Betrayal at Blackcrest (11 page)

“Yet she quit her job,” he persisted.

“Because she intended to get married. She would never have done it if she didn't have a valid reason. She loved the revue.”

“You can never be sure about other people,” he replied.

“Your cousin said something like that.”

“It's true, nevertheless.”

Alex was silent for a while. He seemed to be lost in thought. The Japanese lanterns poured their colors down on the terrace. I noticed a few acorns scattered over the wooden planks, fallen from the oak trees. I could smell the river. The alcohol was beginning to hit me hard now, and everything grew a little hazy. I studied the man across the table from me. The sport coat hung loosely from his broad shoulders. His hands rested on the edge of the table, strong brown hands that seemed to have a personality of their own.

“I shouldn't have bothered you with all this,” I said. “I shouldn't have brought you into it. He's your cousin …”

“You need help,” Alex replied. “I can't believe anything is seriously wrong—I'm sure your cousin will turn up—but I can understand your distress. You can't just sit by idly and wait for her to come back home.”

“I don't intend to,” I said. “I intend to get proof. That's why I am staying at Blackcrest.”

“I'm not at all sure I approve of that,” he told me.

“Why?”

“I can't bring myself to believe that Derek is involved, but if he
is
, and he knows you suspect him, Blackcrest can't be a very safe place for you. Damn! That sounds like a line from one of my books! But it's true.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Look, Derek said he had a man in London working on it. Maybe he'll turn something up.”

“I don't believe there
is
a man in London,” I replied. “I believe he made that up to pacify me and keep me from going to the police.”

“I wonder … I have a friend, Martin Craig. He's a detective. He's helped me several times with my books—checking details of police procedure, verifying facts about criminal behavior, and so forth. I could put in a call to London and ask him to look into the matter. Martin is very good. If there has been some kind of foul play, he'll find out. He owes me a favor. I'll call him.”

“That's very kind of you.”

“In the meantime, I wish you'd change your mind about staying at Blackcrest. It makes me uneasy.”

“Don't be,” I retorted. “I'm a big girl now.”

Alex Tanner smiled. “I'll take your word for it,” he said. “You're remarkable, you know. I've never met anyone quite like you. Here I am, driving along, minding my own business, leading a perfectly ordinary and unspectacular life, and I stop to change a flat tire on a rainy night and find myself caught up in something utterly fantastic.” He shook his head and summoned the waiter. “I can't believe any of this. Check, please, waiter.”

He settled the bill, left a large tip, and led me across the wooden floor of the terrace and through the main room. I walked unsteadily, my head reeling a little with the sudden motion. Alex noticed this. When we stepped outside, he took my hand and led me away from the parking lot and down a path that went toward the river. I did not protest. His hand gripped mine firmly, and I stumbled once or twice. The smells of the river were strong, crushed milkweed and moss, mud and sulfur. It was chilly. My shoulders trembled. Alex stopped, took off his sport coat, and draped it around my shoulders.

“You really
aren't
used to liquor, are you?”

“I told you I don't drink. Am I drunk?”

“Not quite. All you need is a little fresh air to clear your head. I thought you were going to fall flat on your face in the restaurant.”

“It was a strong drink,” I protested.

“You're full of surprises,” he remarked.

“Where are we going?”

“I thought we'd stroll by the river for a while until you're steady on your feet. There's a park of sorts down here, delightful view of the local teen-agers. They all come here to neck.”

“Is that what you had in mind?” I asked foggily.

He laughed softly. “I'm no cad. I don't get my ladies drunk and then take undue advantage. However, if you've a mind to …”

“We'll walk,” I replied. “I'm not
that
drunk.”

He laughed again. It was such a pleasant sound. My arm was in his. The heavy sport coat hung on my shoulders. It was scratchy and smelled of sweat and leather, masculine. We didn't talk for a while. We walked down to the edge of the river and followed a path through the trees. The moonlight was bright, and silver filtered through the limbs. Dark purple shadows danced across the path. We crushed acorns and dead leaves underfoot. We passed a couple of startled teen-agers who were sitting on an old marble bench beneath one of the trees. The river lapped noisily at the banks. An owl hooted. It was all foggy and dreamlike, and I felt more relaxed and at ease than I had since the moment I had first arrived in Hawkestown.

