Skylark (25 page)

"But Milos..."

I kept my voice low. The asphalt path led between two rows of houses, and the men had
reached the far end of it. "I was willing to keep Thorne in the dark when it was just a question of
Milos's whereabouts, but we know this man is a violent criminal, probably a murderer. If I
thought Thorne would buy the story, I'd say we spotted the goon while we were sightseeing, but
Thorne won't swallow that. And we didn't let him know we were leaving Yorkshire."

We reached the end of the path. It opened on the village green, a park-like area of
generous dimensions. We looked around.

"There they are," Ann said, pointing to the right. The men were entering what looked
like a large eighteenth-century coaching inn.

I had spotted a public telephone booth a few yards to the left. "Okay, I'm calling Jay. We
can talk about whether to call Thorne later. While I'm telephoning, you follow those men."

"Into the hotel?"

"You've already gambled that the knife-artist didn't recognize you. We can't lose them
now."

"Right." She trotted off without further protest, like a detachment of the Georgia
militia.

A plump woman in scarlet spandex pants and an embroidered tunic was using the
telephone. After what seemed like an hour but was probably five minutes, she hung up, gave me
an appraising glance, and walked off. I had a fistful of change ready in case the phone wouldn't
take my card. Fortunately it did. I punched in the London code and our number.

Jay picked the receiver up after the second ring. "Hello?"

"It's me, darling."

"Lark?" He cleared his throat. "Where the fuck are you? And what kind of stunt are you
trying to pull?"

"You can yell at me later. I'm calling from a pay phone in Much Aston."

"You'll be in much trouble if you don't tell me what the hell is going on..."

"I am trying to," I said, separating each word with care. "The name of the village is
Much Aston." I spelled it. "It's in Shropshire, south of Much Wenlock, east of Ludlow, about
eight miles from Lord Henning's estate. My note explained about Hambly."

"Right. A house, not a village, where you think Vlaçek is being held." So he had
received at least one of my messages. He sounded calmer.

"I'm
sure
Milos is at Hambly. When we got here, we took a tour of the house,
and Ann spotted the man who stabbed him. The man was touring the house, too."

There was a moment of dead silence then Jay let out a whistle.

Now that he had stopped emoting and was listening to me, I described how we had
trailed the men from Hambly to Much Aston.

"Okay. I'm writing this down. Can you go back to the parking lot and get their license
number?"

"I memorized it," I said grimly. I had been staring at the license plate for the past twenty
minutes.

He took down the number. "Great! I'll call Thorne, and he can contact the locals."

"Tell him the men are in the Greyhound Hotel. Ann followed them in there, and I
haven't seen them leave."

"Jesus, is that wise? Those boys play rough."

I said coldly, "Ann is an intelligent adult
woman
and equal to half a dozen
boys, rough or smooth."

"A slip of the tongue. I have no doubt Ann could lick her weight in boys, but that bozo
who stabbed Vlaçek is a hard case. He probably killed your landlady."

Jay was stating the obvious. He was also scaring me. I held onto my temper with an
effort. "I'd be happy to ooze silently away, and I'm sure Ann would prefer to be rifling through
the used books in Hay-on-Wye, but we do feel a certain responsibility. It's possible we led those
goons to Milos. We can't let them get at him."

He sighed. "Okay, darling, I see your point. In fact I saw it yesterday. If I hadn't called
the car rental outfit this morning, you'd be on the wanted list yourself."

I had forgotten all about the car hire contract. We had intended to return the car--in
York--at noon. I thanked Jay.

He said handsomely, "You can't think of everything. Now, Lark, I want you to go over
to the Greyhound Hotel and book a room. You'll need a place to stay. Then sit in the lobby, you
and Ann, right out in the open, and wait for the cops."

"But what if the men leave?"

"Let them. It's out of your hands now." He paused, as if shifting mental gears. "Your
mother called about half an hour ago. She said your dad is arriving at Heathrow early this
evening."

I digested that. "Did he get the papers, or is he just being paternal?"

"I'm not sure. That is, he has the papers, but Mary doesn't know what's in them." Mary is
my mother, the poet.

