Devil May Care (14 page)

Donald put his arm around her, tentatively at first, and then more tightly as she pressed closer to him.

"You're cold," the said gently. "Shock, I suppose."

"It wasn't shock when I first woke up. The room was absolutely icy, Donald. It may have been the cold that woke me."

"It isn't cold now. But you've had that window open for some time ... "

He gave her shoulders a comforting squeeze and went across the room to examine the thermostat next to the door.

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"Seventy-eight. These rooms are separately controlled, aren't they?" "Yes. Kate says it saves fuel bills in the long run; she can shut off parts of the house when it's very cold or very hot."

"Then it's theoretically possible that someone could have turned the switch way down after you fell asleep and waited till the temperature dropped into the sixties before he played his little drama.

Could he have nipped the switch back, just before he left?"

Ellie tried to think.

"He could have been peeling bananas with his toes; I wouldn't have noticed. All I saw was that awful face, and a general shape. The light seemed to come from just under the face--"

"A flashlight, masked in some sickly color, and hidden in his clothes," Donald said promptly.

"How do you know?"

Donald scowled hideously.

"I suppose it's natural that you should suspect me.

I would only like to make a few minor points. One: I am taking your word for what a lot of people might consider a very questionable story. Two: I suppose I could have run like a bat out of hell in order to get home before you called, but if you think about the probabilities--" "I'm sorry," Ellie said pathetically. "I didn't mean it."

"Well, you should have. You should suspect everybody.

I don't suppose you had sense enough to call a few other people to see if they had alibis?"

"Who?"

"Ted, for one," Donald said. "Far be it from me to cast aspersions--"

"It couldn't have been Ted. He gave me-- Donald!

The crucifix he gave me. I wonder if ... "

"Oh, come on," Donald said. "Don't tell me that.

110 Elizabeth Peters Don't tell me. You thrust your crucifix in the face of the horror and it recoiled, shrieking--"

"I don't remember that I did," Ellie admitted. "But the crucifix is there--on the bedside table. I might have touched it. I was groping around, trying to turn on the light."

"Forget it." Donald made a wide gesture of dismissal.

"I will not, repeat, not be seduced into contemplating the remotest possibility of the supernatural. Ellie, why don't you try to get in touch with Kate? You owe it to her to let her know what's been going on."

"I don't know whether I can reach her. She gave me a number, but it was only for emergencies."

"If this isn't an emergency, I don't know how you define the word." Donald rubbed his forehead. "I need some coffee. Come on."

"I don't--"

"You have to face it sometime. It's all right, Ellie.

Look at the animals."

Four cats lay sprawled across the bed, relaxed and unconscious. Franklin, nose on his outstretched paws, seemed to be chewing on something.

They had not gone more than a few steps along the hall before Donald stopped with a muffled exclamation and bent over to pick up something from the floor. He held it out for Ellie's inspection.

"Dirt," she said, staring. "A little ball of dirt.

What--"

Donald had gone on a few steps.

"Here's another patch. Queer-looking stuff--dark, almost black. Damp, too; that's funny, it hasn't rained for two days. Now where--"

The idea hit both of them simultaneously, perhaps because their minds were tuned to horrors. But neither said it aloud; they followed the evidence on down the hall until it finally disappeared--little clumps of moldy, damp, black soil, with a rotten leaf DEVIL-MAY-CARE 111

or two crumpled in it. Rich black soil like mulch, or--

"Graveyard dirt," Ellie said, on a quick intake of breath. She turned and bolted for the bedroom.

It was not sanctuary she sought, but more evidence --the evidence Franklin was demolishing. She pried it from his jaws and, after one quick glance, flung it away and began wiping her fingers on her robe. But it was not filthy or contaminated. It was just a bone, a small bone, part of a small animal-- or a human hand.

CHAPTER SIX.

"It is not a human bone," the doctor said, for the third or fourth time. "I don't claim to be an expert in animal anatomy, but I would say it came from some variety of rodent--a squirrel or rabbit, perhaps."

He flung the grisly little object down on the table and glared at Ellie and Donald. "I'm disgusted with both of you, letting your imaginations run away with you like this."

