The Expendable Man (6 page)

If either of them returned, he would call the police. He realized the risk he would be taking, the lies she could tell, her word against his. But the police would check, they would find out that Hugh had never laid eyes on her before yesterday afternoon. He had the strength and the prestige of the University Medical Center behind him, if it came to that. But with that awful sickness of heart, he knew that she could say things which would ruin his hopes of remaining at the university, much less of being granted a research scholarship. There'd always be a residue of suspicion that the girl's inventions weren't all false. How could he prove otherwise? They had traveled together.

While the flickering screen unwound its meaningless story, while the sound track uttered its meaningless words, he waited for another knock on the door. He waited until the picture ended. But there was no more intrusion. She must have believed him when he said he'd call the police.

He undressed, turned out the light, and went to bed. It was a long time before sleep came. He knew how close he was to danger. When he heard the telephone ringing, he came awake at once as he was trained to wake, quietly, completely. He saw that it was morning. He was almost afraid to lift the phone from its cradle. When his mother's voice responded to his hello, he drew a deep breath.

“Did I wake you, Hugh?”

“That's all right. What time is it?” His watch was on the table.

“Ten o'clock. I wouldn't have called but I've an endless list of things Stacy wants done. She and Edward dropped me here at the folks' on their way to the airport.”

“Hang on. I'll be there in ten minutes.”

He almost made it in ten. Five minutes to shower and shave, five to dress—slacks, sport shirt, loafers. He'd learned in the hospital not to dawdle.

His mother was with his grandmother at the dining-room table, reading the morning paper. He had forgotten about the papers, what might be in them. His mother glanced at her watch. “I wouldn't have believed it possible of you.”

Automatically he grinned at her. “Fooled you, eh? Want me to taxi you on the tour?”

“Not until you've had your breakfast,” Gram declared. “Sit down, young man.” She was off to the kitchen before he could deter her.

His mother said, “Would you? It would be such a help not to battle parking.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Casually, he picked up the section of the paper beside her plate. Sports section. She had the front page.

His grandmother reappeared with a platter of ham slices and three eggs.

“Gram! I'll be too fat to waddle.”

“Nonsense. They've been starving you at that hospital.” She skittered back to the kitchen, to reappear with a plate of hot baking-powder biscuits. “Now eat up. That's my own strawberry jam in the blue bowl. I'll pour your coffee.”

He could ask it casually: Any news? He didn't.

But he wished his mother would comment on what she was reading. Surely she would if there were a missing-girl story. He couldn't ask for the paper, not with Gram visiting with him. Somewhere along the line of errands, he'd pick up the Los Angeles
Times
. If a California girl were missing, the report would be more complete than in a Phoenix newspaper.

He put aside his napkin. “Sorry to eat and run, ma'am, but that's the way it is when you're a doctor.” He kissed his grandmother's dry cheek. “That's the best breakfast I've had since I was a boy. Remind me to marry you when you get a divorce from Gramps. Where is he this morning?”

“I sent him to the barber shop to get prettied up for the wedding tomorrow.” She gave him a wicked smile. “And to keep him from underfoot while I did my baking. I'm making the wedding cake, did you know that? Clytie didn't want a boughten cake, she wanted old Gram to make it.”

“Clytie's a smart kid,” he said. “Come on, Mother. Let's get with it.”

They left the cool house for the blaze of the street. As they went down the steps, automatically he scanned the neighborhood. There was no one of the size and shape of Iris in sight. He helped his mother into the car and took the wheel. “Where first?”

“The florist's. To order the corsages for tonight.” She gave him directions. She couldn't have been more casual when she asked, “How did you like Ellen?”

“So-so.”

“Hugh!”

Her outraged exclamation made him shout with laughter, the first decent laughter he'd had since yesterday afternoon. “You're too transparent, Mother. She's gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous, as you darn well know.”

“She's been dying to meet you.”

“Sure. And now her dreams are shattered.”

