Devil May Care (16 page)

126 Elizabeth Peters

"I have never seen such a display of malicious petty-mindedness," he said, over the whir of the can opener. "All three of you. Shame, oh, shame!"

As he reached for the next can Ellie saw how sharply the tendons stood out on the back of his thin brown hand. She had not forgotten what Marjorie had told her. Naturally, it made her absolutely furious with Donald.

"You should be ashamed, forgetting your date with dear Marge," she said. "Don't let my little problems interfere with your love life."

Donald stared at her. "Do I detect the ring of jealousy?"

"Don't flatter yourself!" "Children, children," Ted said. "Marjorie isn't worth quarreling about. I guess I won't tell you any stories about her granny after all; I don't know anything too bad. However, she was hand in glove with that old hypocrite Lockwood in his charitable schemes. Maybe they were running a white-slavery ring on the side." "Have another drink, Ted," Ellie said. She shoved a cat off the counter with her elbow as it nosed at the can of fish.

"No, thanks. I'll run along. You are spending the night, aren't you, Don?"

"Yes."

"Good. I may have a look around myself in the witching hours, so don't be alarmed if you hear the dogs barking."

"I haven't decided yet whether I'll leave them outside," Donald said. He picked up two bowls of dog food. Ted opened the door for him. A chorus of canine rapture arose.

"I'll be off now," he said, as Donald came back for the next round. "Be sure to call, if you need me."

"Thanks," Ellie said abstractedly, setting out bowls of cat food. There were thirteen bowls, one for each, but there was a lot of pushing and shoving DEVIL-MAYCARE 1E7

and some rude remarks before the crowd finally settled down. Roger, sitting upright on the kitchen table, squeaked imperiously, and Ellen gave him his dinner in his own Sevres porcelain bowl.

"That's the most unsanitary thing I ever saw," Donald said.

"He's cleaner than a lot of people I know," Ellie retorted. "Where are you going now?"

"To count the rest of the livestock. And then, boss lady, I will finish mowing the lawn."

I'll He did finish the lawn. Wise in the illogical ways of the male, Ellie made no attempt to dissuade him; she knew this would only spur him on to more exhausting demonstrations of virility. She spent the ensuing hours moving from window to window, watching, and alternately cursing herself and Donald.

It was nine o'clock before he finished. The temperature was still in the eighties. Ellie had removed herself, after leaving a temptingly arranged salad plate and a pitcher of iced tea in a prominent place in the refrigerator. She had also made up his bed in the room next to hers and turned the sheets down.

Eventually Donald joined her in the workroom, where she was watching television and working on one of Kate's abandoned pieces of embroidery--a Danish counted cross stitch tablecloth of unbelievable complexity. The pattern was a wreath of poppies, cornflowers, and other summer flora. Kate had finished about half of it before getting bored.

Ellie knew she made a charming domestic picture as she sat with the lamplight shining on her crown of curly hair, her head bent over her busy needle.

128 Elizabeth Peters She was wearing a ruffled, flowered robe that Henry had picked out for her--his tastes ran to the sweetly charming--and she was surrounded by purring pussycats and devoted dogs.

To her anxious eye Donald looked pale under his tan, but the set of his mouth told her that questions about his health would not be well received. The mouth relaxed fractionally as he took in her pretty tableau; but his first question indicated that they were still in a state of careful truce.

"You wanted me to remind you to call your fiance."

This was not strictly accurate, but Ellie did not challenge the statement.

"He's in the hospital."

"Oh?"

"He wasn't home, so I called a friend of his, who told me where he was." Ellie finished the edge of a scarlet poppy petal and threaded her needle with rose pink. "They don't know what the problem is exactly. Some kind of rash. It seems to be very painful."

She made three careful stitches and then looked up. Donald's face was contorted hideously as he tried not to laugh. Meeting Eliie's eyes, he lost the battle; both of them laughed till Ellie was breathless and Donald's face had turned a bright, healthy pink.

"I suppose you told him about the shingles," he wheezed. "Kate's bragged about that ever since she came home from your place last year. You shouldn't have done it, Ellie."

Ellie wiped her eyes.

"I don't know why I am behaving so badly. It isn't funny. What do you suppose can be wrong with him?"

"Autosuggestion, probably," Donald said, with an unprofessional snort of leftover laughter. "Is he an impressionable person?"

