Devil May Care (24 page)

The conversation became too technical for Ellie; she sat watching hopefully for another bomb. She was disappointed. Washington ran the clock out, accompanied by a stream of vitriolic criticism from Kate, and the half ended.

"It's kind of interesting," Ellie said, as a group of hearty men in hard hats began singing about beer.

"What's the score now?"

"Seventeen to fourteen," the doctor said. "But the game's only half over. Wait till the second half."

"Shut up," Kate snarled.

Ellie didn't understand why she was in such a bad mood. The Redskins were winning, weren't they? She wanted to request enlightenment but decided maybe she had better not. She was beginning to understand why Kate liked football. It was an awfully silly occupation for a bunch of grown men, but it was rather relaxing. Watching other people bang each other around took one's mind off one's private worries.

The half-time activities were not as distracting as bombs and thudding bodies, however; and Ellie's private worries were far from minor. At least Dondevil-MAY-CARE 197

aid's injuries weren't as serious as they had feared.

He had a broken rib and a magnificent bruise; as the doctor said, he wouldn't be able to play golf for a long time. The cut on his forehead was superficial.

He had been incredibly lucky. Ellie was sure the rider had deliberately set his living weapon at Donald in order to maim or kill.

The rider had been human, and clumsy, at that. It was the first of the "apparitions" that had been so badly stage-managed. The unknown miscreant must be losing his touch, or else he was getting panicky.

It had been Donald who identified the rider's face.

They had been allowed to see him for a few minutes before driving home in the gray dawn. Ted was still not allowed visitors, but Dr. Gold had checked on his progress, and that, too, was cheering.

Encased in a plaster corset, groggy from pain and painkillers, Donald had not appeared particularly happy to see them--especially Eliie. She hung back, feeling strangely shy. The pale, romantic invalid, with the theatrical white bandage on his brow, looked like a stranger, and he had given her a stare of active dislike before turning his head painfully toward Kate.

"Booth," he said, slurring the word. "Did you recognize him, Kate?"

"Ah." Kate nodded. "I wasn't sure."

"I've seen pictures." Donald's eyelids dropped. He opened them halfway and blinked. "Damn, this stuff is knocking me out. Just--like pictures. John Wilkes Booth."

"Okay." Kate patted his arm. "Get some rest. The night is over, no need to worry. Anything else you noticed?"

"No. Can't think. Too groggy ... " "The parchment," Kate said. "What did you do with it?"

Donald's eyes opened wide.

"Go away," he said distinctly.

198 Elizabeth Peters They went.

"There's no need to snuffle in that maudlin fashion," Kate said, as they pulled out of the hospital parking lot. "He's not damaged. If I know Donald, that corset won't prevent him from--"

"Oh, you're disgusting," Ellie said, knowing what she was about to say. Kate had moments of extreme vulgarity when she was tired. She was obviously very tired indeed; the lines around her mouth were like grooves, but her head was high and she drove with her usual elan. Most people refused to ride with her.

Ellie simply closed her eyes and braced her feet.

"Macho," Kate went on, "plain old machismo, that's why he was so rude; he hated having you see him down and out. Men are such egotists. That's why I won't remarry; I haven't got the time or energy to spend the rest of my life coddling some man's childish image of himself." "What about Dr. Gold?" Ellie asked.

"Oh, well, Frank ... " Kate's voice softened. "Don't get any romantic ideas, though. He's a wonderful-- uh--friend, but I wouldn't marry him either. Even if he asked me," she added.

It was after they returned home that they discovered what had happened in the library. Ellie had a strange feeling that Kate had expected some such development.

The mess made her swear with an inventiveness that surpassed her usual gift for invective. She started picking up books, mingling commentary with curses as she worked.

"The performance was meant as a distraction, of course--to get us out of the house and keep us busy.

I suspected it, but there really was no choice; Donald came first. Anyway, the burglar didn't find what he was after."

Ellie was suddenly sick with exhaustion. She could hardly stand, much less move.

"The parchment, you think? Where is it?"

DEVIL-MAY-CARE 199

"I don't know." Kate dumped an armful of books onto the shelf and began sorting them with nimble fingers. "But Donald does; and he isn't talking. Didn't you get that byplay?"

