Sleeping Beauty (8 page)

I froze, half out of the car. The fear of death thrilled through me. I said carefully:

“Put it down, Mr. Lennox. Don’t you recognize me?”

He glared along the barrel for an instant. He didn’t seem to care who I was. Then he raised the gun so that it was no longer pointed at me. I straightened up.

Cold fear and anger boiled up in my head like liquid air. I wanted to take the rifle out of his hands and throw it cartwheeling over his house, far out over the cliff, into the sea.

His sister felt the violent possibility of the scene. She hurried around the car and came between us, speaking to him in a voice that adults use on children.

“Give me that, Jack. You don’t need it. Mr. Archer came here to help you.”

“I don’t want his bloody help.” His voice was thick with alcohol and passion.

“Come on, Jack. Straighten up now. I know you’re under bad strain but the rifle just makes it worse.”

He was holding it pointed approximately at the moon, which floated low like a target balloon. The woman reached for the gun. They wrestled for a second, more with their wills than their muscles. Her will won. She lifted the gun away from him, and he let her.

Without it he looked strangely empty-handed. He was one of those men who need a gun to complete themselves.

The three of us moved awkwardly to the house.

Marian Lennox was waiting just inside the front door, as if she had been afraid to come out.

“I told you it was Elizabeth,” she said to her husband.

Her voice was monotonous and her movements limp, as if her nerves had been strained too far and gone slack. But she took the rifle from her sister-in-law and stood it in a corner of the hallway. Jack Lennox scowled at the two women, and turned the same face on me:

“You had no right to come here. You’ll ruin everything.”

He was full of grief and anger, and spoiling for a fight. I wasn’t. I said: “Your sister asked me to come. I think it was a good idea. People shouldn’t try to handle these things by themselves.”

“We’re doing all right,” he said without conviction.

“Have you had a second call yet from the kidnappers?”

“No.”

“Exactly what was said in the first call?”

He looked at me with suspicion. “What do you want to know for?”

“I’d like to get some idea of who we’re dealing with—whether they’re amateur or pro—”

“You’re not doing the dealing. We are.”

“I understand that. I’m not trying to interfere.”

“Of course you’re trying to interfere. You walked into my house uninvited and unwanted. You don’t give a damn about us, or about what happens to my daughter.”

“I do, though. That’s why I’m here.”

He shook his head. “You’re spying for Tom Russo, aren’t you? How do I know he isn’t involved in this? And maybe you are, too, for all I know.”

He had worked himself up into another rage and was letting it talk for him. I didn’t know how seriously to take him. The gun was still resting upright in the corner. The two women were standing, as if by design, between the gun and him.

It seemed to me that I had already spent a long time in the hallway with Jack Lennox and his sister and his wife and his bloody gun. It was an ugly cold dark room without any furniture, like a holding cell for prisoners waiting for paroles that never came.

His wife approached him with one hand stretched out. She was pale and enormous-eyed and awkward in her movements, as if she had been in solitary for years. Her hand paused in the air before it touched him.

“You mustn’t get so excited, Jack. You said that yourself. We’ve got to keep a clear head or the family will never get through this alive. He’s liable to phone now any time.”

“Has he threatened to kill your daughter?” I said, unwisely.

Lennox turned on me with clenched fists. His wife took hold of his raised right arm. He flung her away from him, and she almost fell.

“For God’s sake, Jack,” Elizabeth said, “calm down.”

“Then take this spying bastard out of here.”

She moved past him to the door and opened it. “Out, Mr. Archer, please.”

The heavy door clicked shut behind me. The air was cool on my face. The moon soared above the sea. In the middle distance, a screech owl made small weird grouchy noises like nature talking back to the world of men.

But I wasn’t interested. I wanted to be inside the house, in the cell with the prisoners, waiting for the second telephone call.

I waited for nearly an hour. It seemed to stretch out like time on the planet Neptune. The screech owl spoke occasionally. I had nothing to say in return.

Then the telephone rang in the house, once. It required an effort of will to stay in the car. I felt partly responsible for the danger Laurel was in, and I didn’t trust her father to get her out of it.