"I wouldn't have thought he was in the least imdevil-MAY-CARE 129

pressionable," Ellie said, and then realized that her voice had given away more than she wanted to disclose.

"But I guess people are suggestible when their health is involved."

"Sophomore syndrome," Donald said. "Med-school students are susceptible to it in their first year or two. My roommate had leprosy one week. His skin even started to peel. It's very common, and damn interesting. We don't know enough about the ways in which the mind affects the body. When an internist fails to find a specific physical cause he ships the patient off to a psychiatrist, who starts digging into childhood traumas. We need a whole new discipline."

Enthusiasm flushed his face and made his eyes shine. Eilie was conscious of a peculiar sensation somewhere in the region of her diaphragm.

"You'll never make any money starting new disciplines," she said critically.

"No. There's a lot of quackery in the area of psychosomatic medicine; the professionals shy away from it. I doubt that we know enough about the brain and nervous system to make any real progress as yet. But it fascinates me."

He seemed to take it for granted that she knew of his medical training, and Ellie was glad no apologies or explanations were necessary.

"About Henry," she began.

"Henry. Oh, well, I guess you tried to warn him about Kate's peculiarities. I sure would, if I were introducing her to my fiancee. He was anxious to make a good impression, and you must admit she's a weird lady ... One little itch--one mosquito bite-- and he was on the way. His own nervous system did the rest. He'll get over it."

"I'm sure he will."

The TV program, a cops-and-robbers movie, had been rumbling along throughout the conversation.

"You watching that?" Donald asked.

130 Elizabeth Peters

"No. I just needed some ... noise."

"Yeah. Does the house always seem this--well, this empty at night?"

"Usually it's a very friendly house. Must be my nerves tonight."

"It isn't ever really empty, is it?" Donald glanced around the cluttered room. Recumbent cats strewed the furniture like animals in Sleeping Beauty's castle, piles of gray, orange, tabby, tawny fur.

"What did you decide to do about the dogs?" Ellie asked, after a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on too long.

"I don't see much point in letting them out. They're so stupid they might run off or get hit by a truck.

I'm not worried about anybody who is outside the house, so long as nothing gets in."

"The animals haven't been much help so far," Ellie said. "The first ... person ... in the hall upstairs; they just sat there yawning." Another overlong silence followed. Ellie repressed a desire to look over her shoulder. From beyond the closed and curtained window came a faint echo of sound like a far-off wailing. She knew what it was-- a dog, less pampered than Kate's, footloose and fancy free, baying at the moon. It was an eerie sound, all the same.

"Want a night cap?" Donald asked.

"No, thanks." Ellie started folding up her work. "I don't mind admitting that I am spooked tonight. I'm going to bed. It's silly, but I feel safer upstairs."

"I'm a little tired myself," Donald said.

He preceded her up the stairs. She didn't debate the issue; so far as she was concerned, there was little to choose between the advance and rear guards.

They parted, casually, at their respective doorways.

Eliie's inexplicable nervousness subsided when she was tucked up in bed with pillows behind her and a nice soothing book--and enveloped in her most concealing nightgown. It was not Donald's near presdevil-MAY-CARE 131

ence that prompted her modesty. A shiver ran through her as she looked at the open doorway; her imagination recreated the dreadful figure of the previous night with unpleasant distinctness.

But the lights shone clear and steady. On her bedside table lay candles, matches, and a flashlight. And from the next room came the small reassuring sounds of occupation. After a while she heard a thud and a muffled curse from Donald. Eilie deduced that one of the larger cats had landed on his stomach.

Smiling, she surveyed her own bedfellows. They had their own private arrangements about sleeping rights. Tonight her companions were Simbel the Abyssinian, his shadow, George, and the Balinese, Henrietta, a dainty, fine-boned creature with long silky hair and the dark markings of a seal-point Siamese.

Franklin was in his usual position on the sea chest. Eilie finished her chapter and then turned out her Sight.

It was several hours later when she was awakened by Franklin, who was proving to be the exception to the general incompetence of Kate's watchdogs. His threatening growl dragged Eilie out of slumber into pitch-blackness. The hall lights were out. Against the pale shape of the window she could just distinguish Franklin's erect little body. He was sitting upright and growling `@-71' like a thunderstorm. As Eilie stirred, groping for one of the various sources of light on the bedside table, Franklin let out a shrill bark and jumped down to the floor.

