In Between (3 page)

There was a prolonged silence following her comment. Sam broke it. “I was being clever. A neat password, a pseudonym for the author. Just in case I ever left the laptop lying around and someone opened it. What for? Nothing. For nothing.”

“What was the password?” Lori asked.

He hesitated, then said, “NUj0628.”

“First guess is June backward and a birthday. Yours, your sister's, someone close,” Lori said. “Who's June?”

He groaned. “Susan had an imaginary friend. Pretty June. The pseudonym I picked was June Priddy. My sister's birthday is June 28.”

This time Lori groaned. “Okay, we can't let them get to your computer before I have a go at it. I can take care of the files. First things first, though. They have to bring it here to the house.”

Sam told her about his newly discovered method of moving around. “Just will yourself somewhere else,” he said. “Like ‘Beam me up, Scotty.'”

“Cool. We'll visit every room, make sure we can go anywhere we want. And we have to find out what happens if we're doing something and someone comes in on us. Like drinking or eating, holding a book.”

They talked a long time, making plans, musing on the possibility of escaping from the estate, what they might do if they could get free, how they might bring about the destruction of Ben Carnahan….

“Growing up in Iowa,” Sam said in a low voice, “surrounded by good Christian folk, my mother especially religious, I took it for granted that when the time came, when people died, they went to heaven or hell. We'd have all the answers. Later, it seemed to me that there was another alternative: maybe it would be that long dreamless sleep. Here one minute, gone the next. That seemed more likely. I never dreamed of a quarantine, being not quite dead enough, but not alive. In between.”

“I think of quarantine as an infinite air terminal crowded with people with cancelled flights,” Lori said. “Just another bureaucratic screw up. All the customer service windows closed. No food service, no rest rooms, no water. I don't want to go there.” Her voice faltered and neither spoke again for several minutes.

“Sam,” she said finally, “there's something you should try. While you were gone, I got tired of thinking about the safe and stuff like that and I closed my eyes. Then you were here. I think I slipped out of time or something. Look, it's three thirty in the morning and there's not much we can do until daylight. Close your eyes and I'll close mine. Let's count to ten and open our eyes. I want it to be morning.”

“Me too. Out of time. Out of body. What next? Okay, here goes.”

He closed his eyes and silently counted to ten. “Ready or not,” he said. When he opened his eyes, morning sunlight was streaming into the room. He looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was seven thirty. On the other bed, Lori nodded.

“See?” she said. “Out of time. Let's start getting acquainted with all the rooms in this dump.”

They entered every room on the second floor, descended, and went down to the lower level where they entered Arthur's room and an adjoining room that had been outfitted with monitors and keyboards. Lori pressed a button or two at the monitors and watched a cleaning woman enter Ben's studio with a vacuum cleaner, and another woman dusting the chandeliers in the party room.

They moved on to the other rooms, and then went back to the first floor. They had been in all the rooms on this level, except Lori's old office. Sam had never been inside it. In the corridor near Ben's office, Lori took Sam's hand.

“Another experiment,” she said. “My office.”

Without a tick in time they were inside her office. She released his hand. “That might come in handy sometime,” she said, going to her desk.

Sam examined the simple, functional office, then started to walk out. He turned to see Lori busy at the computer and he stopped at the doorway. “What are you doing?”

“Getting rid of some stuff,” she said. “Two or three minutes, maximum.”

“You might not have even one minute,” he said. “Ben's coming.”

“On his way to his office,” she said without looking up. “He doesn't come in here.”

She was right. Ben walked into his office across the hall from hers and left the door open.

“Here comes Arthur with a woman in tow,” Sam said after a minute or two. They got close enough that he could hear her.

“Oh, Arthur, you shouldn't talk to me like that. What a terrible thing to say.” She was laughing.

The woman was wearing spike heels, a very short skirt, and a blouse that revealed too much cleavage. She also seemed to have too much blonde hair. When they got near Sam, Arthur patted her bottom and turned toward Ben's office, and she headed for Lori's old office. “She's coming this way,” Sam said. Lori keyed in something swiftly, then stood and picked up a post-it note. As the new woman entered and walked to the desk, the note fluttered to the floor. She glanced about, shrugged, and went behind the desk and sat down.

