Hiding Tom Hawk (10 page)

“Of course, take your time.” Beth watched her exotic new friend drift gracefully up the stairs. Renada had left her purse. It was resting on the buckle of the strap, ready to scratch her polished wooden lamp table if bumped. She quietly crossed the room to make a discreet rearrangement her guest would not notice. But as she got the buckle safely off the wood the purse tipped over and a small gun fell out. Alone in the room, Beth still blushed deeply as she replaced it. Poor woman; East Germany must have been such a dangerous place. A nice girl would have had to take measures to defend herself.

She was almost back in her chair when she heard footsteps on the porch. A vision of Tom Hawk leaped to mind and quickened her pulse, but it was Robert. He was holding a bouquet of cut flowers and looking apprehensive as he crossed hurriedly to her. The flowers were inexpensive and the man had evidently just bathed in some drugstore aftershave. He announced, “I’m taking Renada to dinner.”

“Good. Have a nice time. Did you see Gary in town? Was he all right—the elders?”

“I saw him. His lips don’t look so good and I guess he’ll have a black eye. The elders are mad because of several things. I spilled a casino deal Gary hadn’t told them of yet. A pizza I delivered to the Chief’s grandson didn’t work out and he flunked freshman chemistry. Oh, yeah, there’s another thing, and Gary says you’ve got to help us with it tomorrow.”

“Robert, I told you I don’t want to any part of that ‘pizza’ business.”

“No, it’s not that. You do know we’ve been working this mining rights deal with the tribe, and now Gary’s got this even bigger thing on tap. But first we have to finish up the mining deal. We need the mining rights adjacent to the reservation. We need the rights from your great-aunt Mildred.”

“Good luck with that. It’s only three months since her card club got sick on the lutefisk Gary sold her. She’ll be mad at him for a year.”

“That’s why Tom and I have to be the ones seeming to buy the mining rights from her instead of Gary. You have to telephone her and sort of introduce us.”

“Robert, I don’t
have
to do anything.”

“Sorry. Gary warned me you’d say that. He told me to tell you that you do have to make your second-mortgage payments to him, though.”

This was blackmail. Beth started to launch aspersions on her cousin’s parentage, sanity, and business ethics, but Renada returned to the room.

Robert turned and clumsily thrust the flowers at her. “These are for you. I thought we might go to dinner in town when you’re ready.”

She inspected the bouquet “Oh. Well, I must eat somewhere. I want a beefsteak.”

The courtship or whatever it was wasn’t starting so well. Beth needed to prop up Robert’s love life because, if she stayed, Renada was going to make Kessler’s Inn an international watering hole. She enthused, “I’ll get a vase for those lovely flowers. I can suggest a charming little restaurant.” Five minutes later she had the lovebirds on their way.

****

Beth was alone and conflicted. She was thrilled Renada might tutor her on running a proper country inn. She was angry at the demand that she help Gary and Robert get some probably worthless mineral rights from her great-aunt Mildred. And she was nervous about Tom Hawk. The unease had been there ever since he had lifted the china cabinet off of her. There was a growing attraction but there was also something wrong about him, something which didn’t appear in his words, maybe like uncertainty or fear. What was an intelligent, healthy young man his size afraid of? What would it be like to kiss him?

She went upstairs to open a hallway window, but stopped at his door. It was reasonable to see if he had returned from his walk and ask if there was anything he needed on his first day under her roof. She would do that for any new tenant. She knocked once, and again. No answer. Locked. Robert and Renada were off to dinner. Dani was gone too, and Beth guessed her Saturday nights out lasted a long, wild time. She had the house to herself.

She unlocked the door and walked in. What clothes did he own? What did he read? How did he shave? What the
hell
was she doing! Then she stopped cold. Propped against a dresser and the wall was a baseball bat. She went to it. Yes, it was her high school bat, given to her great aunt, and greatest fan, at the end of the championship season. Mildred had inscribed it against her wishes with the detested “Lizzy” rather than “Beth,” so she had insisted her aunt keep it herself. Mildred had to have put it here. How on earth else would it be in Tom’s room?