The dog's outburst was like a signal; it set off an unholy racket somewhere in the lower regions. There were crashing sounds, like glass breaking, duller thuds that might have been pieces of furniture falling, thumps and voiceless shouts--the audio accompaniments to a good old-fashioned free-for-all.

Eliie's first thought was for Donald. Had he been fool enough to go downstairs alone to investigate some unusual sound? He had promised to waken her

132 Elizabeth Peters up, but he was such an idiot ... She found the flashlight and was obscurely surprised when it responded to the pressure of her finger on the button.

The noise downstairs had subsided except for Franklin's excited yelps and a deeper booming bark from one of the other dogs. It sounded like William.

Usually he hid under the piano or tried to climb into bed with someone if he was frightened, but Franklin's foolhardly courage sometimes shamed him into acting like a dog--so long as the Pekingese was around to protect him.

Donald was in the hall when she came out of her room. Fully dressed except for his shoes, he also had a functional flashlight. Ellie ran to him and threw her arms around him. She was moved, let it be said, not by a girlish need for male protection, but by the desire to keep him from rushing headlong into the melee below.

He didn't seem to be too anxious to proceed.

"Where's the fuse box?" he asked, returning Ellie's embrace with what struck her as inappropriate enthusiasm.

"In the basement, of course. You think that is why--"

"Seems logical."

"The downstairs lights may not be turned off."

The switch at the head of the stairs confirmed this hope; when Donald pressed it, the chandelier in the hall below went on. The light encouraged Donald. He squared his shoulders and told Ellie to get behind him.

"You're twenty years out of date," she said contemptuously.

"We go shoulder to shoulder or not at all."

It was not difficult to locate the scene of the disturbance.

Franklin's barks led them straight to the library. Donald delayed only long enough to turn on every possible light as they passed the switches. The final switch was to the right of the library door. The DEVIL-MAY-CARE 133

bulbs in the heavy wrought-iron chandeliers blazed into life; and for a few seconds Ellie gaped speechlessly at what the light revealed.

Books had been pulled from the shelves, objects swept off the desk, and chairs overturned. The wide French doors hung open, motionless in the still night air. One of the panes had been smashed.

It was not the disarray of Kate's handsome library that made Ellie gasp. Face down in the middle of the floor, surrounded by the rucked folds of Kate's prize rose-and-gold Kirman, was a familiar form. An oozing dark patch disfigured the silver-gray hair. By his head sat Franklin, alert and silent now that the assistance he had summoned had arrived.

"Ted . , ."

Donald pushed her out of the way. With a rush of relief Ellie remembered that he was no amateur, but medically trained. He didn't touch the fallen man except to take his pulse and run a knowledgeable hand over his head and limbs. When he looked up at Ellie his face was grave.

"Call the police. We need an ambulance, fast."

"Is it a fractured skull?" Ellie reached for the phone.

"Heart. It's bad, Ellie."

Ellie gave the message and was cheered by the promise of prompt assistance.

"I didn't go into the details," she said, as she hung up.

"No. We'll leave everything as it is. Too late to catch up with the burglar now; anyway, we might trample on clues. Damn, why didn't I let the dogs out tonight!"

Ellie opened her mouth and then closed it without speaking. She had been too thunderstruck to think logically. Now she realized that the condition of the room indicated the presence of at least two people.

Ted wouldn't have made such a mess; he had his own key, no need to break windows. Unless he had been

154 Elizabeth Peters trying to create the impression of an ordinary burglar.

... She felt ashamed as she looked at Ted's unconscious body. How could she have leaped to the conclusion that Ted had been responsible for this?

He certainly hadn't hit himself on the back of the head. Earlier he had mentioned that he meant to take a stroll around the grounds during the night. Presumably he had seen the burglar enter, or had found the broken window.

"Isn't there anything we can do for him?" she asked.

"A blanket might be a good idea."

Ellie rubbed her bare arms. She felt cold herself.

Shock, no doubt.

"I'll get one," she said, and went quickly into the corridor.

It did not strike her as strange, then, that the animals were conspicuous by their absence. Usually they were inconveniently underfoot when anything was going on. Even through her worry about Ted she was vaguely aware that the house seemed chilly. But it was not until she reached the end of the corridor, where it entered the great beamed hall, that she realized something was badly wrong.

