Blood Rites (10 page)

Helen nodded and put on her coat and hat and glasses and walked outside into the scorching April sun.

I

They reached the beach house in midafternoon. It had been a harsh winter, they noted, as they pulled up the winding drive. Tiles were missing from the roof, a pine tree had fallen across the road and been recently moved to let cars pass.

The door had been left unlocked and the house smelled of lemon polish and Lysol. As they walked through the main rooms, Helen picked up the phone and heard no dial tone while Dick opened the empty refrigerator and swore.

“We could drive back to town for dinner,” Helen suggested, then added with sly good humor, “or I could catch you something.”

“Catch?” Dick closed the refrigerator door and stared at his niece, who had suddenly become more alien than she had seemed all day. “Do you do that . . . hunt, I mean.”

“Yes.”

He tried to picture her face buried in some animal’s fur, her teeth biting. He could. That was the problem, he could. “Do you enjoy it?” he asked.

“Yes. The death . . . it’s so hard to explain.”

“Then don’t. I’ll drive back to town and get some supplies. If the office is still open, I’ll see about having the phone connected. You can get some sleep.”

“That would be nice,” she replied. Though she wasn’t tired, more sunlight sounded horrid. She stood inside the front door and watched the car disappear into the pines, then walked through the long center hallway to the back of the house and out onto the covered deck overlooking the Atlantic.

Paul had rebuilt some of the old terrace. Though it still faced east and south, he had extended it so it jutted out over a sloping mass of dark granite sheets falling steeply to the sea. At high tide the water would pound no more than twenty feet from the base of the deck. Now, with the tide out, there was a rock-strewn beach of rough gravel below, walled in on both sides by the jutting stone walls.

Once there had been steps curving down to the cove but these had long ago fallen into disrepair. Entire sections had rotted away and the top third had been removed altogether, probably to discourage anyone from trying to climb down. She wondered how long these had been abandoned. A few years at most would be all it would take, she thought as she looked up at the louvered roof screening the sun. Snow had apparently drifted on the roof and fallen in one weighty mass, ripping through the louvers and taking out a portion of the railing. Helen, her human experience making her needlessly cautious, stayed well away from the damage.

To the north of the house, the sea had cut a deep bay. She could see a bit of the beach, the long metal pier with the dinghy tied at the end. Gulls bobbed in the bay’s protection and Paul’s yacht, doomed and waiting, threw a long dark shadow against the water.

The Atlantic seemed deceptively blue, almost tropical in the late afternoon sun but Helen felt the cold wind blowing from it, and sensed how deep and deadly it could be. She heard noises, strange haunting notes in the distant waters, and, wondering if these were whale songs, moved her mind outward, trying to extend it to their source.

She heard a board creak behind her, whirled as a familiar voice said, “Hello, Helen Wells.”

She wasn’t surprised to see him. Somehow she had known Philippe would come for her. “Did you just arrive?” she asked.

“I’ve been here for hours. I’m surprised you didn’t sense me.”

She looked at him coldly. “I didn’t try.”

He ignored her expression, concentrating instead on how lucky he was to have found her alone. “I came to tell you that Hillary misses you. So do I.”

“I’ve made my decision. I’m not returning to Chaves again. I’m sorry.”

His voice rose. She felt his anger as he said, “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“No,” she said. “You knew I would leave you. I have to.”

“But not this soon. Look at Paul and Elizabeth. We could have years together.”

“But we won’t. I have my duty and I’ve never hidden it from you.” She knew how stubborn she sounded but all she could do was harden her resolve until he understood.

“Duty! You’re only nineteen. What are the Austras, some kind of contagious disease? Forget their plans. What do you want to do?”

“What I have chosen.”

“And me?”

“I don’t know . . .” she lied. “I suppose I would have written.”

“Written? Why couldn’t you just come to me and tell me good-bye?”

“Because I couldn’t bear to face you and feel . . .”

“Because you love me.” Now he was sure of it.

“I do,” she lied again. Maybe if she left him his pride he would go. She detected danger in his jealousy and her mind reached out, trying to trap his. Her emotions made this difficult and his thoughts seemed fluid, impossible to hold.

Philippe grabbed her, swinging her around to face the sun. Her eyes burned and teared from its painful light. “You love me,” he repeated and kissed her.

