Once a Widow (2 page)

She shook her head. “I have my own car.”

“How about a ride, then?” He was about to suggest drinks and dinner, the works, but remembered that he should be back at the house before Karen woke up.

“It’s kind of you, but I think not. Goodbye.” She turned, moved swiftly away, placed the tray on the counter and entered the building by a side door.

Richard felt sudden anger, but controlled it. He drew on the cigarette and watched the building. The plump blonde came out wearing a pale blue uniform, went to the counter and picked up a pad and pencil. Two cars came in at the same time and the blonde became busy serving them, but Richard noticed that she kept watching him. He knew the reason; the little brunette had asked the blonde to let her know when he left. Well, he’d fool her, he thought grimly. He started the motor, swung out of the parking area and drove in the direction of Harbor City. If he’d guessed wrong as to the direction she would take, he’d watch in the other direction at three o’clock tomorrow.

A half mile from the drive-in he turned off the road and stopped. In maybe five minutes he saw the car approaching in the rear-view mirror, an old convertible with the top down. As it passed he saw that it was a Plymouth and that the little brunette was driving it, her pony tail waving in the wind. He knew that she must have noticed the yellow Corvette at the side of the road, but she made no sign. He laughed softly, pulled out onto the road and followed her. This was a game he loved.

On the fringe of Harbor City the Plymouth slowed and turned into a drive leading up to a big white house facing the lake and stopped. A sign on the front lawn read:
Rooms by Day or Week.
As Richard swung into the drive the girl was already out of the Plymouth and hurrying across the lawn toward the house, pretending to ignore the presence of the Corvette and Richard Barry. He saw that she was now wearing a sleeveless white dress and white low-heeled sandals. He got out of the car and started after her. “Wait,” he called. “Please wait a moment.”

She stopped and turned. She didn’t speak.

He stood before her. “What’s the matter with you?” he said, smiling. “I’m not a white slaver, honest. Are you married, or something?”

She said evenly, “I think you’d better go away.”

He felt the anger again, but he smiled and said curiously, “But why?”

“I don’t know you. What do you want?”

He spread his hands. “Of course you don’t know me—you said that before. How can you know me if I don’t tell you who I am? All I want is to talk to you, and—” He broke off abruptly and turned away. “To hell with it.” He moved toward his car, watching her from the corner of one eye.

He had his hand on the door latch when he heard her say softly, “I’m sorry.”

He turned slowly, knowing that he had won, and went up to her. “That’s more like it. My name is Richard Barry. What’s yours?”

“Rose Ann Deegan,” she said gravely. “What do you want?”

“I told you.” He bowed and flourished an arm toward the Corvette. “Be my guest.”

“No, thank you,” she said, but smiled and added, “Not today.”

“Tomorrow?”

She shook her head.

“Look,” he said gently, “I know that men probably bother you a lot at the drive-in, and if I’m bothering you now, I’m sorry. I’ll go away if you say so. It’s just that I’m lonely, as I said, and I, well, I liked you the minute I saw you.” He grinned at her. “Do you want to see my credentials?” He produced his wallet from a hip pocket of his cord slacks, flipped the compartments with a thumb. “It’s all there—driver’s license, car registration, home address, blood type.” He pocketed the wallet, closed his eyes, lifted his head and said in a droning voice, “Richard Hotchkiss Barry, single, six-foot-one, one hundred and ninety pounds, hair black, eyes blue, occupation sales representative.” He opened his eyes, lowered his head, and displayed his white even teeth in an engaging grin. “And very lonely. Just call me Dick.”

She laughed, and her eyes were friendly. “All right, Dick. But the answer is still ‘No.’”

“Tomorrow, then—maybe?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

She hesitated, and then said, “Maybe.”

“Fine. I’ll pick you up at three.” He knew that this was not the time to press his advantage.

“I’ll think about it.” She moved toward the house. “I have to go now.”