“They are not. She likes you.”

“Me and the Air Force.”

She didn't have an opportunity for rebuttal. They were at the florist's. He let her out and found a place to park further up the block. Ellen Hamilton didn't have to come to Arizona man-hunting. She would have the pick of the lot in Washington and Philadelphia and New York. His family was good, but it wasn't one of the old eastern families whose status went back to Revolutionary days. Except for his grandmother and one branch of the Densmores, none of the lines was more than three generations out of the South. No, he wasn't going to start dreaming any dreams of Ellen. He'd settle for one of Celeste's sorority sisters. By the time he could afford to marry, it would more likely be one of Allegra's.

His mother returned. “Now the stationer's. With John's grandparents coming, we need more place cards for tonight. I hope I can find the same pattern.” She touched her temples with her handkerchief. “When I'm in Phoenix, I wish we had air conditioning in the car like the Phoenicians.”

“John seems a good guy.”

“He is. A real darling. Clytie's a lucky girl.”

“What about his luck?”

His mother pretended to sigh. “You're always too quick for me, Hugh. But you might start doing a little shopping around yourself. When your niece gets married, it's high time you started to settle down.”

“Don't you think I should wait until I'm earning a living?”

“Hugh, you know your father and I—”

“Okay, okay, lady.” He touched her hand. “But you know how I feel about leaning. I've done enough of that. Don't worry, I'll pay you back in rubies some day.” The words brought again the uneasiness of what Iris might be saying right now.

“We know you will. But you needn't. Right here, Hugh.”

They were in the heart of downtown Phoenix, with no possible place to park. He said, “I'll drive around the block.”

“It won't take me long. If they still have the pattern.”

He circled several blocks, hoping there would be an opportunity to stop near one of the large newsstands, but there were no spaces anywhere. His mother was waiting on the walk when he returned.

It was the same in the half dozen or so stops. If he could park, there was no newsstand. If he couldn't, the racks were so near yet so far. After a time, he stopped bothering about it. He could buy the paper when he returned to the motel.

At noon his mother said, “I'll have to let the other things go for now if I'm to make the luncheon. Maybe I can get them later this afternoon, I don't have to attend the rehearsal. Do you want to drive me back to Stacy's or shall I drop you?”

“I'm your chauffeur. I shall even wait for you and deliver you to the luncheon party.” And with luck, Ellen as well.

“I hate to take your time.”

“It's your car and I haven't a blessed thing to do. As a matter of fact, it's fun—like old times.”

“You're a charmer, Hugh. Now give me a cigarette and turn right at the next corner.”

Stacy and Edward had built in the new section south of town. It was a neighborhood of attractive homes, some large, some not so large, comparable to any city's good suburban development. It took about twenty minutes from town to Stacy's door.

“You're going to have to hump it to make a one-o'clock luncheon, Mother. Where's the event taking place?” He matched her stride up the flagstone walk.

“All the way back to town. The Adams, private dining room. Stacy and the girls have probably gone on. You make yourself comfortable while I rush.”

The girls had gone, worse luck. But the Phoenix paper was on the table. And the air of the house was revivifying. He leafed rapidly but thoroughly. There was nothing in the news about Iris. His mother had returned by the time he started to read the front page.

There was never a parking place near the Adams Hotel. He doubled to let her out near the entrance. “I'll be back for you at three and we'll finish off your errands fast. If you don't get some rest before tonight, you'll be on sedatives.”

He drove away. He turned on the radio now. He hadn't earlier, preferring conversation with his mother. Since being in residence at the hospital, he hadn't had much time for visiting with her. There was no news coming from any station, nothing but music, not the kind of music he wanted to hear. He turned it off again. He didn't want to go back to the motel but he did want the Los Angeles newspaper. If he were in Los Angeles, there'd be a drugstore on every second corner where he could stop for it and a cold Coke. This was Phoenix. He passed only one drugstore on his drive to The Palms and it didn't look promising.