It was late afternoon of the following day. They had been unable to consult Doctor Gold before this time, since he had left for Richmond at dawn to check on a patient who was undergoing a dangerous operation. Donald had spent the remainder of the night in the room next to Ellie's; he did not explain, nor did she ask, why his father did not worry about his absence. Ellie drew the logical conclusions. Not that she cared about Donald's morals, or lack of them ... By mutual consent they had left the lights on all night. What the Beaseleys thought of the entire proceeding they never knew; the house had been clean, and deserted, by the time they got up late in the morning.

Donald returned his father's frown.

"That dirt on the floor wasn't imagination. Dad, you know I'm not voting for the supernatural bit; all DEVIL-MAY-CARE 113

I'm saying is that this joker is going to considerable lengths to carry out his plot. I can think of ways in which all these stunts could have been rigged, but the psychological effects have been damnably well thought out."

At Donald's suggestion they were meeting in Kate's workroom. He had asked his father to join him in a thorough search of the house after they finished talking.

The room was cool and shadowy; Ellie had drawn the curtains to keep out some of the sunlight that poured in through the wide bay windows. The temperature outside was high in the nineties; the heat wave was in its second day and going strong.

Dr. Gold shook his head perplexedly.

"I can't figure out why anyone would go to such lengths. I'll certainly search the house with you, Donald, but I doubt that we'll gam anything by it.

You say you've already looked in a cursory fashion.

If the Beaseleys were here, they would have tidied away any clue--assuming there was a clue."

"The dirt was gone when we got up," Donald said.

"I don't know how they ran the vacuum without waking us, but they did."

"It's the motive that bothers me," the doctor persisted, running his finger through his gray hair.

"Nothing has been touched or damaged--"

"Only the azaleas." And, as the others looked at him in surprise, Donald went on, "I noticed it this morning--a place in the bushes where some heavy body had crashed through. Kate will yell about that, but it was probably one of her precious hounds. I heard the dogs barking outside, sometime in the wee hours. I was too groggy to get up even if I'd been inclined to do so, but the barking didn't last long.

They must have been after a rabbit or something."

"I hope they didn't catch old granddad rabbit," Ellie said. "I saw him last night on the lawn. That's why Kate doesn't let the dogs out at night."

"There's not much point to letting them out," the

114 Elizabeth Peters doctor said. "They aren't trained watchdogs; they are apt to run off in pursuit of game or a friendly female."

Donald's face was studiously bland; it must have been ESP that made Ellie exclaim, "They haven't come home, have they? Donald, you took care of the animals this morning; did Duke and Cumberland ever come home?" "They'll be back," Donald said. "They are trained to come home to be fed at night. I suppose their freedom went to their heads. Don't take on, Ellie, they both have ID tags; you'd have heard if anything happened to them. They're big, grown-up dogs,"

"I wonder if they could have been chasing someone," the doctor said.

"But that was hours after Ellie's admirer left," Donald protested.

"We'll have a look at the grounds, all the same.

And tonight--if you won't come to us, Ellie, Donald will stay here. Your generation doesn't worry about the conventions, and in this case--"

"I don't care about the conventions," Eiiie began.

She didn't have to finish the sentence.

"If it's Donald you object to, I don't blame you," the doctor said cheerfully. "I only offer him because he's the most available candidate. We don't want to spread this story any farther than it has alreadyspread.

But--I'm forgetting. You have a fiance in Washington--didn't you say that? Perhaps he--"

"Oh, God," Ellie said, clapping her hand to her mouth. "No, no, it's not what you're thinking, Dr. Gold. It's just that--the last time I talked to Henry he was--he was not feeling too well. I meant to call back to see how he was, and then I forgot."

"Dear me, I am sorry to hear that," said the doctor politely. "That he is ill, I mean. Of course if he is ill, he wouldn't be able to come, would he?"

"He couldn't come anyway. He's a very busy and successful lawyer."

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"I see."

Donald didn't look much like his father; but at this moment the older man's face had the same blandly courteous expression Ellie had seen so often on Donald's face. She had no doubt that the doctor had read all sorts of unspoken meanings into her comments and had drawn several unwarrantable conclusions about her and Henry, Ellie reminded herself to be sure and call that evening.