That was the way it had started, the affair between Richard Barry and Rose Ann Deegan, although it was never an affair in the usual sense of the word. Rose Ann was a virgin, and she intended to retain that status until she married. She fell in love with Richard Barry, and he with her. It was a shattering, bewildering experience for him. For the first time in his life he really cared for another person, as a person. He found pleasure in merely being with her, talking to her. Very strange, indeed. Their relationship was not without passion, far from it, but Rose Ann firmly drew the line. They talked of visiting her parents in Dayton, Ohio, but Richard was evasive; he had only three weeks vacation and he wanted to spend all the time he could with Rose Ann, alone. Plenty of time to meet her parents. In September she would return to college, where she was majoring in home economics. Her job at the drive-in was a summer one, to help pay her tuition, because her father could not meet the full cost on his salary as a second assistant production manager in a Dayton foundry.

Rose Ann, who would be twenty-one on her next birthday in October, believed completely that Richard Barry was what he’d told her he was—a salesman for a Cleveland manufacturer of marine motors, which explained why he’d picked the Lake Erie resort area for his vacation. Business with pleasure. It also explained why he could very seldom see Rose Ann in the evenings; he was entertaining a prospective customer, or making a contact. He was ambitious, he wanted to get ahead, make a lot of money. Rose Ann said she understood, that she was proud of him.

Their trysts were limited to the two hours between three and five in the afternoon, because Richard could not depend upon his wife sleeping past five. Rose Ann returned to duty at seven in the evening and worked until midnight, or after, depending upon business. Only twice had Richard dared to sneak out in the evening. Both times Karen had complained of restlessness, which, in view of her habitual afternoon naps, was understandable, and Richard had persuaded her to take some sleeping capsules. When she was asleep, he’d picked up Rose Ann at the drive-in, but it had been unsatisfactory. He was jittery, thinking of the scene with Karen if she awakened and found him gone, and Rose Ann was tired from her night’s work. They kissed hastily and embraced, and he wondered wildly what in hell had happened to him.

As he was driving home from their second midnight meeting his plan for murder took sudden form. He’d been stupid not to think of it before. And he knew that he could not go on with Rose Ann, not like this. He wanted her badly. She was in all his thoughts. He was like a schoolboy in the throes of first love, which indeed it was for Richard Barry. Nothing in his life had prepared him for what was happening to him. With Rose Ann he was a different person, gentle, considerate, really happy for the first time in his life. It awed him that she loved him also, without guile or pretense. He was young, but he’d known many women, but none like Rose Ann.

Richard’s love for Rose Ann did not change his character; it had merely added another facet to it. To him, unselfish love was something new. It troubled him a little, but he did not react as a normal man might have who had found himself hopelessly in love with a woman other than his wife. He never thought of divorce as a solution. That was for suckers. He wanted to continue to enjoy the life Karen had given him, but without Karen. He had decided that before he’d met Rose Ann, but she had fanned the flames. He still wanted Karen’s money, but he wanted Rose Ann, too. And time was running out. His “vacation” would soon be over, and he did not want to risk Rose Ann’s suspicion by inventing a reason for prolonging it. He’d lied to her too much already.

Richard’s plan blossomed and bloomed. This was Thursday, he thought. He’d do it on Saturday, in the afternoon. He’d figured it all out, to the last detail, just as he had figured the jobs for Alex Kamin, except that this time he would not need the gun. He was glad, because for some odd reason he hated to think of using the magnum on Karen. It was hidden in the garage, and he must not forget to take it with him when he left Erie Cliffs after everything was over.

He had told Rose Ann that he was staying at the Perry Hotel in Harbor City, and had taken a room in the hope that some afternoon she might accompany him there. He learned quickly that this was a vain hope, but kept the room for the short duration of his “vacation.” This was fortunate, because once Rose Ann had telephoned the hotel and left a message telling him not to pick her up at the drive-in because she had to work overtime. He called the hotel every morning, when Karen was out, to check on such things.