I groaned. "Wonderful."

"He booked the flight last night. Mary sounded a bit confused." He paused again. I could
hear him thinking. "Listen, I'm going to call Thorne right now. What is it, five thirty? I'll pick
George up and rent a car at the airport. We'll drive out to Shropshire from Heathrow and see you
tonight. Book two rooms."

"Three. You forgot Ann." I was mightily relieved. "All right, darling. I'm sorry if we
worried you, leaving like that, but there wasn't much else we could do."

"I'll probably forgive you. Take care, Lark."

"You, too." When I had disconnected, I headed for the Greyhound through a coach load
of sunburned, cross-looking tourists who were being herded in the direction of the car park.

I entered the hotel, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. Ann was standing
at the registration desk talking to the clerk in a low voice. When I touched her arm she
jumped.

"Heavens, you startled me." She turned back to the clerk, a boy of about seventeen, and
thanked him warmly.

We walked over to a leather sofa that was placed to give patrons a view of the green and
sank onto it.

"Did you reach Jay?"

"Yes. Where are the men?"

"They have a room here. They got their key and went upstairs. That nice boy at the desk
said the heavy man has a Libyan passport."

"Libyan?" Czech I had expected. Something in the man's air and the cut of his suit had
suggested that he was not English, but it hadn't occurred to me that he wasn't European.

"Libyan," Ann repeated. "Isn't it odd? The man who attacked Milos is English, though.
He gave a London address."

"You're a wonder, Ann. If I'd taken five more minutes I'll bet the kid would have let you
look at the register."

"Oh, I did, honey," she said calmly. "The clerk went into the back room for a minute or
two, and I just took a little peek. Their names are Mohammed Fasel or Faisel, something like
that, and John Smith. Probably fake names. It's a pity English hotels don't take their guests'
passports."

I grinned. If the clerk had had the passports in his possession, I felt sure he would have
shown them to Ann.

"How is Jay?"

"Jay is a prince." I told her that my father had received the papers and was flying in that
evening. She was excited. I had begun to be, too, and we spent perhaps ten minutes speculating
over the possible meaning of the papers. Then I remembered the rest of Jay's instructions.

"Good God, I'm supposed to book rooms." I jumped up. "I'd better do it now before the
men come down for dinner or whatever and spot me at the desk."

Ann rose, too. "The bar's open. They could come down any time. I'll watch the
stairs."

The clerk assured me that he had three very nice rooms available overlooking the green,
which was illuminated at night. If I'd come a day earlier he would have had to turn me away, but
most of the holiday guests had checked out that morning. There was a car park behind the hotel,
though it was rather full just then because of a birthday party going on in the saloon bar.

Ann had really warmed the clerk up. He chatted amiably as I filled in the guest
information, and told me the gentlemen who were coming in later that evening could ring for the
night porter even if he had gone off duty himself.

All that palaver took a long time, and I kept expecting Faisel and Smith to barge down
the stairs. Finally, however, my Barclaycard worked its magic. I took two of the keys and went
over to Ann.

"I'm going back to the car park for our bags."

"Can you manage?"

"Yes, and I'd rather be elsewhere when our friends decide to come down and patronize
the bar."

"I'll wait for you on that sofa and keep an eye out for the men."

"They could sneak out the back."

"Probably, but why should they? I don't think they saw me. They were on their way
upstairs when I came in here."

I hadn't told Ann that Jay intended to call Thorne, an honest oversight. We had been
distracted by our speculations about my father's arrival. I hesitated a moment then told her.
"We're supposed to wait here in the lobby until the county police arrive and make the
arrest."

She sighed but didn't protest. "I wish I could warn Milos."

"You could try calling Hambly."

She brightened. "I could, couldn't I? There's a phone back in that little hall that leads to
the bar."

I glanced up the stairway. "I'd better scoot. See you in a few minutes."

"Okay." She was fumbling in her purse.

When I returned with the two bags she was sitting on the leather sofa looking glum.

"Did you get through?"

