, and a growing coldness.

  “Maybe you’d like an affidavit with that,” I said.

  I pushed myself up from the floor. She was trying to sit up. One side of her face was covered with dust, and a trickle of blood from a splinter scratch was almost black against the pale column of her throat.

  “Stay where you are,” I said. I scooted over and stood up beside the front window. Peering out one corner of it, I could see the meadow. It was completely deserted and peaceful in the sunlight. Somewhere beyond, in the dark line of timber at the foot of the hill, he lay with his rifle and waited for something to move.

  He probably wouldn’t try to come any closer. Not until tonight. But in the meantime nobody would go out that road.

  Chapter Seven

  “THE STUPID IDIOT,” SHE SAID. I looked around. She was standing up, squarely in line between the front and rear windows. I didn’t say anything. I dived.

  I hit her just at the waist and took her down with me, turning a little to land on my shoulder. Splinters raked through my shirt. Panes in the front and rear windows blew up at the same time and glass tinkled on the floor.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she spat at me. “Are you crazy?”

  She lay beside me, caught in my arms like a beautiful and enraged wildcat. I disengaged an arm, picked a sliver of windowpane off the front of her robe, held it up so she could see it, and tossed it toward the front window. Her eyes followed it.

  “Oh,” she said.

  “If you feel like silhouetting yourself again,” I said, “tell me where that money is first. You won’t need it.”

  “What can we do?” she asked.

  “Several things, I suppose, if I didn’t have to spend all my time knocking you down. Do you think you can stay here this time?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right.”

  I crawled over her. When I was away from the windows I stood up and ran into the bedroom. Grabbing a couple of blankets off one of the bunks, I draped one across the bedroom window and brought the other out.

  I stood beside the rear window. “Cover your face,” I said. “We’re going to have more glass.”

  She put an arm over her face. I flipped the blanket. It caught over the old curtain rod. Glass smashed in the front window again and the blanket jerked, but remained on the rod. It had a hole in it.

  I looked swiftly around. The back door was locked, the window covered now. The storeroom had no outside door, no window. He could sneak around to the sides or back, but he couldn’t see in anywhere to shoot. And he knew I had his gun.

  From that distance he probably couldn’t see in the front window now, with no light behind it. Maybe he couldn’t, I thought. I could put another blanket over it, but I wanted to be able to see out on one side, at least. The thought of being sealed up in there with no way to guess where he was didn’t appeal to me.

  “Is it all right now?” she asked.

  “No. Stay down.”

  I looked at her again, and thought of something.

  “Take off that robe,” I said.

  She sat on the floor and stared coldly at me. “Don’t we have anything better to do?”

  “You have got something on under it, haven’t you?”

  “Yes. Pajamas.”

  “Well, shut up and toss it here.”

  She shrugged and slid out of it, turning a little to get it out from under her. The pajamas were blue and wide-sleeved, the lounging type. She tossed the robe. I crawled over and stood up beside the front window and flipped it over the curtain rod. It slid off. I picked it up and tried again. This time I got more of it over the rod and it stuck. There was no shot.

  I stepped back. It was fine. It was just sheer enough to be transparent with the light on the other side. I could see the meadow. Nothing stirred.

  “All right,” I said. “He can’t see in.”

  She stood up. “What do we do now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I went over and got the gun o
ut of my coat. I slid the clip out and looked at it. There was one cartridge in it. Two, I thought, with the one in the chamber.

  “We can’t just stay here,” she said.

  “You got a better idea?” I checked the safety again and shoved the gun in my belt.

  I fished in my pocket for a cigarette. The pack was empty. I went over to the coat and got another. I opened it, and gave her one. We sat down at the table. I could see out across the meadow without being directly behind the window.

  “Couldn’t we sneak out the back door and get to the car?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said. “You might even get it out of the shed before he killed you. You’ve seen him shoot that rifle.”

  She said nothing.

  “And,” I went on, “suppose you did get out to the highway? What then? Every cop in the state has the description and license number of that Cadillac.”

  She stared thoughtfully at me through the smoke. “Afoot? Out the back door?”

  “It’s twenty miles to the nearest place you could catch a bus. You’re a dish everybody looks at. And you’re wearing pajamas and bedroom slippers. Any more ideas?”

  “Charming thug, aren’t you? Shall I cheer you up for a while now?”

  “Why? I’m all right. Nobody knows me; I can still run.”

  “Well? Why don’t you?”

  “You don’t scare much, do you?”

  “Would being scared do any good?”

  “You’re about the hardest citizen I’ve ever run into,” I said. “Did you kill Butler alone, or did that guy out there help you? Is that how he got in the act?”

  “I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Which one of you has the money?”

  “I have nothing to say.”

  “Who was that girl in the car? Angel-faced ash blonde, with a hush-puppy accent.”

  “Why didn’t you ask her?”

  “I don’t think she liked me.”

  “I can understand that,” she said.

  “Well, you’re popular,” I said. “You’re in great demand.”

  She put the cigarette in the ashtray and leaned back in the chair with her hands clasped behind her head. The pajama sleeves slid down her arms. They were lovely arms.