“New secretary,” Lori muttered. “Perfume from the Dollar Store.”

“Margie, get in here!” Ben bellowed from across the hall.

Sam and Lori separated then. One of them would stay with Ben all day and if he opened his safe whoever was with him would make a note of the combination. The other one would roam, keep tabs on the rest of the household.

Lori went inside Ben's office and Sam headed for the security truck he had seen the night before. The guys from the company were already at work on the stone fence. He saw the landscape people come and start work. The cleaning crew left, and the cook arrived and bustled about in the kitchen. Arthur Beasley was checking the monitors, biting his fingernail over one in particular that showed the pyramid picture rising. No one, not even a shadow, appeared on the screen. Sam left him there. He relieved Lori in Ben's office.

“Foreplay,” she said before she vanished. Sam stretched out on the sofa and for a minute or two watched Ben fondle Margie, who wriggled and giggled a lot. He closed his eyes. Ben dictated a letter, telling someone they would get together in a couple of weeks. Then Ben was on the phone yelling at Sy Wannamaker. Ben's hand was under Margie's skirt when Sam opened his eyes for a moment. He closed them again.

A kid from the studio, escorted by Arthur, came in with a box of manuscripts and books. Ben told him to leave them on the table and to beat it. The kid hurried to do so.

At eleven Arthur Beaseley called Ben to say that Mark Delacort had arrived, and was he up to his usual workout that morning.

“Tell them to let him in,” Ben said. “I'll meet him in the gym.” He dumped Margie from his lap and stood. “Beat it,” he said to her. “Get those letters ready to sign.” Without another glance at her he strode from the office.

At that moment Lori appeared. “We're having crab salad for lunch,” she said.

Sam grimaced. “Who's Mark Delacort?”

“His personal trainer. He comes three times a week.”

“Today's his day. You stick with Ben, I'll check out Delacort.” He started to put himself at the front door to intercept the trainer, but hesitated a second to ask, “Did Ben swarm all over you when you were his secretary?”

She flashed him an indignant look, then gestured down her boxy pants suit with one hand, on down to her no-nonsense shoes, and put her other hand on her black hair, severely drawn back into a knot. “Are you kidding? Why do you think I dressed like this, no makeup, no jewelry, no Dollar Store perfume? And I don't giggle. Strictly off limits from the get-go. I made that clear the first time he even thought of touching me. He thinks I'm a lesbian. That's why I can work with computers.”

Sam was laughing when he left to take his place at the door to the house.

Delacort was six feet tall and looked like a male model, with wheat-colored wavy hair, deep blue eyes, an enviable tan, and a big smile that revealed perfect teeth. He was carrying a gym bag. Arthur walked with him to the gym, waved, and retreated. Delacort went to a dressing room with several lockers and a closed cabinet. He opened the cabinet and removed a stack of towels, then opened his gym bag and took out a revolver that was wrapped in sweat pants. He placed it on the shelf and put the towels on top of it. Whistling softly, he closed the cabinet, opened one of the lockers and began to change his clothes. Sam admired his body. His muscles had muscles, and not an ounce of fat or a hint of sag anywhere.

When Delacort finished dressing and went into the gym proper, he left the door open to the dressing room. Sam cursed. He was still too close to a living person to take on a material body, and that meant he couldn't move the gun, or block Delacort if and when he decided to use it. Ben entered with Lori at his side.

Ben was dressed in baby-blue sweats with matching gym shoes. He strode to Delacort and patted his cheek. “How's the pretty boy this morning?” he said in a mocking tone. He faked a punch to Delacort's midsection and laughed when Delacort flinched. “Okay, let's get started,” he said. “Warm up time.” Both men started to run in place.

“Look,” Sam said to Lori, motioning for her to come to the dressing room. “He brought in a gun and put it under the towels.” His hand passed through the towels when he touched them.

She frowned. “Not much we can do to stop him.”

Sam turned to watch Delacort and Ben go from the warm-up exercise to a treadmill. Ben stepped on and started. Delacort was at a control panel. He increased the speed and the tilt of the running board, then increased the speed again until Ben was running.

“How long does this go on?” Sam asked.

