Dead Letter (10 page)

She glanced around quickly to locate an exit, but there was only one door and the man stood in front of it, blocking the way.

Herculeah spun around to face him.

“Sit.”

“I'm not a dog,” she said with sudden defiance. “You can't command me the way you do Brute.”

He did not bother to answer, just stared at her with cold, emotionless eyes. Those were the eyes, Herculeah thought, of a man who could kill.

She glanced around at the cot, but she did not move toward it.

“How long are you going to keep me here?”

“Until I get word.”

“From whom?”

“Just word.”

“From Roger Cole.”

No answer.

“How long will this take? My mom knows where I am. She'll come looking for me.”

“It shouldn't be long.” He closed the door on her. “I'm leaving Brute outside in case you get any ideas about leaving. Stay,” Herculeah heard him tell the dog. “Stay.”

Herculeah then heard the sounds of a key being turned and his footsteps walking away.

She found herself in complete darkness. She remembered a line from Amanda Cole's note—“There's no window. I don't know day from night.”

Herculeah knew she shared something else with Amanda Cole—a prison.

“Well, at least I'm not drugged,” she said aloud. “If I can find a loose board ...”

She began moving around the room, starting at the baseboard and working her way up to the ceiling, testing each board.

She found one board that was warped. It was waist high. She pulled at it with all her strength. It didn't move.

If only I had some kind of tool ...

She remembered the iron cot and groped her way toward it. She ran her fingers over it, getting a feel for how it was put together.

The cot was old, rickety. She thought she might be able to—

She put her strength into it. In three strong jerks she had the springs separated from the headboard. And sticking out from the headboard—she felt this with her hands—was the metal bar that held the springs in place. A lever, exactly what she needed.

Again, Herculeah felt her way across the room to the warped board and began to work the metal bar under it. She pried and had the satisfaction of hearing the board pull away from the wall.

She could grip the board now. She wrenched it loose. It would make a weapon—and so would the headboard.

If the man comes back before I get free, I can stand behind the door, and when he comes through—

She took a practice swing.

Of course, she went on, feeling better by the moment, Brute would still be out there, but he might stay by the door. If he was as well trained as he appeared to be, he'd obey his master's command.

I'll worry about the dog when I see daylight, she told herself.

She began work on the next board. It came away even easier than the first.

Other parts of Amanda Cole's note began to throb in her mind.

The whole building was half- rotten. She would be out of here in no time. She had to be.

She doubled her efforts.

She was so intent on demolishing the wall and getting out that she did not hear the footsteps outside the door, did not hear the lock being turned, did not hear the command to the dog.

Not until the light from the door lit up the board she struggled with did she remember the last words of the note.

“Hard at work, I see.”

The man stepped aside, and Herculeah was face to face with Roger Cole.

Herculeah wanted to throw the iron headboard at him—she was mad enough to—but she restrained herself. She knew it would be useless. She rested her weight against the headboard, keeping it close in case she got a chance to use it later.

“I'm going to get out of here one way or another,” she told him.

“Oh, I agree with that.”

He smiled. His smile wasn't dazzling now. It was threatening. Yet there was a look in his eyes that let Herculeah know he was enjoying what he was doing.

“I hoped I'd seen the last of you,” he said. “I hoped that my apology would end it.”

“It didn't.”

“So I see.”

The man with the dog stood behind him, watching. If Herculeah got past Roger Cole, she'd have him and Brute to contend with.

“Well.” Herculeah shrugged and managed a smile. “I guess I was being silly—playing Nancy Drew. If you'll call the dog off, I'll go on home.”

Roger Cole watched her. His look sharpened as he took in her expression. “You weren't just playing Nancy Drew, were you?”

She did not answer.

“It had something to do with the coat, didn't it?” He watched her thoughtfully.

Herculeah didn't answer.

“How did you get the coat, anyway?”

She could tell him that much. And she needed time.

“I bought it.”

“Where?”

“From a store called Hidden Treasures. The owner of the shop said it came in a box of horse gear.”

Roger Cole smashed one hand against the side of the door. He didn't turn to look at the man behind him as he spoke. “You stupid ... Why didn't you check what went out of here?”

“I did.”

“Obviously not good enough.”

He looked at Herculeah. “You bought the coat.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“There was a note from your aunt in the lining of the coat—she'd pushed it through a hole in the pocket. The note told everything. I showed the note to my father. He's a police detective,” Herculeah said with more confidence than she felt. “So it won't do any good to get rid of me.”

“Maybe you did show it to him. Maybe you didn't.”

“This is where you held her prisoner, isn't it?” Herculeah went on, buying time.

Roger Cole did not answer.

“This had to be the room. In the note she said there was no window, and she couldn't tell night from day. When you closed the door on me, I couldn't either.

“I think I know how it happened,” Herculeah went on in a normal tone of voice, though inwardly she yelled for Meat, her mother, her father, a workman, somebody, anybody to come.

“Your aunt slept there.” She glanced toward the dismantled cot. “You drugged her, kept her prisoner here until she signed.... What did she sign?”

“You know everything,” Roger Cole said. He was not smiling now. “You tell me.”

Herculeah's look was thoughtful as she remembered the note. “You kept her prisoner until she signed some papers.” A light came into her gray eyes. “Until she signed the papers allowing you to have the land. That's it, isn't it? You wanted to develop the property and she didn't.