The cold collected in an invisible barrier, solid and icy as a glacier. Coming to a sudden stop, Ellie stared in horrified disbelief at the stairway. Her lips were so numb she could scarcely move them, but she managed to shape them into Donald's name. The word issued as a croaking gasp; but he heard her.

She felt his hands close hard on her arms. She didn't turn. She couldn't move, or take her eyes from the stairs.

On the landing, shadowed by the darkness above, something was taking shape.

It was a rounded pillar of ice, emitting frigid air.

Or an obscene, giant white candle, crowned with a dim flame. No heat came from it, only those paralyz-

DEVIL-MAY-CARE 135

ing waves of cold. Slowly, or so it seemed to the watchers, the shape took human form--still icy white, robed in a snowy fabric that gleamed dully like satin. A woman fiery-haired, with eyes the color and intensity of blue-white diamonds. The other features were indistinct. Ellie was grateful for that; she had no desire to see them more clearly. She could hear Donald's harsh breathing behind her, could feel the painful pressure of his fingers.

Then the tall form began to move slowly down the stairs.

"I'm going to faint," Ellie announced firmly, and did so.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

She was not allowed to luxuriate in unconsciousness for long. When she came to, Donald was shaking her till her teeth rattled. A piercing wail reached her ears.

"The ambulance is here," Donald said. "Wake up.

It's all right. She--it--whatever--is gone."

When she received this news Ellie opened her eyes.

She, it, whatever, was certainly gone. Not even a lingering wisp of fog remained, and the temperature was a comfortable 78 degrees.

As soon as her eyes opened, Donald dropped her unceremoniously back to the floor, from which he had partially raised her, and went to the door. Ellie scrambled to her feet.

Later, when she tried to recall the events of the succeeding hour, she felt as if she had been watching some tightly wound-up doll move mechanically through a set of programmed responses. After Ted had been removed, still unconscious, she answered the questions of a state trooper while another trooper searched the room. She could not have described either one of them.

When the taillights of the police car finally disappeared, the treetops to the east were black against DEVIL-MAY-CARE 137

the first flush of dawn. The air felt like that of a tepid Turkish bath. Ellie turned to Donald.

"What did I say?" she asked blankly.

"You did fine,." Donald said. "Come on, let's have some breakfast."

The sun was fully up by the time they finished eating and Donald decided they were strong enough to discuss the night's events.

"You did fine," he said again. "Not that either of us needed to say anything; the room spoke for itself.

A nice normal ordinary burglary, that's what we had."

"I didn't say anything because I was stupefied," Ellie said wryly. "You don't think we should have told them about--about the other things?"

"Why confuse the law? These boys were state troopers, not local cops, so they won't have heard the gossip. I told them I was sleeping in while Kate was out of town, to protect you and the house, but I suppose they drew the obvious conclusions."

Ellie shook her head impatiently.

"I don't care about that. How did you explain Ted's being here? A menage a trois?"

"I didn't try to explain it. They figured he must have been taking a walk or coming home from a late date when he saw someone behaving suspiciously; but no one will really know until he is able to be questioned. If I know Ted he'll think up a good story."

"Donald--he will be all right, won't he?"

"I hope so, honey. We'll call the hospital in a little while."

"You don't think he saw--her, do you?"

"In an earlier, preview appearance? I doubt it. He isn't a young man; overexertion could have brought on an attack."

"Who was she, Donald?"

"I'm not sure, but I can guess."

"Marjorie's granny?"

138 Elizabeth Peters

"I have heard she had red hair," Donald said.

"Damn it, Ellie, don't you see how coincidental this is? First you see the portrait in the library, then old man Lockwood appears, slavering with lust. This afternoon we were talking about Marge's grandmother --now she turns up, and if she wasn't slavering she was not exactly exuding warmth and goodwill. There were four of us here today when the subject came up. Obviously Marge has no reason to perpetrate a stunt like this. Quite the contrary. You and I were together--" Ellie interrupted with a rude, raucous noise.

"Stunt, he says. If that--that awful thing was a stage illusion, it was arranged by a genius; and a genius could have arranged it to go off automatically, to give him an alibi. I mean, if you don't know how it was done--"