I reached for a cigarette. I hadn’t smoked a cigarette in several years, but I felt defrauded when I couldn’t find one. I sat and bit my lips and listened to the slow ponderous clock of the waves at the foot of the cliff.

Elizabeth came out alone. She walked very slowly toward my car, as if the house behind her exerted a magnetic influence. I got out and opened the car door for her. In the light of the moon, she looked pale and subdued.

“Did the kidnappers phone again?”

“Yes. Jack talked to one of them. A man.”

“What did the man say?”

“Jack asked me not to discuss it with you. He wants to handle it alone. That’s his way, especially where Laurel is concerned.”

“He’s making a mistake.”

“I told him that. But I might as well have been talking to that wall.” She pointed toward the stone wall that enclosed the house. “I’m afraid he doesn’t trust you. He doesn’t trust anyone, not even me.”

“Has he always been like that?”

“Not really. I think he’s breaking down under the strain.” She was silent for a moment; then she shook her head in denial. “That’s really unfair to Jack. He’s terribly eager to do the right thing and do it all by himself. He hasn’t been the best and most understanding father in the world, and there’s been a lot of trouble between him and Laurel. I’m sure he feels that if he can save her now, and show her how much he loves her—” Her voice dropped again, as if she couldn’t imagine the sequel to this.

“It’s a poor time for grandstanding. Her life is in danger. She may be dead now. What assurance has he been given that she isn’t?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he ask to talk to her?”

“I don’t know,” she repeated. “He took the call in his study, and kept the door closed. He promised to deliver the hundred thousand tomorrow. That was all he told me about the conversation.”

“When tomorrow?”

“Early in the afternoon, I gather. Jack said he’d need the money around noon.”

“Would there be any point in trying to talk to him now?”

“For you to try?”

“Either of us. Or both.”

She considered the idea. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Archer. It’s better not to press Jack when he’s feeling like this. Perhaps tomorrow—”

I turned the key and started the car. As I was backing away from the wall, the front door opened. Marian Lennox came toward us, stumbling on the flagstone walk and waving. She looked like a disoriented bird blundering into the headlights.

We both got out to meet her. Elizabeth said in a slightly bedside manner:

“What is it, Marian?”

“Jack had a dizzy spell. I got him to lie down.”

“He hasn’t had a heart attack?”

“No. He’ll be all right.”

“Do you think we should call a doctor?”

“I’m afraid that would only upset him.”

Elizabeth put her arm around the other woman’s shoulders. “I’ll stay with you if you like.”

“No. You’re awfully kind. But Jack and I have to do this by ourselves. It’s the way Jack wants it.”

“What about you?”

“I’m willing to do whatever Jack says. He’s the strong one.”

“I think you’re showing a lot of strength, Marian.”

Marian shook her head and drew away, ending their moment of affection.

“I’m only doing what I have to do,” she said. “Just make sure that Sylvia gets hold of the money by noon. That’s all we’re asking of you.”

“Don’t worry, dear.”

Marian Lennox turned to me before she went inside. Her face was like a clay mask in the moonlight:

“I’m sorry, Mr. Archer. After coming all this way, you should have been given a better reception.”

“That’s all right.”

“You will let us know if you find out anything?”

I said I would. She moved back toward the house as if she dreaded both what was ahead of her and what was behind her. She let herself in at the front door.

“Poor Marian,” Elizabeth said. “Poor both of them. I wish I could help them.”

“Has your brother ever had a heart attack?”

“No, but my father almost died of one a few years ago.” She added after a thinking pause, “That was the real beginning of the trouble in the family. Father suddenly realized that he was mortal, and he decided to make the most of the life he had left. So when he was physically able he took up with Connie Hapgood.

“Mother’s a proud woman. Also she has some money of her own. She moved out of the old house in El Rancho and bought a house on the beach here.”

“Is that where we’re going now?”