"I guess I'll have to put up with Donald," she said ungraciously.

"Gee, thanks," said Donald.

They toured the house, finding nothing; which was not surprising, since none of them knew what they were looking for. Then they went out to inspect the broken azalea bushes Donald had mentioned.

The sun was low in the west, but it was hotter than ever. Cats and dogs were scattered over the lawn wherever there was a patch of shade. Ambrose, the big Maine Coon, was stretched at full length across the steps, like a long, bushy, orange mat. He did not offer to move, so they had to go around him.

The gap in the azaleas was certainly man-sized.

But, as Donald pointed out, several of the dogs were man-sized, too. Ellie was distressed at the damage to Kate's cherished shrubs; they were thirty years old, six teet high, and were solid masses of blazing color in the spring.

"It does look as if some large object went through here in a hurry," Dr. Gold admitted.

"If this were a proper Gothic," Donald said, kneeling to look at the ground, "there would be a scrap of fabric caught on a twig. We need clues."

"Gothics don't have clues," Ellie said. "They have lots of horrible happenings instead. Werewolves howling, bloodstains on the floor, murders--" This extravagant description was interrupted by Donald's exclamation. He was on all fours, his nose almost touching the ground.

116 Elizabeth Peters

"A footprint!"

The soil under the thick bushes was still damp.

Unfortunately it had been mulched with the pine bark those acid-loving plants require, and neither Ellie nor Dr. Gold would admit that the faint impression was that of a human foot, much less the large, booted, size-thirteen foot Donald claimed to see.

Donald continued to cast about, barking occasionally to encourage himself. The barking may have been his undoing. He was suddenly flattened by a large dun-colored shape that came hurtling over the bushes and landed squarely on his back.

Ellie ran up and grabbed the dog by its collar. It relinquished Donald's shirt and faced Ellie with a broad, embarrassed canine grin. One ear hung down in a fashion no German shepherd breeder would approve.

"Duke!" Ellie crooned. "Bad dog! Where have you been all this time, sweetums? Ellie was worried about you."

Donald sat up and spat out a mouthful of mulch.

The spectacle of Ellie and Duke embracing, with cries of mutual rapture, appeared to disgust him. He spat again.

"No wonder those dogs act like spoiled children instead of animals. For God's sake, stop talking baby talk to him, Ellie."

The doctor, who had been watching with amusement, sobered.

"Ellie, he's got something in his mouth."

Ellie fell over backwards, rolling like a tumbler.

"If it's another bone ... " she began, grimacing.

"No." The doctor pried Duke's jaws apart. Duke was not cooperative, but when the doctor had freed the object that had been caught between his back teeth, he gave an almost human sigh of relief and lay down.

"Here's your scrap of fabric," the doctor said.

"Not on a twig, however."

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Donaid took the damp strand of cloth from his father.

He began to laugh softly.

"This case is turning into a farce, Watson. The great detective falls flat on his face, and now this." "What is it?" Ellie asked, making no attempt to inspect the object more closely. It was not aesthetically pleasing after its sojourn in Duke's mouth.

"A scrap of white cotton knit," Donald answered.

"The sort of fabric that is often, though not exclusively, used in making gentlemen's under drawers." "I don't believe it," Ellie said. "It's too farcical.

Duke grabbing a burglar by the seat of the pants--

it isn't even Charlie Chaplin, it's the Three Stooges."

"It is also inconclusive," the doctor said. "Duke may have raided some innocent householder's laundry line. And, as Donald says, underwear isn't the only thing chis material is used for."

"I shall keep it, nonetheless," Donald announced, "An envelope, Watson. This exhibit must be labeled and filed."

"There are envelopes in the library," said Ellie, assuming, correctly, that the role of Watson had been assigned to her.

They started toward the house, reaching the porch just in time to see a car come out of the woods. It was a dark, unostentatious vehicle; Ellie, who was not a car buff, didn't recognize the genre until she saw the Mercedes insignia. Driven with a deliberation that verged on demureness, the automobile purred around the circular drive and came to a stop.