Speaking of which, how on earth did
she
get in here? She wasn’t really worried Tom Hawk was a criminal or something. She was snooping because she was hot for the man, for God’s sake. She took the bat and walked blindly backward out of the room, terrified of being found snooping in a guest’s space. She closed Tom’s door and her doorbell rang. Guilt made her jump backwards reflexively, almost toppling a sickly yellow vase, a poor replacement for the lovely one Robert had smashed, from the hall table.

Downstairs, she opened the door to a slender, almost emaciated young man a bit under six feet with thick hair and wide-set eyes. “Hi, I’m Wyatt Stone. Are you Miss Kessler?”

“Yes. Call me Beth. Come in, Mr. Stone.”

“Call me Wyatt. You seem upset. I hope I didn’t frighten you coming here this late.”

“Oh, no, I was, ah, reading a murder mystery when you rang the bell.”

He picked up two suitcases from the porch and stepped into the better light of the foyer. His long, attractive hair was reddish brown. Green eyes darted about with unnerving frequency. When he’d called for a room, he’d said he was
returning
to college, but he couldn’t be older than twenty-two or twenty-three.

She assured him, “Your room is all ready. Follow me upstairs.”

He sneezed violently after skillfully turning aside before he could anoint her. “I’m sorry, it’s my allergies.”

“I hear you. Hay fever season is brutal here, but at least it’s short.”

She led him to the room between Tom and Robert, the shabbiest one in the house. After a rather lengthy inspection he professed himself delighted with it. It did have the best view, but with the blinds down he couldn’t yet appreciate that.

She asked, “Do you need anything else?”

“Not until breakfast. I didn’t see any other cars outside. I’m not your only guest, am I?”

“No. There are two other men on this side of the house, and two women on the other side. I expect you’ll meet everyone at breakfast at eight a.m.”

“I see. You better tell me all their names so I can start memorizing them. I’m terrible with names and I don’t want to offend anyone tomorrow.”

It was a strange request, she thought, but what was the harm? “Robert and Tom are on your side. Dani and Renada are across the way.”

“Robert, Tom, Dani, and Renada. Cool. Well, good night, Beth.”

“Good night, Wyatt. Come down and ring the little bell on the foyer table if you need anything.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Returning to her room, she was still uptight. She was alone in her house with an odd young man who, like Tom Hawk, unnerved her. Perhaps
all
men were stating to unnerve her? She remembered the warming, comforting spell of the scotch the night before. Scotch was better than beer. Way better.

Beth went to the butler’s pantry and poured a glass of the golden elixir, took it to her bedroom and turned on one small light. Dusk was falling. Sip it, she commanded herself, but the first two swallows were closer to belts. She wasn’t even fully in business and she’d started drinking alone in the dark. Could she do all this? Of course she could, why she had gained three guests just this weekend, right? Just slow it down now. Sip. This was better. This was less stressful than last night with Tom Hawk, when she’d gotten much warmer much quicker than a drink normally had the power to make her.

Maybe it was Gary who had made her mistrustful of men. She had a vision of the tribal Elders standing on a Little Superior River dock behind her house and stuffing her cousin in a gunny sack. It was not a totally unpleasant image. Beth closed her eyes and laid her head into the familiar comfort of the old recliner.

****

Harold jumped when the pink Princess desk phone shrilled. Stinky had a pink telephone, for heaven’s sake. It was left over from his shrewish previous girlfriend who had vanished while camping in the desert. Harold had made it a point not to ask Stinky about her disappearance. He picked up the offensive instrument. “Talk to me.”

“Uh, my uncle, Lester Stone, gave me this number. I hope it’s the right one. I’m Wyatt Stone.”

Ah, Lester’s snot-nosed nephew, my rented hotshot PI.
“Yes, hello, Wyatt.”

“Hello. I’ve found Tom Hawk. He’s not in the dorm room they assigned him because it burned. Imagine that. I think fires are fascinating. I was going to be a fireman. Anyway, the housing office didn’t know where he was but a fire chief did and I’m right on top of him, staying in the same boarding house.”

“Well now, that’s good work. Don’t let him out of your sight. Have you seen anything suspicious?”