She froze, unwilling to attract or repel him, trying only to resist the temptation his body offered. He pulled back, hurt and puzzled, and saw the flinty resolve in her eyes. “Damn you,” he said as she stepped back. His fingers dug into her shoulder, deliberately hurting her.

She felt her anger as a tiny spark igniting something volatile inside her. Her mind, as strong as any in the family’s now, trapped him, forcing him to let her go. As he did, she pushed him back, intending to turn and run, run until she no longer felt his anger or pain. It seemed she had given him nothing more than a small shove yet she saw clearly that his feet left the ground. He landed unbalanced on the edge of the terrace, and fell back against the damaged wooden rail that cracked and broke. The stub of his amputated arm flailed wildly as if he tried to grab hold with his missing hand. Then he fell over the edge and was gone.

Helen’s mind, still linked with his, felt him fall and hit and die. She felt his soul scream its protest at this sudden severing with life. A wave of emotion engulfed her and she wailed at the intensity of it, sensing in a way she could not yet define the tiny echoes inside her.

Dick Wells returned an hour later and found his niece crouched in the hallway, wrapped in her coat, shivering, seemingly sightless. He pulled the coat back, looked at her hands and arms, seeing nothing, then realizing that he wouldn’t, not anymore. Her clothes were still clean, though, so he scanned the hallway and looked into the empty rooms. Then, as he was returning to her side, he noticed the broken railing on the terrace. He walked to the edge of it and looked down, seeing the body on the rocks below. He went inside and knelt beside Helen.

“Is he dead?” Dick asked.

Helen’s only reply was to tighten the ball she had made with her body. Dick assumed she was in shock and decided not to ask her any questions. The death would have to be reported but not yet, not until Helen was able to face the police. He tried the phone. The line was still not connected but he’d been assured service would be on before the end of the business day.

He sat beside Helen, holding her, until the phone rang. When Dick answered he asked the operator to connect him with Paul Stoddard’s office in New York City.

Later, after he’d carried his niece upstairs, placed her on a bed, and covered her with a blanket, he followed Stephen’s suggestion and called the local police. They arrived quickly, an ambulance and doctor soon after. The team worked with surprising efficiency, the ambulance crew retrieving the body while the sheriff asked Dick the expected questions.

The lies were surprisingly easy for Dick to tell and his position as a captain on the Cleveland police force allayed any suspicions the sheriff might have had. Dick said he assumed the body had been there when they’d arrived. Helen had discovered it while Dick went back to town. No, Helen was not able to answer any questions at this time. The sheriff suggested the doctor took a look at her. Dick wasn’t sure if an examination of Helen would reveal any physical oddities but he didn’t know how to refuse such a logical request.

He needn’t have worried. The doctor never even touched Helen. Instead, he got as far as her door and found himself unable to enter her room. Rationalizing his strange reluctance to go near her with a desire to let her have her rest, he contented himself with noticing what he could from a distance. He decided that her shock couldn’t be too great because her color, though pale, was normal and her breathing even. “I’ll stop back later if they need me,” the doctor told the sheriff when he returned to the kitchen. He gave Dick his telephone number and, looking puzzled, left.

Stephen arrived at the beach house three hours after he’d been called, setting what Dick was certain had to be a travel record. Though it was well after dark, Stephen drove without lights and garaged his car before coming inside.

During the time it took for him to arrive, Helen never moved. He went to her without a word, kneeling beside her bed, softly calling her name. Helen woke with a start and wrapped her arms around Stephen’s neck. Dick saw his friend close his eyes and stoke Helen’s hair until her shudders subsided and she relaxed in his arms. “I want to leave here,” she said in a small, pleading voice.

“Soon,” he replied, then added, “go back to sleep.”

She responded by holding him tighter. When Stephen stretched out beside her on the bed, Dick decided it was wisest to leave them alone. He went downstairs to the kitchen and pulled a warm beer out of the bag on the table. As he drank it, he put away the rest of his groceries, then went and waited in the one room in which he felt comfortable, the one that faced the road instead of the sea.

Stephen joined him a half hour later, standing beside him at the window, looking out at the winding drive and the trees.

Minutes passed before Dick asked, “Do you know what happened?”

