Someone in the House (25 page)

“About telling Kevin some of our discoveries. Haven’t you been listening?”

“Kevin is a worshiper of the mother goddess,” I said. “Wild, free, healthily lecherous.” Catching a glimpse of Roger’s exasperated face in the rear-view mirror, I said, “Oh, hell, how should I know? My opinion, for what it is worth, is that we keep him out of this. I don’t believe in sticking my hand into a hole when there might be a snake inside.”

“All right, we agree,” Roger said. “We ought to monitor his room, however, particularly at night. I’ll set up a camera and a tape recorder, if I’m not on the spot at the witching hour.”

“A tape recorder—of course,” I said. “That would be an objective witness. Why the hell didn’t you think of that before, Roger?”

“Mine was busted,” Roger said.

III

Kevin was in the library, so deeply absorbed in his book that he didn’t hear me enter. The animals were with him—Belle in her favorite place at his feet, Amy sprawled on the rug, all long legs and floppy ears, the cats lying around at respectful distances from one another. It was almost time for them to be fed. They were waiting for Kevin to move; then they would converge on him, making suggestive noises about din-din. Yet after Roger’s lecture, the scene had an almost heraldic significance: the animals at peace in the sanctuary of the Lady, the young priest lost in meditation, but ready to serve.

I must have made some sound, deep in my throat. Kevin looked up. “Hi, there. Did you have a good—”

“No,” I said. “I mean…excuse me, I forgot something.”

It took me a while to find Roger. I finally ran him to earth in the chapel, where he was looking under the pews, flashlight in hand.

“I’ve got to talk to you,” I gasped.

“Sure.” Roger made a courtly gesture toward one of the pews. I shied back.

“Not here. Let’s go outside.”

We found a bench in the perennial garden. Columbines the color of morning sky danced in the breeze.

“What’s up?” Roger asked. “You look worried.”

I pressed my hands to my head. “It doesn’t seem so inevitable out here…I just saw Kevin, with all the animals around him. Roger, that hokey ancient religion you were talking about—you said the goddess had a male counterpart.”

I had to listen to a passionate speech about today’s ignorant, untaught youth. “Even you must have heard of Osiris,” he went on. “One of the dying gods whose resurrection symbolized the new crops. His mating with the Mother—”

“There was a book,” I interrupted. “The King Must Die.”

“Yes; well, that was an element of some of the cults. The king represented the dying god; his blood fertilized the land he ruled and brought good fortune to his people. Murray believed that the god of the witches was a survival of this old belief. He had to be sacrificed periodically to ensure—”

“Kevin,” I said. “What about Kevin?”

Roger’s eyes bulged. “My God—are you suggesting—”

“You were the one who suggested it. Are you trying to tell me you didn’t remember that aspect of the good old religion? It follows, inevitably, if your crazy idea is right.”

“Wait a minute—calm down. Let me think.” Roger brooded, his expression increasingly grim.

“I have now got a theory of my own,” I said.

“You have definitely captured my attention,” Roger said. “Go on.”

“What if the old religion is still being practiced, here in the neighborhood? There are a couple of covens of ‘witches’ at the university; people are dabbling in black magic and weird cults, mostly for erotic kicks, but in part because modern skepticism has left them groping for something to believe in. Kevin was here alone for a couple of weeks before I arrived. Plenty of time for them to contact and convert him. They may be using drugs.” In my mind’s eye I saw Kevin’s face as he caressed his invisible lover—rapt, luminous. “Drugs and hypnotism,” I went on, increasingly convinced. “And—well, things like that. Damn it, Roger, if you were looking for a young male god, you couldn’t find a better specimen than Kevin. What if all this has a factual explanation, and the phenomena we’ve seen were tricks, produced by human agents?”

“Hmmm.” Roger scratched his head. “You have shaken me, Annie, I admit it. I won’t ask youhow such phenomena could have been produced; I’ve read enough about fake spiritualist tricks to know that almost anything is possible. But I do have one question. They? Who, for God’s sake? You can’t drag in a new character at this point; the villain must be someone we know, someone who has access to the house.”

“But there are lots of people we don’t know well,” I argued. “How about Dr. Garst? A physician could get drugs. His chubby niece could be part of the plot, she’s the type who would be turned on by a little black magic. Even Debbie…All right, smile! You can’t dismiss people as harmless just because they are stupid and look like soap-opera characters.”

“I wasn’t smiling; I was grimacing. I am well aware of the fact that some of the most accomplished mass murderers of all time have been sweet little old ladies or ineffectual men. But I can’t see Garst as the mastermind. Damn it, he’s too straight. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he has his private vices, but I doubt they are as original as the one you suggest.”

“There are other possibilities.”