“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. That’s why I called. I heard something along the river behind this house. I went down there and I saw someone, all right. The light was poor. I started circling around to spy on him, and all of a sudden he grabbed me from behind. I cracked him on the head with my flashlight and knocked him down. As he fell, I saw he had a gun, or I think maybe he did. It was something metal.

“I ran back to the house but then I remembered Uncle Lester saying not to involve the police unless he or you said I should and he’s not home and I called you and what should I do?”

This
was a detective
? Harold soothed the lad. “Calm down and breathe, Wyatt. Don’t call the police. What do you think this man who grabbed you was doing there?”

“Well, there was a fishing pole and a tackle box.”

“And you’re not sure you saw a gun?”

“No. It was pretty dark.”

“So perhaps you just scared the dickens out of some poor fisherman.”

“Oh. Maybe that’s all it was. Should I go down there and see if he’s all right?”

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea in case it
was
a gun. What about Hawk? What’s he doing in a place like that?”

“He’s pretending to be a student. So am I.”

“Wonderful. Try to befriend him.”

“I-I-I’m not good at making friends, you know.”

Harold knew. Lester had briefed him. The kid had issues and had been seeing a shrink for the last ten years, but he was the only man Lester had available. Wyatt sneezed violently and the sound over the telephone was so loud Harold reflexively moved the headset away from his ear. “You okay, Wyatt?”

“Sorry, sir. The pollens are bad here. Probably I should close the window. But then it gets so hot. I thought there’d be air conditioning. But it’s almost always cold here, so no one has it, I guess.”

“So I hear. Settle down. You’ve been talking awfully fast.” Lester had warned him this might happen, and if it did, it was a sign the kid was off his meds. “I hope you’re not unwell.”

“I’ll be fine, sir. The landlady is so young and beautiful. This is actually a real nice house. The river is pretty. I’m going to close the window, though.”

Babble, babble. Could this child be any worse? Harold told Wyatt to get some rest and said goodbye. He dialed Lester and gave him an earful. “Your nephew found Hawk, but, my goodness, if he’s taking any meds it doesn’t show.”

“Seriously?”

“He’s so wired that he clubbed the first fisherman he saw. You’re a good man, Lester, but that boy makes me nervous. Get him calmed down tomorrow, or find a replacement.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Good. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He went to the kitchen to open a fresh can of food for Sinatra and Damone. The Chihuahuas were not happy being away from home, but if he kept them overfed they might leave Stinky’s furniture alone. His darlings were behaving better lately, but it had only been three weeks since they had chewed up his expensive new lime-colored chintz sofa.

Chapter Seven

Beth jerked in her recliner. She thought she’d heard a scream from the river behind the house. She got up unsteadily.
Why am I dizzy? Because I was drinking alone in the dark like some self-pitying idiot, that’s why. Anyone would if under my sort of pressure
. It was a temporary thing, the drinking. She stumbled to the kitchen and turned on the high-mounted rear yard floodlight. It illuminated the path to the river, but not the river bank itself.

Her ball bat lay against the side of the chair. She took it and went out the back door and down the hill to the water’s edge. In the failing light she peered over the river. Something grabbed her ankle, hard, and she heard an angry snarling sound. Was it a wolf? Instinctively, she swung the bat, connected with something soft, and heard a choked yell as she stepped back from the water. She looked down not at an animal, but rather a fat man with a ragged stubble beard lying at her feet.

His breathing was irregular. Had she hurt him? Badly? Had she been seen? Acid churned in her stomach, threatening to make her vomit. She was all alone.

No, she wasn’t. Wyatt Stone was in the house. She started up the hill and the yard light went out. Damn nineteenth century wiring; stupid old house. Dizzy again, and now exhausted, Beth trudged toward her back door. It was locked. For security, she’d had it set up to lock itself after you went out, a change which had inconvenienced her daily since she’d done it. She slumped against the door and closed her eyes, willing herself not to pass out. Finally enough strength returned to stagger around the house to the front door. As soon as she had it open she called Wyatt Stone’s name. She heard something, and called again.

“Yes, I’m here. Is something wrong?” Wyatt called back.

“A man may be hurt at the river. I need help to get him away from the water.”

“Oh. Are you sure there’s a man down there?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe he’s just fishing.”

“It’s dark, Wyatt. No one fishes in the dark. Please, I need your help.”