On Friday afternoon he picked up Rose Ann and said immediately, “Honey, I’ve got to talk to you.”

She smiled and patted his hand. “All right. Shoot.”

“Not here. Let’s go to my room.”

A small frown appeared between her smooth black brows. “Dick, please. We’ve been all over that.”

“It’ll be all right, I promise. I’m tired of talking to you in the car, or in a joint with people all around. I just want to talk to you alone for once. It’s important.”

She gazed at him gravely. “All right, Dick.”

He drove quickly to the hotel.

When they were in his room he said, “Drink?”

She shook her head and moved to the window. She was embarrassed and faintly uneasy, but pretending not to be. “What a lovely view of the lake,” she said.

He phoned down for a double bourbon and soda and then went to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’ve got to go back to Cleveland in a few days,” he said.

“I know. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“I’ll be back, on week-ends.”

“I—I hope so, Dick.” Rose Ann gazed out over the lake and listened to the pounding of her heart.

“Do you love me?”

“You know I do.”

“When can we get married?”

She moved beneath his hands, for just an instant. They had talked of marriage, obliquely, but he had never asked her directly like this. She trembled slightly and felt his steadying hands on her shoulders. “In the spring?” she said in a small faint voice, asking a question. “When I finish school?”

“I can’t wait that long,” he said, knowing that he would have to wait at least that long. He couldn’t get married right away; it wouldn’t be smart. But he could be seeing Rose Ann, preparing her for the big house in Cleveland and all that went with it. She would forgive, him for deceiving her, for not telling her he was married when they first met. He had it all worked out; an unhappy marriage, his meeting Rose Ann, his love for her and his desire not to hurt her, the tragic accidental death of his wife. She would forgive him, after they were married.

“We must wait until June,” she said. “I promised my parents I would finish school.”

“We’ll see—but you will marry me?”

“Oh, yes, yes.” She turned to face him, her small face uptilted, her eyes searching his face. “I—I love you, Dick.”

“You don’t know much about me.”

“I know enough.”

He said with faint grimness, “Maybe there will be things about me you won’t like, I’m not—”

She placed a hand on his lips. “Don’t tell me. Not now.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her, long and hard, and his hands went over her body. When she began to struggle, almost frantically, he released her. “I—I’m sorry,” he said in a shaky voice.

“Please understand,” she whispered.

“Sure.”

There was a soft knock on the door then and Richard admitted a waiter bearing his drink on a tray. When the waiter was gone Richard lifted his glass and said to Rose Ann, “Sure you don’t want one?”

“No, thanks. Listen, Dick, tomorrow is my day off. Can you pick me up after work tonight?” She smiled, half shyly. “It seems that we have plans to make.”

He thought fast. Not tonight, he told himself. He couldn’t afford to arouse Karen’s suspicions, not even a little bit, not now. He said, “Honey, I’m sorry, but I can’t tonight—business. I’m having a poker party for some men from a boat company. It might mean a lot to me.” He paused and touched her cheek and added, “For us.”

She sighed. “But I will see you tomorrow?”

He shook his head. “Don’t count on it. Tomorrow is Saturday and you can’t tell what these boys will cook up. There’s a good chance I’ll be tied up on Sunday, too—there was some talk of fishing on the reefs, and I’ve got to play along. You see, they build the boats, but buy the motors, and I want them to buy
my
motors.”

She sighed again. “A fine vacation you’re having.”

“I met you,” he said soberly. “I’m not complaining.”

They kissed again and then sat side by side on a small divan while he finished his drink. They made plans for their marriage and it was agreed that on a week-end soon he would take her to her home in Dayton to meet her parents. It all seemed strange to Richard, outlandish, even stupid. But he liked it.

The devil in love.