“About an hour. He'll do the elliptical machine and press weights, and end up with a massage. Then he usually goes to the pool for a few laps.”

“Think,” Sam said. “There has to be a way we can prevent murder under our noses.”

“Would he really do it now, today, knowing he'd be caught? He was so careful with the brakes, making sure no one saw him, making it nearly impossible to accuse any one in particular. Why do it openly today?”

“He wasn't at the party, was he? I didn't see him.”

“He wasn't invited. They had a workout that Friday, though, just like today.”

“Maybe he has a plan to get back in later, this is just stage setting,” Sam said, pointing to the towels. “Actually that makes a little more sense. Do it when more people are around.”

She nodded doubtfully.

They watched in silence until Delacort turned off the treadmill and said, “Take five.”

Sam felt every muscle tense as Delacort trotted over to the dressing room and the cabinet, where he grabbed two towels then trotted back to Ben. He handed one towel to Ben, who wiped his face while Delacort raised Ben's sweat shirt to towel his back and shoulders.

Ben started on the elliptical machine, slowly at first, with Delacort gradually increasing the speed and resistance. It was going at a fast rate when the door to the corridor opened and Arthur hurried in with a cellphone.

“Stop the goddamn machine,” Ben yelled at Delacort. He snatched the phone from Arthur. “You got it? You got the goddamn computer?” He listened, then said, “Now! Bring it up now.”

He thrust the phone back to Arthur and got off the machine. “See that pretty boy leaves and tell Morehead I want lunch on the terrace.” Without another glance at Delacort he left the gym. Lori hurried after him.

Sam and Arthur watched Delacort change clothes, fold his sweats and put them in the gym bag, glance over the dressing room, and walk out with Arthur at his side. Sam, a few steps behind them, hesitated at the door. He could move the gun now, since they were in the corridor, but where would he put it? The gym offered few hiding places. A locker? A gun would stay hidden there only as long as no one opened the door. The gun would keep, he decided, and went out after Arthur and Delacort. He watched the trainer get in his car, watched Arthur make a call, watched Delacort drive away.

When he entered the terrace a moment later, he saw Ben, wearing a short white robe and sandals, at a table with a big salad and a frosted glass of what appeared to be juice. Ben's legs were exceedingly hairy. Lori was in a chair opposite Ben.

“Body builder gone?” she asked. He nodded.

“Harrison Coolson is coming. And Darla called to say she's on her way. Another party forming apparently. Ben isn't happy about it.”

“Anything new from Wannamaker?”

“On his way. The usual suspects gathering. Where's the gun?”

“Where he left it, under the towels. Arthur kept an eye on him until he was off the property. He's another one of Ben's lap dogs,” he added.

“I suspected as much. Ben treats him like dirt.” She turned away from watching Ben. “And he eats like a pig. Scarfing it down like there's no tomorrow.”

“We'll have to pick our time to move the gun,” Sam said. “There will be too many people around. I don't want any of them to see a gun falling to the carpet.”

She shrugged. “With muscle man gone, it won't make much difference, just so we do it before he comes back. The other problem might be harder. I have to get at your computer before they bring in an expert, and while it's out of their sight. Let's hope Darla and Coolson keep him busy with whatever is on their minds.”

Darla was the first to arrive. Arthur escorted her to the terrace. Darla was wearing a short sundress, her shoulders bare, and she carried a tiny clutch bag.

“If that dress was any tighter, it would be under her skin,” Lori said.

“What's up, sweetheart?” Ben said as Darla approached his table. “Want some lunch?”

“Maybe later. I wanted to tell you about an interesting thing that happened this morning.” She pulled out a chair and sat down. “I was a little worried about Rebecca. I invited her to breakfast. You realize, of course, that she knows few people in town, and last week was so hectic with police asking us all so many questions, I just felt that she might be feeling a little apprehensive, a little bewildered, and perhaps I could help her. She's such a sweet naïve child.” Her voice was honeyed, her expressive face registering nothing but concern. “It seems that she was puzzled by her contract. It's so long and confusing, and darling Sylvia was not available, in a panic over that attempt on your life, and police and the media at her doorstep twenty-four seven. Poor Rebecca didn't know where to turn.”