Dead Even

 

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Contents

Title Page

Copyright Notice

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Copyright

 

In loving memory of my parents Charles and Elizabeth Bale of Sublette, Kansas

PROLOGUE

Slowly, methodically, he pushed the line of clothing to the back of the hall closet, secured the step ladder, and climbed up. Raising both hands above his head, he pushed upward on the square board inserted in the closet ceiling, then slid it carefully off to the side into the darkened space. He took a few more steps up the ladder until he was able to get a firm grip on the sides of the opening, then hauled himself up into the attic. He called it the attic, though in truth it was little more than a crawl space—that section of the house directly under the roof, unfinished, with wiring crisscrossing its belly.

When he had first discovered the room, he could only walk on the support beams, for fear of pushing through to the ceiling below. Now that was no longer a worry. He had carried up sheets of plywood, and constructed a makeshift floor from them, even covering sections with old carpet samples to cut down on the noise.

The only place he could stand without hunching over was the area directly under the apex of the roof where the sloping sides met, and even here his head occasionally brushed against the rafters. It didn't bother him. He liked the closeness of his room. He even liked the area around the perimeter where there was only enough space for him to lie on his back. He had fashioned a bed on the west side, and when he rested there his body was crammed in between the floor and the roof. He liked it that way. He could reach up and caress the solid beams of wood, almost drawing them around him like a blanket. He felt safe here. Nothing could touch him. No one could intrude on his world.

His hand reached out in the darkness and found the switch for the light. He flipped it over, and the attic was bathed in a soft blue luster emanating from a small lamp perched atop an orange crate situated in the middle of the room. He had tried a red bulb when he first tapped into the electricity, but it had seemed garish to him—too obtrusive, tawdry. The blue light cast a soft, eerie glow, giving the room, incongruously, a feeling of warmth.

He didn't always use the light. He could find his way around the small space in the darkness just as well. He knew every inch of his room; every coil of wire; every beam. If the time ever came when he needed to, he knew he could hide in his loft for weeks without being discovered.

Not that he was worried about that eventuality. He was too smart for them. Too careful. Still, it certainly never hurt to be prepared. His eyes moved lazily around the room, taking in the plastic bottles of water and stacks of packaged foodstuffs. Yes, he could live quite nicely up here if he had to.

He had timed himself to see how long it took to station the ladder, climb up, pull the ladder up after him, and rearrange the clothing hanging below. If pushed, he could make it in a minute and a half. And if he had the time, he could even pile boxes on top of the other items stored on the shelf below. The boxes had been measured out carefully, and the last one to be wedged in would almost completely cover the opening. Once he replaced the insert, no one would ever suspect it was possible to reach the attic through the small closet. He was working on a false ceiling for the closet. When it was finished, there would be not the slightest chance of discovery. He had considered cutting another opening to the attic through the closet in his bedroom below, but dispensed with that idea when he realized it would just be one more entrance for someone to detect. It was better to keep it simple. Less likelihood of being discovered.

Downstairs, he heard the grandfather clock start chiming. He stopped, automatically counting the melodious tollings, wondering, as he always did, why they sounded like a death knell to him. Eight chimes. It was later than he thought. He had other things to do this morning; things that couldn't wait. Later—later he would return to the attic and look through his chest. His hands shook slightly in anticipation. He wanted to go over now and remove some of the items. He wanted to run his hands over the clothing, then sink his face deep within them and sniff their bouquet.

Sighing deeply, he forced himself to switch off the light, swing his legs down through the opening, and return to the ladder. Carefully, he replaced the board in the closet ceiling, then descended to the floor. Folding the ladder, he carried it to the utility room, and hung it on the two nails where it fit snugly against the wall. He pulled the small battery-charged Dustbuster from its mooring, and returned to the closet. Scrupulously, he vacuumed off the top of the garments in case he had knocked any plaster loose, then placed them back in their original position. Next he ran the Dustbuster over the carpet in the closet and the floor outside the door. There was nothing left to indicate any activity had transpired there. It was a nuisance to go through this ritual every time he visited his room, but he was a prudent man, not given to reckless or incautious acts. It was his attention to detail that had kept his sanctuary free from prying eyes all these years.

Satisfied, he closed the closet door and strode purposefully into the kitchen where music was coming from a small portable radio sitting on the counter. It was time to do something about the orange crate. When he located a nice table to replace it, his room would be perfect.

