Bring Back Her Body (8 page)

Cain said, “But why try to run off with this stuff? Why? And who?”

He took a long pull at the bottle, lighted a cigarette and took another drink. Suddenly he became aware of what he was doing and he nearly dropped the bottle. But it was too late. He could feel the liquor running through him, potent, warming, relaxing. He would have preferred a clear head to cope with this situation, but he knew his own weakness well. He went to the bar and got another bottle.

Lisa watched him worriedly. “Let’s go upstairs and look for those clothes,” she suggested.

“Uhm,” Cain agreed. They went in dignified fashion up the steep stairs and up the broader ones to the landing. The guest room revealed nothing, nor did the bath. Toby’s room was also empty. Cain followed Lisa into the guest room and sat one one of the made-up bunks. Liza stood and looked at the lingerie still dangling from one of her hands.

“This is all she had,” she said fuzzily. She tipped her bottle to her mouth and was surprised to find it empty. Dropping it, she borrowed Cain’s. He just sat and stared at the underwear.

“There’s something odd about it,” he mused. Reaching out, he rolled the cloth through his fingers. “It’s purple.”

“Lavender,” she corrected.

“Uhm. It’s something else too.” He peered as if he were near-sighted. “What size is it?”

Lisa gave him back the bottle and examined the underwear. “The mark got torn off,” she decided.

“What size are you?” Cain asked.

“Thirty-four.”

“How big is Paula?”

“How would I know? Probably thirty-two. ‘A’ cup, like mine.”

“What about Honor?”

“I don’t go around measuring, Cain, you don’t think she …”

Cain said solemnly, “I suspect everybody.”

“Cain, you’re drunk.”

“Not yet,” he said and was reminded of the bottle. He drank.

“This thing feels odd,” Lisa said. Suddenly a surprised look crossed her face. “I know, Cain. It’s damp! It’s not even half dry.”

“That’s it,” Cain said. He got up excitedly. He sat down again and fumbled for a cigarette. “Who do you know that takes baths in her underwear?”

“No one.”

Cain picked up the panties and squeezed them. A drop of water formed and fell onto the edge of the bed. “See?” He cocked his head to one side and looked at her and then at the panties.

She backed off. “Uh-uh. Besides they’re ripped. And they won’t fit. I can see from here that they’re too small.”

“Me too,” Cain admitted. He sat with his chin in his hand. He stayed that way for some time. Then he stood up, smiled at Lisa, turned around, and fell face forward on the bed. She could hear him snore before he stopped bouncing.

“Softy,” she said. She studied his attenuated length and then giggled slyly to herself. Carefully, she tiptoed to the light switch and snapped the room into darkness. Then with the same exaggerated care, she returned to the bed and felt for Cain. When she found him, she quietly removed all his clothes. She stretched out beside him.

“That’ll make him sweat,” she said aloud, and fell asleep.

CAIN
awoke suddenly, sharply. He lay listening to soft breathing coming from somewhere close by. Tentatively he put out a hand and felt flesh. He jerked back his hand but not fast enough. A sleepy voice said, “Huh?”

“Dozed off,” Cain said hastily. “Where were we?”

“Here,” she said.

Cain felt the coolness of night air on his bare skin. He swallowed. “Like this?”

“Certainly.” She added slyly, “Don’t you remember?”

The ambiguity of the question would have struck Cain had he been fully sober. But he was not, not even half sober. He said plaintively, “Lisa …”

She sat up in darkness and bent toward him. “Yes, Cain?” Her voice was soft. He could feel her hair brush against his face. She smelled faintly of perfume and powder and rum. He thought about pushing her away but his mind was fuzzy and he found that he didn’t want to push her away.

He said something to himself about sheep and lambs and being hung for one or the other, hiccoughed gently, and reached for her.

When she took her lips from his, she said, “I wondered what you’d do when you were half sober.”

“Uhm,” Cain said.

• • •

When he awoke again, it was still very dark. The room felt empty and he reached out a hand. There was a warm spot beside him but that was all. Groggily he got to his feet and fumbled his way to the hall. The light was on and noises came up from below.

“Lisa?” It was a tentative call.

“In the kitchen.”

Cain turned and padded to the bath. He let the cold shower sluice him down until he was chattering. He dried and dressed, conscious that something in the back of his mind was bothering him. He was not quite sober. He still had a fine edge. But he knew it was unwise to keep that edge, and so when he went downstairs, he gulped at the coffee Lisa served him.

He took the second cup more slowly. “Guess I passed out,” he said idly. He leaned forward and took a freshly lighted cigarette from Lisa.

She scowled at him. “You just passed out the first time,” she said. She looked faintly like a comfortable tabby cat.

Cain felt the something that was bothering him tug insistently at his mind. “First time?” he echoed.

She was staring at him, her eyes wide. “Cain …” And then she laughed, shrilly. “You don’t remember!”

He did now; it showed in his eyes. He remembered faintly, too faintly to be sure that it wasn’t just a dream. He gulped. “Lisa, I …” And then it came to him and a sigh of relief burst out. “But you’re already married!”