He took her to her rooming house, promised to see her as soon as he could, and drove to Erie Cliffs. Karen was still asleep, sprawled on her back, clad only in a slip, snoring gently. He gazed at her from the bedroom doorway thinking in a detached way that she was still an attractive woman. He moved to the bed and sat beside her. Part of his preliminary plan was to be especially kind to his wife. Besides, the time in the hotel room with Rose Ann had left him tense. He touched Karen’s naked shoulder. She stirred, mumbled something, and her eyes opened. She smiled at him instantly.

“I’m lonesome, darling,” he said. “You’ve slept all afternoon.” His fingers moved along her arm.

She pulled him down to her. “Richard, I was dreaming about you…”

That evening as they sat on the terrace after a late dinner drinking Scotch and soda, he said casually, “Darling, let’s go out in the boat tomorrow. Maybe have a picnic supper at Put-in-Bay, or one of the other islands, and come back by moonlight.”

She raised herself in her chair. “Why, Richard, that’s a lovely thought. Just the two of us?”

“Who else is there? Besides, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I was afraid you were getting a little bored up here.”

“Never,” he said, “not with you.” He took a long swallow of his drink.

“I’ll make the lunch in the morning,” she said happily. “Chicken sandwiches, and some ham. I have that big thermos for coffee, and there’s some roquefort left from dinner—I’ll even make a salad. It was so thoughtful of you, Richard. It’ll be like sort of a—a little second honeymoon.”

“Yes,” he said, drinking.

“Let’s go to bed now,” she said, “so that tomorrow will come quickly.” She was tired, in spite of her afternoon nap. She was constantly aware of the difference in their ages, and sometimes it was difficult for her to be everything to Richard that she imagined he wanted her to be. Tomorrow would be fine, though. On the boat, in the breeze and sunshine, the two of them alone. She reminded herself to be sure and take gin and vermouth and ice. This summer she’d acquired a liking for martinis, especially before lunch. That was the time that Richard made them, almost every day lately, but after she’d eaten she became so
sleepy…

Richard Barry finished his drink and the ice rattled in the bottom of his glass. “You go on to bed, darling,” he said. “I’ll be in pretty soon.”

She stood up and placed a hand on his cheek. “I love you, Richard.”

He smiled at her and half turned in his chair to watch her cross the terrace. At the door she paused and blew a kiss. “For my handsome, thoughtful husband.”

“Good night.” He was still smiling, but his voice held a faint weariness.

She blew him another kiss on fluttering fingers, hesitated, and for a moment he was afraid that she intended to return to his chair. But she didn’t, and when she had entered the house he sighed deeply, lit a cigarette, and gazed out over the dark lake. Presently he got up, made himself another drink at the portable bar, and then sat for a long time, smoking and drinking, perfecting his plan. The moon was high and pale and a gentle pre-dawn breeze was blowing before he stirred and entered the house. He undressed quietly in the dark, listening to his wife’s gentle snoring.

In the morning they ate a combined lunch and breakfast and Karen began to prepare the picnic supper. Richard went down to check the cruiser and fill the gas tank. By two o’clock they were ready to leave. “No need for any clothes,” he said. “Just bathing suits.”

She raised her brows and shook a finger at him accusingly. “No clothes? Just what are your intentions, sir?”

He grinned at her. “Wait and see.” He was already wearing tight green swimming trunks and carried a mauve-tinted shirt. He patted her hip. “Put on that white two-piece job—it drives me nuts.” His plan demanded that she be found in a bathing suit—if she were found.

Karen laughed and entered the bedroom. Richard moved swiftly to the kitchen, lifted the telephone from its cradle and laid it on the shelf of the breakfast bar. He heard a metallic buzz and smiled to himself as he returned to the living room. If anyone should telephone the summer residence of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Barry this afternoon the line would be busy, indicating that someone was at home. He entered the living room, locked the front door and then carried the picnic hamper to the terrace. Karen came out wearing the brief white bathing suit. He had locked the rear door and they were descending the stairs to the beach, Richard carrying the hamper, when Karen said suddenly, “Oh, I forgot to call the dry cleaners. I want them to pick up some dresses and two of your suits.”