“Yes. It’s only a mile or so from Jack’s house.” She gestured toward the south. “Which was the big attraction for Sylvia, I suppose. Jack was always her favorite.” Her voice was cold without being bitter. “She should have stayed and fought it out with Connie. She could have held on to Dad if she’d wanted to. But she didn’t care. She left him to that woman. And now she’s letting him dissolve the marriage without even putting up a fight.”

“Why does it matter so much?”

“Dad is in his seventies. He’s not going to live forever. And if Connie inherits the company, or even a major part of it, that will be the end of the Lennox family. Money is the glue that holds us all together—money and oil.”

I turned south along a dark tree-lined road which paralleled the shore. A barn owl flew across the space of sky between the trees, moving as silently as a fish under water.

The woman was almost as quiet for a while. Finally she said in an unwilling voice, “Dad loves Laurel, you know. She’s his only grandchild. And if Jack is covering up for her in some way, you can understand why. Laurel is his ace in the hole.”

“Are you telling me that you think Laurel may not have been kidnapped after all?”

“I guess I am. At least I’m admitting the possibility.”

“What made you change your mind about it?”

“I don’t really know.” She considered the question in silence.

“I have a feeling there’s something funny going on. There’s a queer atmosphere in Jack and Marian’s house tonight—what you might call an atmosphere of complicity.”

“You think they know that Laurel’s trying to take them?”

“I think they know something like that, or at least Jack does. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’s covered up for Laurel.”

“Tell me about the other times.”

“I don’t think I’d better,” she said. “You wouldn’t see them in context, and I don’t want to turn you against her. She may need your help. We all may.”

“Good. What was the context?”

She thought about the question, and answered in general terms: “When there’s trouble in a family, it tends to show up in the weakest member. And the other members of the family know that. They make allowances for the one in trouble, try to protect her and so on, because they know they’re implicated themselves. Do you follow me?”

“I learned it long ago in the course of my work. Where did you learn it, Elizabeth?”

“From my family. Yes, do call me Elizabeth, please.”

We turned right on Seahorse Lane, which dipped toward the sea, and turned again at Mrs. Lennox’s mailbox. Her name was painted on it in new black lettering: “
SYLVIA LENNOX
.” The house at the end of the cypress-haunted lane was single-storied, and sprawled like a stucco labyrinth along the edge of the sea.

A young man came out across the lighted courtyard to meet
us. He was of normal size but he gave the impression of being dwarfed by his surroundings. He walked on his toes like a dancer, ready to move in any direction. His moist brown eyes looked rather eager to please.

“How are
you
, Mrs. Somerville?”

“I’m fine,” she said in a tone that denied it, and turned to me. “Mr. Archer, this is Tony Lashman, my mother’s secretary.”

We shook hands. He told Elizabeth that her mother was waiting in her room to see her, and she excused herself.

From the window of the front room where Lashman took me, I could look out across the beach and the water and see the lighted oil platform. I couldn’t tell how close the oil had come to shore, but I could sense its odor invading the house.

The young man sniffed. “Filthy stuff.”

“How does Mrs. Lennox feel about it?”

“She’s pretty ambivalent.” He gave me a quick sharp look to see if I understood what he was saying. “After all, she’s been married to an oilman most of her life.”

“Do you know old Mr. Lennox?”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve never met him. I’ve only been with Mrs. Lennox since she and her husband agreed to separate.” He ran his fingers through his wavy black hair. “This is very much a temporary thing for me. I’m going back to college in the fall. Or else to photography school. I haven’t decided. I only took this job to help Mrs. Lennox out.”

“I understand her granddaughter has been staying here.”

“That’s right, she’s been using the guesthouse.” He turned to face me. “I heard she’s missing.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not surprised. She wasn’t too happy here. Or anywhere else, for that matter. I did my best to cheer her up, but it didn’t do too much good.”

His eyes reflected a facile sympathy, but it soon faded. There seemed to be a restless movement behind them, a constant turning in his head like an occulting light.

“How did you cheer her up?”

“We played a lot of tennis—she plays a fairly good game of tennis. And we had some good old heart-to-heart talks, you know? She wants to do something with her life. I’m the same way myself—creative. Laurel and I have quite a lot in common. I went through a marriage that didn’t work out myself.”