She laughed again. She laughed until the table shook and the coffee slopped out of their cups. She said, “If I weren’t, it wouldn’t matter. You moralistic idiot. There are no strings, Cain.”

He was silent, gulping at his coffee again. Finally he said, “A profitless evening.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was acid.

Cain flushed. “I meant that even if we have the underwear, we don’t know whose it is.”

“We can try it on Honor. I mean — I can.”

“No strings,” Cain reminded her dryly. Finishing his coffee, he got up. “Back a ways, it seems I was interrupted. I’m off to work.”

He fled. Outside, he got out his flashlight and made his way to the garage. The coffin sat as before as if waiting. He approached it swiftly. He wanted a good look at that wax mask of Paula. In fact, he wanted to take it with him. He was prying up the lock with a crowbar when Lisa came softly up behind him. Cain grunted as the lock gave, dropped the bar, threw back the lid and let his light shine inside.

Lisa’s scream shattered the night. Toby Patton lay there — a knife buried to the hilt in his chest.

• • •

Lisa’s screams kept beating on his ears until he turned around and slapped her viciously. She went to one knee, gasped, struggled to her feet and ran. Cain caught her in the kitchen and hit her again. She stopped fighting and her eyes became clear. “That was no dummy,” she said.

“I know,” Cain told her. “Toby really got it this time.”

“Cain, let’s get out of here. Let’s clean up and go — if we have to swim.”

They started with the basement, cleaning what they had touched. Lisa showed Cain a door that led into an old basement, a room lined with shelves of empty jars. He pushed the suitcases in there. Lisa pointed out the old-fashioned cellar door at the far end. “We can always come for them that way.”

They finished upstairs and Cain went down to dispose of the empties and replace the nearly full bottle. The sight of it made him gag. He was about done when he heard Lisa. She appeared at the head of the stairs.

“Cain, car coming.”

He jumped across the room and threw the master switch, plunging the place into darkness. He stood silently, listening to her move about. Then she said, “It’s that damned caretaker, Cain. He and his wife must be coming home from a damned party or something. They’re driving into the garage!”

Cain said, “Come down here, damn it,” and flashed his tiny beam on the stairs.

In a moment she was stumbling into his arms. He wrapped them around her and held her briefly while she got herself together. Then they went into the cellar and out by the old doors and stepped into the weed-grown backyard where the wing met the house. Lisa gasped as she ran beside him.

“Snap out of it!” he ordered her. “How do we get away from this damned place?” He stopped suddenly. “Why in hell are we running? We can face the cops, can’t we?”

He felt the shaking of her body and the blubbering of her breath and he slapped her. She said, “No. Not yet, Cain. Please. We can’t. I can’t. Let’s get home.”

Cain felt the conflict within him. He knew that he should call the police even if he didn’t have much use for them. He knew, too, that such a call would see them in for possibly endless questioning. Also, he felt that to call them might throw Lisa into trouble that she could not get out of. He didn’t reason it very clearly; he just knew that somewhere along the line she had been forced into playing ball with Toby. That was the only logical explanation for her staying close to him.

He wanted more time to think about it so he caught her hand and started forward again. They were on the edge of the woods, some distance from the house and they didn’t look back.

“We’ll find a boat of some kind,” he said, and felt her pulling at him to hurry.

They reached Toby’s dock but there was no boat. Cain started up the beach and she followed, stumbling once in her haste. The second time she went down she stayed that way, her head hanging, her arms supporting her weight.

“You’re wasting our time,” he said harshly. “Go back to the dock and wait for me. Get!”

She rose and walked slowly away from him. He turned and hurried on. He went as far as the terrain would permit and saw nothing but a sunken rowboat half filled with sand. He started back, seeking an answer to the problem. They could, of course, hike to the highway and hope for a bus in the morning but, dressed as they were, looking as they did, that would be painfully obvious.

He stopped and looked across the water wistfully. He could almost guess which was his place, which the Ryerson estate with all its boats. He started to turn and stopped again. It was just a dot suddenly touched by the path of moonlight and yet he could have sworn he saw someone standing up, moving around. He strained his eyes, then eased up, looked away and back. It was a boat though it was barely moving, coming in easily as if it were drifting.

Cain walked on slowly, still watching. There was no further movement aboard and then the boat drifted out of the moonlight into darkness. Cain wondered if someone were in trouble. If so he just might be able to make a deal for his passage back.

He got out his light and blinked it. There was no answer. He tried again, waited and gave up. Even if it were empty he might have transportation. He was still watching when it drifted back into the moonlight. Now it was closer and he saw no one at all. It was, he noted, a little runabout like the one Ryerson’s had. A common enough boat and capable of being rowed.

He waited no longer but struggled out of his shirt and trousers, kicked off his shoes and plunged into the surf. The cold water chilled him but after a few strokes the warmth began to come back and he propelled himself powerfully across the smooth water. He reached up when he hit the hull, grabbed a handhold and swung himself on board. The boat rocked sharply.

Someone yelled, “Hey!” and Cain turned to see a head appear over the stern.