“It can wait,” he said quickly, and guided her firmly down the steps. Out at the end of the dock the cabin cruiser waited, tugging gently at her moorings.

Richard turned away from the vast window and moved through the house, snapping on lights as he went. In the kitchen he replaced the phone on its cradle. There had probably been no calls, he thought, but there was no point in passing up any angles. He went to the bedroom, thinking that everything was his now, this house and the big one in Cleveland, the cars, the stocks and holdings, all the money and worldly possessions of Karen. In the morning he would call the coast guard station to report his wife’s absence. Already he was rehearsing his story.

His wife had gone for a spin in the boat, alone. He had had a headache (or something) and had stayed at home. He had not worried too much when she had not returned by dark; she was an expert in the operation of the boat and knew the lake well. No, sir, she can’t swim, had never learned. Yes, we have friends along the lake, not near here, but it is entirely possible that she may have cruised farther than she intended and had put in at one of the friend’s docks for a visit. However, if she had, I’m sure she would have phoned me. I was here, at home, all afternoon and evening, and she didn’t call. I went to bed, leaving a light burning on the end of our dock for her. This morning, when I realized that she hadn’t returned, I became worried—Oh, I forgot to tell you that last night I phoned our home in Cleveland, thinking that she might have gone there, but the servants had not seen her, or heard from her… Thank you, sir, I appreciate that. The boat was built three years ago, a Chris-Craft, thirty foot, registry number…

In accordance with his imaginary telephone conversation Richard went to the kitchen and flicked a switch there which turned on the beacon light at the end of the dock. It wouldn’t do any harm, he thought. Someone might notice that it was turned on, maybe even a coast guard patrol boat passing by, and it would check with the story he’d give out in the morning. And he must not forget to telephone the house in Cleveland tonight. Then it would be a matter of record, the devoted husband worried about his missing wife.

He took a hot shower, donned a pair of Bermuda shorts, made himself a tall gin and tonic and carried it back to the bedroom, where he lit a cigarette and, using the bedside phone, placed a call to the house in Cleveland. A woman answered and he knew it was Maggie, the housekeeper. “Hello, Maggie,” he said. “This is Mr. Barry. I’m a little concerned about Mrs. Barry. She isn’t there, is she?”

“Here? Oh, no, sir.”

He sighed, loudly enough for Maggie to hear, and said, “She went out in the cruiser alone this afternoon, and hasn’t returned. I thought she might have taken it into her head to run to Cleveland.”

“Oh, dear,” Maggie said. “Alone, in the boat?”

“Yes. She may have gotten lost in the darkness and anchored somewhere to wait for daylight. That’s probably what happened, but I’ll feel a lot better when she returns. I’m going to notify the coast guard, but if she shows up there call me right away, will you? Or ask her to call me?”

“Yes, indeed, sir, I certainly will.”

“Thank you, Maggie. Now please don’t get upset. I’m sure she’s all right.”

“I hope so, sir.” Maggie paused, and then said hesitantly, “Would—would you call me, when she comes home, so I won’t worry?”

“Of course. Is everything all right there?”

“Fine, sir.”

“Swell. Tell Albert I said hello. Goodbye, Maggie.”

Richard hung up, crushed out his cigarette, carried his drink to the long living room overlooking the lake, where he reclined in a deep armchair with his feet on an out-sized ottoman of soft leather. He sipped the drink, finished it, made another, and another. By midnight he was pleasantly drunk. He didn’t turn on the radio or television; he felt pleased with himself and just wanted to sit quietly and contemplate his future with Rose Ann. He wished he could be with her, but it wouldn’t be smart for him to see her tonight, or even leave the house. There was plenty of time to see Rose Ann, all the years of his life.

At one o’clock in the morning he went to bed, leaving the lights burning, including the lonely beacon on the end of the dock. He slept soundly.