It was ridiculous to be chary of returning to his comfortable quarters. Iris wouldn't come again. She'd be afraid to. She'd known all right, by his voice and his face, that he meant what he said when he warned her last night. With no more debate, he turned in at the motel, circled to his unit and parked. He walked through the grounds to the lobby. Today's
Times
was on the newsstand. He bought it and the Phoenix paper, then went his room. The maid had already made it up. He turned the air conditioner to a higher notch, pulled aside the draperies and opened the lanai doors for the view across the green. The swimming pool was decked with sun-tanned lovelies, lobster-red hopefuls, and grub-white newcomers.

He covered both papers with the same thoroughness he had yesterday's and found nothing. Iris had perhaps had a rare moment of truth when she said her mother was gone and her father didn't care what she did. He presumed there could be such parents; he just hadn't ever happened to know any.

He put away the papers. He'd severed his connection with Iris; he didn't have to dwell on it any longer. But he couldn't help wondering what had happened after she'd left last night. The man who'd got her in this trouble would have had to come up with other plans. More likely than not, he'd put her on a bus and shipped her back to Indio. With whatever lies he could invent to fool an expert and make her willing to go. The promise of money. Of sending for her later. If he had a wife and two children, he couldn't have scuttled around trying to find an abortionist for her. Phoenix wasn't a large enough city for a man to be anonymous; he'd hardly risk word of such a search getting back to his wife.

Hugh wished he could have helped her last night. Not in the way which had occurred to her in her desperation, but helped her to get in touch with someone or some organization who would protect her. He had not dared take the risk. In his home town, yes, but not a stranger in a strange city.

At three he was again at the downtown hotel, hopeful for a glimpse of Ellen. She might have been one of the girls just driving off in John's car. His mother came out alone.

“It was a beautiful affair, I wish you could have seen the table, Hugh. Now if we can tick off these errands—”

It took close to another hour. In heat that was pushing the hundred mark. It was four o'clock when he returned her to Stacy's. “As your doctor I insist you lie down for an hour before you start any more activity. Say you will.”

“I'll try.” She didn't ask him to come in. “Dinner's at eight. Dad and I are picking up the folks tonight. You're escorting Ellen, did I tell you?” She didn't allow him to answer. She went on up the walk.

As he drove away, again he tried the radio, hoping for a news broadcast. Again it was the wrong hour; the same wailing music seemed to be coming over every station. He left it on, turning it down to a subdued murmur, just in case the news cut in.

There was no reason to go back to the lonely motel, to the vulnerable motel. He might as well drop by the grandparents'. Perhaps he could have a preview of the cake. He failed on that; no one, not even Hughie, was to view it until the wedding reception. But he spent a pleasant interlude with the elder Bents, not half as hoity-toity as Gram herself, and John's young mother, who was cooling herself with iced lemonade and his grandmother's palm-leaf fan. Dad and John's father were on the golf course; the heat couldn't deter avid golfers. While Hugh was there, John and his brother Paul, a younger but more serious edition, came in. They'd been swimming at the pool of one of Stacy's neighbors.

“Why didn't someone tell me about that?” Hugh moaned, covering the spurt of anger against Iris which erupted in him. If she hadn't intruded, he'd be having the carefree holiday he'd counted on, not contemplating dark corners of his soul. In his anger, he lost his fear of her. He rose to leave; it was past five. “Have to give myself plenty of time to dude up for the glamour girl.”

Without prompting, Paul asked, “Ellen?”

“The line forms on the right,” John announced.

“Do you know how many bids for the prom she had the year John graduated?” Paul queried. “Ten! Ten, no kidding.”

“Who was the lucky man?”

“I was, who else?” John said. “But then I met Clytie and the other nine had a chance.”

His mother said reprovingly, “Ellen's a lovely girl, John. Don't give Hugh the wrong impression of her.”

“He's just showing off, Mum,” his brother said. “His last blithe bachelor brag. Good luck, Hugh.”