Alex walked with long, loose strides. I had to take short, hurried steps to keep up with him. He led me to a bench near the edge of the water. He took my shoulders and set me on the bench as though I were an invalid who couldn't manage it alone. I leaned back against the trunk of the oak tree and closed my eyes. Alex gathered up a handful of pebbles and tossed them into the water. There was a series of soft plops as the stones skimmed the surface.

I don't know how long it was before I opened my eyes again. My head was clear, although there was a slight throbbing that I feared would be a major headache later on. Alex was standing beside the bench, his arms folded across his chest, looking down at me. For a moment I thought he was Derek Hawke. They did look remarkably alike.

“Feel better?” he asked.

“Much.”

“Head clear?”

“Almost.”

“Fine.”

“You must think me terribly naïve, not being able to hold one glass of whiskey without staggering. I feel very foolish.”

“I find it charming,” he replied. “What shall we talk about? It's a lovely night. The crickets are chirping, and the moon is high, and you don't want to neck. We may as well talk.”

“Tell me about yourself,” I said. “I know you do a wonderful job of changing flat tires, and I know you write mystery novels, but I don't know anything else.”

“Andy didn't tell you anything?”

“I'm afraid she was a little prejudiced.”

He chuckled. “She's a grand old girl. I'm very fond of her, and she's fond of me, too, deep down. If I had half a chance, I could win her over completely, but there's not much point in that, is there? Derek has pretty well convinced her that I'm unworthy of notice. I should care about that, but I don't. He's willing to live his life sheltered in that old pile of stone, waiting for the money, and someday he'll get it and realize the best days are over and the money isn't much good to him. I'm content to be an outsider, a Tanner, son of the outrageous Tanners who lived high and died worn out and had no regrets. They disgraced the family, but they lived. I've got no roots, no strings, and I'm open to any suggestions.”

“Are you really so nonchalant?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Does Blackcrest and the family really mean so little to you? Are you really content to thumb your nose at them and stand back and see Derek inherit everything? Isn't it as much yours as his?”

“That's Andy's decision. She's made it—with Derek's help. I'm not complaining.”

“You're human,” I said. “Surely you must feel
some
bitterness.”

“Bitterness? Life's too short.”

“It doesn't seem fair of Andy to cut you out like that.”

“Perhaps it's not, but I guess I'm an incorrigible black sheep. I just missed out. Derek was always the fair-haired boy in the family. He was always proper and good and respectful and ingratiating, even when we were children. I broke windowpanes and put frogs in the maid's bed and refused to eat my cereal, while Derek behaved himself and addressed old Stephen Hawke as ‘Sir' and let Andy fuss over him. Both of us stayed at Blackcrest a lot of the time when we were growing up. Derek knew even then that he stood to gain by such conduct. I never gave a damn. Still don't.”

“Was he really such a good little boy?”

“When adults were around he was. He did exactly what they told him to do. When they weren't around, it was quite different. I was punished many a time for misdeeds he'd done. They never asked me if I was guilty or not. They just whammed away, knowing that dear Derek would never put sugar in the gas tank of the Rolls or slash Andy's best dress. He used to smirk when I'd come in with a smarting bottom. He used to taunt me—tell me that Blackcrest would be his and I'd be left out in the cold one day when we grew up.”

“That's dreadful,” I exclaimed.

He chuckled again. “It sounds like something straight out of
Wuthering Heights
, doesn't it? Only I'm not the Heathcliffe type. I had the fun, Derek had the rewards. It evens out.”

“You don't resent him getting the rewards?”

Alex shrugged his shoulders. “I haven't got time to brood about it. Life's too full, too fun. I have all sorts of adventures. I even meet beautiful girls who have flat tires in the middle of rainstorms and need me to help them find missing relatives. Who am I to complain? Do you think you can stand up?”

“I'll try,” I said.