Stephen nodded. “An accident,” he said. “Helen didn’t know anger would give her such strength.”

“She pushed him through?”

Stephen nodded again and Dick asked, “Why?”

“They were lovers in Chaves. He wanted her to return with him.” Stephen went on, describing what he could of the last few minutes of Philippe Dutiel’s life and how Helen had felt him die.

“No wonder she’s in shock,” Dick commented. “It must have been horrible.”

Stephen shook his head. “Glorious. You look confused, Richard. You shouldn’t be. You know that we live on emotions as well as blood. His death would have been an incredible attraction. That’s what shocked her.”

“The doctor said the man died almost instantly.”

“An instant is enough. She will remember it perfectly forever,” Stephen reminded him. “And she had another shock. Her terror and revulsion woke the lives in her. She’s pregnant.”

“Lives?” Dick asked.

“Twins. So far I am certain that one of them is mine. The other is most likely family as well but with a weaker mind. I will know the truth in time.” It seemed that Stephen spoke as if he should have anticipated this problem, that if only one were his, he would blame himself. “It’s better than blaming her or a dead man, yes?” Stephen added, not caring if Dick minded this reading of his thoughts.

Paul Stoddard and Elizabeth Austra arrived later that night. On the way, they’d stopped in town where Paul identified the body, made arrangements to have Philippe returned to Chaves for burial, and took responsibility for notifying Hillary of her father’s death.

As soon as they arrived, Elizabeth went upstairs to be with Helen, and Paul joined Stephen and Dick. He stood in front of the fire Stephen had started in the living room’s fireplace, letting the warmth flow through his legs before taking a seat. He appeared exhausted, sad, and, Dick thought, a little guilty. Perhaps that was natural. Stephen had told him that Philippe and Paul had been old friends.

“I told the sheriff we would be picking you up tomorrow,” Paul told Stephen. “I said that Helen enjoyed sailing and a day at sea might help her recover. I asked if it was too early in the year.”

“And his response?” Stephen asked.

“To be careful. He said the winds are dangerous this early in the season, particularly close to the shore.”

“Well, the current won’t be our problem.”

“The explosives have been planted. When you turn on the radio to call for help, you’ll have forty seconds to jump. Will that be enough?”

“Much more than I’ll need. Helen can’t go with me, not now. We’ll have to risk someone seeing her.” Stephen didn’t elaborate, nor did Paul ask. Her shock alone would be reason enough.

Stephen waited until Elizabeth joined them before spreading a Maine road map on the table. He pointed to a crossroads a few miles from the ocean. “I’ll meet Elizabeth and Helen here one hour after the yacht explodes.”

“I’m not going until you agree to two things,” Helen said, walking stiffly into the room. Stephen looked up from the map, surprised by her presence and the resolve of her tone. “I won’t go unless you agree to have someone tell Hillary the truth—about how her father died and about us.”

Stephen glanced at Elizabeth who nodded her approval. “All right,” Stephen replied.

“And I want her supported until she can live on her own. I’ll pay for it.”

“I’ll make the arrangements for her care,” Paul said. “And let me provide the support. It will arouse too much suspicion if the money came from your estate.”

“That will do,” Helen said and looked down at the map. “Someone should see us—both of us—go out to the boat, shouldn’t they?” she asked in a soft voice as if her demands had depleted most of her strength.

“It would be a good idea,” Dick said and added, “The sheriff should get Helen’s statement first. Otherwise there will be too many questions about the accident.” Dick turned to his niece. “Will you be up to giving one tomorrow?” Helen nodded and Elizabeth added one more suggestion.

As he sat and schemed with the others, Dick found himself enjoying the plotting. It took his mind off the day’s tragedy, and as he watched Helen fighting her lethargy, he thought that, given time, she would be all right.

The sheriff talked to Helen the next afternoon. She sat composed and thoughtful, looking far younger than her years in a dark green sundress. She answered the questions evenly, shuddering only when she lied about how she’d discovered the body. Afterward the sheriff took her and Stephen around to the dock. He gave them a friendly warning about the current close to shore and watched them row to the yacht before driving away. Had he stayed he might have seen the yacht veer close to the cliff beneath the Stoddard beach house so Helen could swim to shore where Elizabeth was waiting to help her make the difficult climb up to the deck.