He drew the radio to him, then picked up the telephone and began dialing.

Chapter ONE

Audra felt the needle stab into her arm, followed by a slight tingling sensation as blood was drawn up into the vial the nurse held. When it was full, Nurse Dechant changed vials and started Audra's blood flowing into the new one. Ten seconds later she deftly removed the needle, placed cotton over the small puncture wound and undid the rubber strap from Audra's upper arm. The entire procedure had taken all of two minutes.

“There now, Audra,” she said. “That should do it. We'll have the results back Monday.”

Audra rolled down the sleeve of her blouse and concentrated on the buttons at the cuff. The last step. She could almost hear Hazel Alden's nasal voice. “My dears, I
know
it isn't the
law
anymore, but with all—you know—the
dangers
involved, I can't
imagine
you would be thinking of marriage without a
blood
test!” Audra's eyes had flown to Gerald. Surely he hadn't told his mother about—

Well, it was over now, anyway. Gerald would be in later today for his test, then all that was left to do was to get the license.

The time was flying by. When they had set February twelfth as their wedding date, the five months had seemed an eternity to wait. Now, it was only three weeks away.

Audra wanted it to be over. The large formal wedding had never been her wish anyway. It was Gerald who had insisted they “do it up right.” Gerald and his mother—planning; making exhaustive lists; telling her what flowers she must carry; choosing her jewelry.

She would have preferred a small wedding, with only their closest friends and family, or even just the two of them going to the courthouse, but Gerald had been adamant.
And Gerald usually gets his own way.
She immediately felt guilty for the thought. She leaned heavily on Gerald's strength and decisiveness. She could hardly fault him for it.

“So you've got yourself a young man, Audra,” Doc Jacobson had said to her when she came in for her routine physical a few months earlier. “Does he appreciate what a fine young woman he's getting?”

“I think so, Doc,” she had answered. “At least he knows all about—about these,” she had pointed to the ugly scars crisscrossing her rib cage and abdomen. “It doesn't seem to bother him any.”

“No reason why it should, Audra,” he had said pointedly. “No reason at all.”

She crossed the waiting room and gathered up the belongings she had stashed on a chair, then handed Nurse Dechant her Blue Cross card. She was positive the deductible had not been used up as yet, but this way the office would bill her later and the payment could come out of next month's paycheck.

Getting ready for this wedding had been much more costly than she had planned. Without her parents to help pick up the tab, she and Gerald were struggling, splitting everything right down the middle, even the cost of her wedding gown. Again she felt a twinge of anger at the burden it was placing on them.
Five hundred guests.
And she knew maybe twenty of them! Then there was the reception, the dinner, the dance. The cost kept spiraling upward, along with her anxiety. She wasn't comfortable in crowds, and meeting new people was always hard for her. Had been ever since … Well, there was nothing to do but steel herself and get through it, for Gerald's sake. She couldn't imagine what had possessed her fiancé, anyway. He was always so frugal—
cheap?
—in other matters.

And Bess, bless her heart, telling her
she
would pay for the wedding! The old woman could barely keep afloat as it was! Gerald would really have a fit if he ever found out about the special savings she put aside each month for Bess. But it was only fair. Bess Truman had certainly helped
her
out over the years!

Nurse Dechant pushed the insurance card toward her. “There you go, Audra. If I don't see you Monday, I'll see you at the wedding. I've even bought a new dress just for the big event. Doc and I were both so pleased you invited us.”

Audra impulsively reached across the counter, placing her hand on the arm of the old nurse who was at least ten years past retirement age. “I'm so glad you're coming.” She didn't add that the two of them were among the handful of guests she would know personally.

Audra glanced at her watch as she left the small clinic. It was only a little past eight. Good. Because of the blood test, she had had nothing to eat since six yesterday evening, and she was famished. She would just have time to swing by McDonald's for some breakfast.

Stepping out into the sunlight her eyes fell on a building across the street. It was a business office, but the discolored limestone of the building's exterior was typical of the buildings in the old Hays City of pioneer days.

She smiled as she thought of her adopted “hometown.” Like so many other frontier towns that had evolved into modern towns and cities, there was a kind of schizophrenia to it—as if the town couldn't really decide whether it was a frontier cow town or a modern city. The downtown area had ancient limestone buildings and brick streets interspersed with new buildings with shiny exteriors. Gas lights and neon.