"The clerk told me the number is what they call 'ex-directory'--unlisted. I did ring the
Henning Institute, but nobody answered. They should get an answering tape."

I set the bags down. "Frustrating. Want to go to your room and freshen up?"

"Lord, yes, and use the loo. I've been crossing my legs for at least half an hour." She
lifted her bag. "There's one of those creaky little elevators by the phone. I'll take it up."

"Okay." I wondered if the goons had used the elevator. Maybe they were already in the
public bar making whoopee. Maybe they had slipped out the back and gone off to Hambly to
murder Milos.

I waited for Ann, who returned, fresh as a daisy, in another flowered dress. Then I took a
chance on the elevator and found my own room without incident. It did indeed have a view of
the green. From that height I could see the stream that meandered through it. Two boys were
fishing from the bank.

I changed from jeans to tailored pants and a blazer. After all, my father, my spouse, and
the law were coming. I needed to look adult and responsible.

As I opened the door to go out I heard men's voices coming closer. I closed the door
then opened it again a crack just as Smith and Faisel passed by. They passed so close I could see
that Smith was wearing the brown pinstripe he had worn when he stabbed Milos. I held my
breath but they kept going. They were saying something about eating in the pub. Their voices
faded.

I inched the door wider and peered down the hall toward the stairs. They had
disappeared. I went to the squidgy little elevator. It was an antique with a cage for hapless
passengers and cables that moaned as I pressed the button. As the lift creaked upward, it
occurred to me that the elevator door opened into the passage that led to the bar. I left the lift
waiting and walked down the hall to the stairs, hoping the would-be assassin hadn't forgotten his
wallet. When I reached the ground floor, however, the men were nowhere in sight.

Ann was sitting on the sofa looking alert and bright-eyed. "They came down and went
into the bar."

"I know," I said hollowly. "I almost bumped into them upstairs. Their rooms must be
just down the hall."

"Room," Ann corrected. "They're sharing."

"How thrifty of them. No sign of the police?"

"Nope. I reckon we'll just have to wait. I wish we could go to supper. I'm starving."

"Jay said to wait in the lobby. It's only six-thirty."

She settled back on the sofa, and I sat beside her, slewing sideways so I could check to
see who was coming and going in the back. A party of tourists rambled in and headed toward the
bar.

"This could get boring."

Ann rummaged in her bag. "Have a pamphlet."

I read all her pamphlets and an old copy of the
Manchester Guardian
someone
had abandoned. She pulled out a guide to the midlands. From time to time she read me a choice
bit. The Cotswold villages, it seemed, were even more picturesque than Much Aston. We were
not far from the Cotswolds. She had always wanted to visit Chipping Camden and Chipping
Norton, she said, because of the names.

At half-past eight the men came out of the bar and went up the stairs. We waited. No
police, no Jay.

All that time people had been coming and going. The party in the saloon bar was really
warming up, and the dining room had opened.

My stomach grumbled. "I'm hungry."

"Me, too. Shall we send out for pizza?"

"Sadist."

At nine fifteen the men came downstairs, tossed their room key on the main desk, and
strode out the main entrance without so much as a glance in our direction. I was at the window in
a flash. They were heading toward the car park.

"What now?" Ann asked.

"Jay said to wait."

"Yes, but it's pretty clear the police aren't coming."

"He said to wait," I repeated, "even if the men left."

"Jay is bound to concern himself with your safety, Lark, but surely there's something we
can do."

"What, for example?"

"Lord, I don't know. Are they out of sight?"

"Yes."

"I suppose it's too late to follow them."

"And too dangerous. We've already pushed our luck."

She said, fretful, "I wish I could call Hambly."

"We could tell the village constable."

We stared at each other. I tried to imagine explaining the situation to a rural policeman
and failed. We were foreigners and women. He would probably dismiss us as crackpots.

I brooded. My stomach rumbled. It was a long time since the Royal Oak's gammon and
eggs.

Ann took up her guidebook again, but I could see that her heart wasn't in it. I walked
around the lobby and killed five minutes watching passersby. A nearby pub had spilled its
patrons out onto the sidewalk. They looked happy.