“The girl knows too much,” the man murmured to Roger Cole. Roger Cole seemed to agree.

“You wanted to chop up her land and put houses on it. She wouldn't have that, would she? She loved this place, loved the flowers, the trees, loved to ride the trails.”

“How do you know so much about her?”

“We're a lot alike.”

“Same size, anyway. You're more of a fighter.”

“She might have been, too, if she hadn't been drugged.” She gave him a scornful look. “And all the while you were putting on the big pretense of being the loving nephew. You took her meals up, you did everything for her. And all the while she was alone, a prisoner out here in this terrible room.”

“And if you are right? It doesn't really make any difference. You aren't going anywhere. Suppose I did keep her prisoner, you have no proof.”

“There may be proof right here.” Herculeah looked around her. “I think you killed her here. She was too weak to get on a horse. You-” Instinctively her eyes shifted from Roger Cole to the watchman. She knew now that it was the watchman who had killed and Roger Cole who had directed it. “You killed her here, saddled the horse, led it down the trail to a likely spot, dumped the body, and let the horse go free.”

“She knows too much,” the watchman said again.

“I agree, but-”

At that moment Herculeah heard the most wonderful sound she had ever heard in her life: an earsplit ting, head-bursting whistle.

Only Meat could whistle like that.

The two men turned their heads in the direction of the whistle. That was Herculeah's moment.

She threw the headboard at Roger Cole with all her strength. It knocked him backward. At the same time she screamed, “Get away from me! Get away!”

She hoped the two men would think she was talking to them.

Actually her warning was to Meat. If he came down here, they'd both end up victims of Brute.

The watchman moved swiftly. He stepped around Roger Cole, and in a second slammed Herculeah against the inside wall of the stable. It knocked the breath out of her. She saw stars.

“Brute!” he yelled.

Brute came.

“Guard!”

Brute was in front of her now, his face so close Herculeah's heart leapt with fear.

“If you move, he'll kill you.”

Her mind, shocked into a stupor, barely took in the words.

He repeated them.

“If you move, he'll kill you.”

Herculeah blinked her eyes.

“If you call out, he'll kill you.”

The man watched for a moment, making sure she had taken in his meaning. Then he shut the door. Herculeah heard the sound of a key in the lock. She was left in darkness with only the terrible sound of Brute's eager breathing.

And as the men walked away, the watchman said, “And if he don‘t, I will.”

Meat heard Herculeah's cry.

“Get away from me! Get away!”

He heard the desperation in her voice, and his heart pounded. He knew that Herculeah was in some sort of terrible danger and that he would be in danger if he went closer.

He stood for a moment where he was, in the shadow of the elm trees. His knees had begun to shake, and he leaned against the tree for support.

Meat had come to Elm Street directly from the dentist's office. First he had borrowed the dentist's phone and called Herculeah's home. He had had a brief, unsatisfactory conversation with Herculeah's mom.

“Is Herculeah there?” he'd asked.

“No, Meat, where is she?”

“I don't know. That's what I called to find out. Did she come home after school?”

“Where is she?”

There was a pause, then she reworded the question. “Meat, where do you think she is?”

“I don't know. At the stables.”

“What stables?”

“I wish I knew.”

“What stables, Meat?”

Now Herculeah's mother was yelling at him. Even the patients sitting across the room heard her.

“Maybe Elm Street. But I don't know for sure. That's just a maybe.”

Mrs. Jones must have found the conversation as frustrating as he did because at that point she slammed down the phone.

The patients heard that, too, and nobody looked at him as he made his way from the office.

Now Meat twisted his hands in indecision. He knew Herculeah had come to danger, as he had feared, in the stable. Why, why hadn't he called Lieutenant Jones? That's who he should have called—not Mrs. Jones, who served subpoenas and found kidnapped dogs. And if he left to call him now, Herculeah might be gone when he got back.

Meat ran to the street where the workmen were knocking off for the day. Meat always felt inferior around construction workers, even though he was as big as some of them.

He approached a tall man in jeans and a backward Braves cap who was, getting into his truck. Only his desperation for Herculeah gave him the courage to say, “Excuse me.”

“Yeah?”

“I thought I heard some cries for help back in the woods—down by the stable. It sounded like a girl I know. Would you mind—Would it be too much trouble—Could you possibly—”

“Want me to take a look? Sure. Hey, Sam, let's check this out,” he called to a fellow workman. “This kid heard some cries for help.”

“Right, Cobby.”

Meat felt a lot better about approaching the stable now that he was flanked by Sam and Cobby.

“The cry came from back here,” he said, pointing the way to the stable.

As they got closer, Meat's alarm grew. The stable looked deserted.

“That's funny,” Meat said. “There were two men standing here.”

“Door's padlocked,” Sam said.

“Herculeah? Herculeah!”

No answer.

“That's the name of the girl I heard yelling for help.”

“With a name like that, she ought to be able to take care of herself.”

“Usually she can. Herculeah!”

Again there was no answer.

The workmen walked slowly around the stable. At the back, they called, “Hey, anybody here? Hello!”

Slowly they returned to where Meat was standing by the door.

“Kid, we don't hear a thing.”

“But I really did hear a cry for help,” Meat said. “I did. I promise.”

“Well, it doesn't look like help's needed now.”

The men turned to go.

“Wait,” Meat said. “There's somebody inside. Put your ear against the door. You can hear breathing.”