"Oh. But--I wanted to take it to the University."

"Yes, the sooner we do that, the safer we'll be. I'm sure there is something on that sheet of parchment that someone is desperate to keep quiet. But Donald has taken it into his stupid head that he can protect us by being the only one who knows its hiding place.

I wonder ... " Kate paused, holding another armful of books. She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully.

"Oh, no, he wouldn't be that stupid. Anyhow, he should be out of this world for the rest of the day. I told Frank to dope him to the gills."

In the stupor of weariness Ellie failed to follow this semisoliloquy. With infinite labor she restored a pair of bookends to the top of the desk.

"What was all that about John Wilkes Booth?" she asked. "He was Lincoln's assassin, wasn't he?"

"Stupid," Kate repeated, with relish. "A stupid performance throughout. Yes, of course he was, and he had nothing to do with this area; he was born in Maryland and he was caught and killed--popular rumor to the contrary--in a barn in Maryland. But the plotter counted on our recognizing Booth--he gave us plenty of time to do so--and he knew we would be reminded of the old slander that the Grant family was involved in that assassination plot. Nothing was ever proved, but ... So now we have all six families represented."

She glanced at Ellie.

"Go to bed, you're out on your feet. I'll deal with this."

"But you're tired, too," Ellie protested. "And Marian Beaseley--"

"She'll be back. Not till after this business is cleared up, but eventually. The Beaseleys always go into hiding when anything unusual happens."

2OO Elizabeth Peters

"Marian said--all that about Francis Morrison--"

Kate chuckled. She was a quick worker; most of the books were back in place now.

"Marian loves to startle people," she said tolerantly.

"Go to bed, Ellie."

So Ellie did. It was not until she was halfway down the lovely dark path that led to sleep that she realized Kate's explanation of Marian's knowledgeability had been somewhat enigmatic.

Apparently Kate had had no sleep at all. At some point during the early morning, Ellie had been dimly aware of Kate's voice calling cats. She had succeeded in collecting them all by the time Ellie came down to a very late breakfast. Ellie got a long animated lecture on football with her bacon and eggs.

Now as she watched the Redskins perform, Kate looked as bright-eyed and cool as if she had had eight solid hours of rest, and she was wearing one of her most businesslike outfits--severely tailored blue slacks, a man's work shirt, and a pair of dangling silver earrings that jingled when she tossed her head.

The gesture occurred frequently in the second half of the game. During the last ten minutes the earrings rang a continual chime of distress and agitation. The final score was 24 to 17 in favor of Baltimore. Kate stuck it out till the whistle blew, mumbling about fumbles and interceptions; then she stormed out of the room. The only intelligible word in her parting tirade sounded like

"Sonny."

The doctor leaned back with a sigh of satisfaction.

"Good game," he said.

"Not enough bombs," Ellie said.

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Kate returned after a while, with drinks and canapes; she looked quite pleasant, but there was a glint in her eye that warned Ellie not to ask any questions about football. After all, it was high time they got down to business.

Before they could start talking, the telephone rang and Kate crossed the room to answer it.

"I'm surprised we haven't heard from our friends before this," Ellie said.

"Oh, they know better than to call when there's a game on," the doctor said. "Kate always unplugs all the phones. We'll be getting a barrage of questions now, though. I imagine the news has spread. Many of the staff people at the hospital have friends and relatives in town."

The room was large, and Kate had turned her back.

They were unable to make out what she was saying, although both of them unashamedly tried to eavesdrop.

She did not talk long.

"That was Grant," she said, when she returned to her chair. "He's heard the news."

"Is he mad?" Ellie asked.

"Annoyed. Very cool and dignified, of course. He wouldn't be so dignified if he knew about the coven."

"How much damage could that news do, really?" the doctor demanded. "Even if it is true--which we don't know yet--"

"I don't know, and I doubt that anyone else does," Kate said thoughtfully. "Politics is a tricky business.