I did. I managed beautifully.

“Steady?”

“Very.”

“You're the first modern girl I've met who can't hold her liquor. I find most girls can drink me under the table. I'll bet you don't smoke, either.”

“I don't.”

“Remarkable. You're
full
of virtues.”

“Is that bad?”

“Well … it's refreshing. Rather discouraging, though.”

“Don't give up entirely,” I said.

“I don't intend to,” he said with mock solemnity.

“Much as I hate it, I suppose we'd better be getting back now,” I said.

“You ready?”

I nodded, and he took my hand. We walked slowly along the path back toward the parking lot. Neither of us spoke. Alex seemed to be lost in thought. I felt comfortable, secure, knowing he was beside me. We reached the parking lot, and I took the coat off and gave it back to him. He slipped it on and adjusted the hang across his broad shoulders. We were standing beside my car. It looked terribly battered beside his ultramodern sport car.

“When will I see you again?” he asked. “We'd better keep in touch.”

“I intend to drive into Hawkestown tomorrow afternoon,” I said.

“Stop by my cottage. Perhaps something will have turned up.”

He gave me directions. We stood beside the car, neither of us wanting to say good night. Alex scuffled the gravel under the toe of his shoe. Moonlight gleamed on the parking lot, empty but for our cars. The restaurant was dark now, the colored lights extinguished. I could hear the wind rustling the tall grasses at the edge of the river. Alex wanted to say something, I felt, but he was finding it hard to express.

“Uh—you'll be careful at Blackcrest, won't you?” he finally said.

“Very careful.”

“Just in case—” he said.

“Just in case. It's been a nice evening. I feel so much better—about everything. You'll call your detective friend?”

“First thing in the morning.”

“I hope he'll be able to find out something.”

“He'll probably learn that she's perfectly all right, taking a rest in some resort town. I'm sure she'll turn up. I'm anxious to meet her. I have a lot to thank her for.”

“Oh?”

“If it hadn't been for Delia, I wouldn't have met you. I like her already for bringing us together.”

I smiled. I opened my car door. “I'd better leave now. It's been so nice …”

“I'm going to follow you back in my car. Can't have you going all that way alone. I'll follow you to the main gates.”

“That's very kind of you, but—”

“I don't intend to argue,” he replied firmly. “I feel responsible for you.” He paused and looked into my eyes. Then he grinned. “It's a great feeling,” he said.

9

I pulled my car in beside the old Rolls-Royce and cut off the motor. The garage was enormous, and enormously cluttered. Besides four cars, there were wooden crates and discarded furniture, and strangely enough, an old carriage with broken shafts. I got out of the car, wishing I had thought to bring a flashlight. It was very dark in here, with only a few rays of moonlight spilling in through the one open garage door. I could smell grease and oil and rust and rotting leather. My footsteps sounded very noisy as I made my way out and pulled the garage door down. It creaked as it slid down and closed with a dull thud. I stood shivering, wondering what direction to take to get to my room.

Betty had given me a key to a back door, along with specific directions on how to get back to the tower room. The door opened on a hallway that would carry me to the tiny flight of backstairs leading up to the corridor outside my room. This way, Betty informed me, I would not have to go through the basement and up the winding tower stairs. I had been dressing for my dinner engagement and had not paid much attention. Now I was bewildered. Morris had brought my car to the front of the house, so I had not come out Betty's back way. I wondered how I was going to find the door she had described to me.

The garage was in back of Blackcrest and to one side. A flagstone path wound past dark clumps of shrubbery and arrived at a small clearing where the kitchen gardens began. Blackcrest rose in towering levels here in back, ugly stone piled upon ugly stone, flat dark windows peering at me as I walked hesitantly past the shrubbery. The house seemed to tilt a little, and I had the strange feeling that it was going to topple over. I walked past a row of basement windows. Several of the panes were broken, making great jagged holes in the glass. I saw the tool shed, a hoe leaning against the brick wall. I moved around a corner, fully expecting to find the door. Instead, I found myself staring in bewilderment at a high stone fence covered with espaliered shrubs.