He said, “Oh no!” as the whole body followed the head. It was Honor Ryerson and she wore even less than he.

Cain retreated behind the tiny cabin and crouched. “I won’t answer any questions until you get me something to put on.”

“Want my jeans, Cain?” He was silent and a towel came damply out and hit him. He grabbed it and put it around his waist and waited. She said, “I’m dressed. I just got undone because I had to go overboard.”

“You should carry a bathing suit.”

“Like you?”

Cain shivered miserably in the knotted towel. She said, “It conked out on me. And I can’t find the trouble.”

He took her flashlight and peered down at the motor. Honor stood beside him, grease on her snub nose and on her chin. Cain handed up the light, and directed her to flash it as he moved his hand. He couldn’t see very well and finally his hand went out of sight. He felt a wire where no wire belonged, ran it down and got his hand around an object that felt like an oversized coil. Gingerly, he traced the wire and loosened it, traced its partner and loosened that and then removed the coil and carefully brought it to light.

The edge of the flashlight touched his face. His jaw was set hard as he looked at what he held. He set it down gently. “Who runs this rig besides you?”

“No one. It’s my special job. I’m careful with it.”

“I used it.”

“Because I told Thomas you could have anything I’ve got.”

Cain said, “That would sound just fine to strange ears,” and dived back into the machinery. When he came up for air he had the carburetor in his hand. He began to disassemble it with the tools he had found by his feet.

“When did this conk out?”

“When I was a little over halfway here. I couldn’t go back as easily because of the current.”

“Uhm,” Cain said. He unscrewed the jets and squinted through them at the light. “You should clean this more often,” he said. He blew mightily and the jets cleared one by one. In ten minutes the motor was purring at him.

“Thanks, Cain,” she said. “I don’t know why the carburetor didn’t occur to me.”

“Didn’t it spit a while before it died?”

“Yes, it’s been doing it all evening.” She handed him some waste. “Where can I take you?”

“To Toby’s dock for my clothes and Lisa and then home.”

“Oh, she’s with you.”

“Damn it,” Cain said. “She helped you out last night and you can do the same for her tonight whether or not you have a fancied grievance.”

“Oh, does she need help?”

“Yes,” Cain said. He added grimly, “And so do you.”

Honor made no answer but appeared to be concentrating on getting the boat into the dock. For the first time Cain became aware that she had been and still was running without lights.

Lisa stood up and jumped aboard as they came abreast of her. “Well!”

Honor said cheerfully, “Hold tight while Cain goes for his clothes.”

“Is he undressed again?” Lisa saw the towel and began to laugh. “Cain, you’re becoming positively psychopathic about this.”

Cain told her where to go and stalked off down the beach. In a few moments he was back, dressed and in better humor. Clothing gave him a dignity he found he could not possess without it. When he came on board Lisa was walking nervously in the tiny space.

“Let’s hurry,” she said. She kept looking toward the trees as if expecting someone to appear there at any moment.

“To my place,” Cain told Honor.

She asked no questions. Cain sat on the motor hatch, cradling the coil he had found. There was no conversation at all until they had tied up at Cain’s dock and were in the cabin. Lisa, as usual, busied herself making food and coffee and, though Cain did not feel he could eat, he found himself wading into a pile of sandwiches with a will. Only Honor seemed unenthusiastic. It was gray, dull daylight with clouds coming up when they had finished.

Cain said, “Honor, has anyone but me used your boat lately?”

“No. I don’t let anyone.”

“But they could have access to it?”

“I suppose,” Honor said. She sounded puzzled. “But it’s in the boathouse and we keep it locked. There’s a good view of the door from the house and access would be pretty difficult.”

“Unless someone swam under,” Cain said. He shook his head. “Not likely.” He took the coil and motioned for Honor to follow him outside. He set it carefully on the sand, a good distance from anything and pointed. “That was hooked to your motor.”

“I thought a dirty carburetor was the trouble.”

“Most of it was, fortunately. This stops motors permanently.”

Honor looked it over carefully and then looked at Cain and shrugged. “It looks like one of those whistle smoke bombs to me. Who was the practical joker who …” She stopped. “But it didn’t go off.”

“One of the delayed types,” Cain said. “There’ll be a series of little relays inside, each requiring so much current built up before they release and let the juice through. That way it wouldn’t go off until you’d run the motor for a pre-determined length of time.”

“But I’ve been running it a lot tonight. I …” She stopped and flushed. Cain heard her whisper, “Damn!”

He ignored her obvious blunder for the moment. He said “Honor, I’ll give you odds that this little gadget doesn’t just whistle. It’s a miniature mine. The Navy had some.” He didn’t add that smugglers did too, with a switch ready to throw if they needed to jettison both cargo and ship. Throw the switch and you still had so many minutes to get away before the Revenue boys got there. Cain had seen it work once — on a full-sized fishing smack, not a dinky little runabout. There was some wood and an oil slick. That was all.

“Cain?”

He turned to her and saw the struggle going on inside her written on her face. She was finding it hard to believe him. Then as she had a good look at his face, he saw horror and fear in her eyes. He said, “What were you doing cruising at this time of night?”