In spite of all the smug pollsters and analysts, it is sometimes impossible to predict how the voters are going to react to an issue. Oh, I agree, it's absurd to consider what someone's grandfather or great grandfather did; but just think for a minute how the voters in this state would react to the news that Grant's granddaddy had been a slave? And that's an even more irrelevant fact than possible insanity in

202 Elizabeth Peters the family. If I were he, I think I might go to considerable lengths to keep such a story quiet."

The doctor ran his fingers through his tumbled hair.

"Damn it, Kate, we ought to have enough information now to make at least an educated guess as to the identity of our friend. And we've got to act soon.

He is becoming dangerous."

"I know. Ted's heart attack might have been an accident, but last night ... I don't think he had murder in mind," she added. "It would be a singularly inefficient method. But he meant to cripple, or injure, to distract us from his main purpose. That argues a high degree of ruthlessness--or of panic." "The horse," Ellie said. "Isn't there some way of identifying the horse?"

"This is horse country," Kate answered, with a shake of her head. "Everybody owns horses--except me; I'm scared of them."

"You, scared?" Dr. Gold interrupted, grinning. "I thought you weren't frightened of anything." "Their backs are too wide," Kate said, frowning.

"Or else my legs are too short ... And don't tell me about jockeys. Anyway I don't believe in using animals."

This was obviously a long-standing debate, and Kate had no intention of reviving it. Before the doctor could shape a retort, she hurried on.

"Everybody rides, and most of them hunt--not on my land, you may be sure!" "Even Miss. Mary?" Ellie asked.

"Like a Cyclops," Kate said, and smiled at Ellie, who was also a devotee of Little Women. "It's part of county mystique. The villain could borrow any one of fifty horses. There are several blacks. Ted owns a black gelding--"

"And there's that black mare of Grant's," the doctor broke in.

"Besides," Kate added, "I couldn't swear to the DEVIL-MAYCARE 2O3

color. It might have been brown or even dark gray.

Distinctive marks, such as stars or blazes, could be painted over temporarily. The villain used some sort of phosphorescent paint--water-soluble, no doubt--

around the eyes and muzzle. Very sloppy job; I've never seen such an unconvincing spectral horse. I suspect the man dismounted in the woods and sent the horse home before he sneaked back and broke in. He could clean off the paint and have the horse grazing peacefully before daybreak."

"Then what are we going to do?" Ellie demanded.

"We have to do something--"

The telephone rang again before Kate could reply.

Ellie did not doubt that she had an idea; her face had a familiar look of smug satisfaction.

But the phone call put an end to that mood. After a moment Kate's voice rose in a most unfeminine bellow.

"What? He told you-- When? When was this? Oh, damn, damn, damn. No, of course it isn't true. It's a lie. The damned thing is in my safe-deposit box. You call the others back right this minute and tell them so."

She flung the phone in the general direction of the cradle and spun around to face the others. Her eyes were blazing blue.

"Do you know what that cretin son of yours has done?" she demanded of the doctor. "I thought I told you to keep him doped."

The doctor bounced to his feet.

"Doped, hell; I told them to keep him sedated, of course, but I can't-- What is it, Kate?"

Kate had scooped up a cat, which she often did when she was disturbed; she had once said it was the equivalent of a comfort blanket, only better, because it was warmer and furrier. The cat happened to be Jenny, the old Siamese, who did not appreciate being cuddled. She immediately turned into a bundle of bony angles.

2O4 Elizabeth Peters

"Well, you didn't keep him sedated enough. He made a series of phone calls--must have started about an hour ago--telling all our suspects that he had hidden the parchment, and he was the only one who knew where it was."

"Good Lord," the doctor groaned. "Silly quixotic young--" "Oh, it was very noble," Kate said bitingly. "He's trying to set a trap, with himself as bait. The instant he moves--"

Her jaw dropped. Releasing the uncooperative cat, she grabbed for the telephone.

They were all half prepared for the news, but it came as a shock all the same. Kate reported it in fragments, as she received it, her voice flat and hard.

"He's gone. Clothes, too ... In the last hour; he had lunch at one, and the girl who came for the tray says he was asleep then ... The woman at the desk saw a man answering his description leave the hospital. She didn't know him; assumed he was a visitor ... "