“Aha,” Roger said softly. “I wondered whether you would come out with it. A man who is an antiquarian by inclination, with a morbid interest in outré cults; someone who pointedly sought your acquaintance and has managed to worm his way into the house.”

“Huh?” I stared at him. “You? You make a good case, Roger, but I wasn’t thinking of you. I was thinking of Father Stephen.”

“Steve?” For an instant his face mirrored my surprise. Then he threw his head back and howled with laughter.

After a while I got up and started to walk away. Roger caught my wrist and dragged me down onto the bench. “Wait,” he gasped. “Give me a minute. Sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

“I don’t think it’s funny.”

“You’re right.” Roger mastered his amusement. “The situation isn’t funny, but to think of Steve in a goatskin and horns, performing a Black Mass…You don’t know him.”

“Maybe you don’t either.”

“Maybe not. I have lived long enough to realize that we can never be one hundred percent certain about anybody. I would stake my life on Steve’s sanity and saintliness; but there are forms of mental illness, brain tumors…For the sake of argument I’d have to agree that he must be considered.” Roger thought a minute, and added, “Rather him than me, if it comes to that. I’m flattered you didn’t consider me.”

“Oh, I haven’t eliminated you,” I assured him. “You think I may be right, then?”

“Mayis the word, Annie. You’ve made a strong case, but remember that none of my equipment has given us any evidence of trickery. The cameras ought to have caught someone—if there had been someone to catch.”

“Maybe they weren’t in the right place at the right time.”

“A hit, a palpable hit. Hmmm. It’s going to be difficult covering all the possible means of entrance to the house—”

“But what about Kevin, in the meantime? He could be in deadly danger—not his soul, whatever that may be, but his life. We’ve got to do something fast.”

“The only theory that puts Kevin in imminent danger is Bea’s,” Roger said. “Even that isn’t really imminent; Kevin is young and healthy, he shouldn’t be in danger of damnation for decades to come. As for your idea, and mine—you haven’t convinced me completely, Annie, not by a damn sight—take comfort in the thought that the old religion has specific timetables and major festivals, like the Christian Church. One of them has already passed—Mid-summer Eve, which is in June. The next big one isn’t till fall.”

“Hallowe’en?”

“All Hallows Eve. Nothing is going to happen to Kevin before then—if then. So we have plenty of time.”

“I wish,” I said, “that didn’t have such an ominous ring to it—like in the category of famous last words.”

IV

Roger went trotting off to rearrange his gadgets. He looked depressed. He might not be convinced, but his hope of getting a story with which to dazzle his friends and rivals in the Society for Psychic Research had been shaken. In his way he was as superstitious as Bea.

So now we had three theories—four, if you considered Father Stephen’s hints about diabolic possession as distinct from Bea’s—and nothing to prove or disprove any of them. I began to wonder how many scholarly reconstructions were based on equally tenuous proofs.

I returned to the library, but Kevin was gone, and so were the animals. The kitchen was the logical place to look next; they were all there, the pets busily munching, and Kevin perched on a stool eating carrot sticks almost as fast as Bea cut them. I covertly examined his bare brown arms for needlemarks. Their absence didn’t prove anything, of course.

“Find it?” Kevin asked.

“What?”

“Whatever it was you forgot.”

“Oh. Yeah, I found it.”

Kevin offered me a carrot. “Speaking of forgetting, Father Stephen called earlier,” he said to Bea. “He sounded urgent.”

“You might have told me,” Bea exclaimed. She put down the knife and wiped her hands on her apron.

“I forgot,” Kevin said placidly.

Bea left the room. Kevin continued to crunch. After a while he said, “You doing anything particular tomorrow?”

“No, nothing in particular.”

“We might try to get some work done.”

“That would be a change.”

“Don’t blame it all on me. Seems as if I hardly see you anymore. I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

His tone was not sarcastic, only mildly reproachful and a little weary. “I wasn’t complaining,” he added. “I’m sorry I haven’t been a good host.”

“That wasn’t the deal, Kevin. I’m not complaining either.”

“It’s been a peculiar summer,” Kevin said, half to himself.

“Are you all right?” I asked tentatively. “Feeling all right, I mean?”

“I haven’t been sleeping too well lately. Probably the weather; my room doesn’t get much ventilation, that damned balcony cuts off the breeze. I guess maybe I’m going through some kind of agonizing reappraisal, that’s why I feel so confused. All my ideas and plans are screwed up.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I was hoping you’d ask,” Kevin said with a grin. “I hate friends who dump on me, but I love to be the one doing the dumping. It’s just so damned hard to get any privacy around here. How long is Roger planning to stay?”

I had been wondering myself. “I don’t know,” I said. “It isn’t up to me to ask.”

“Nor me; his being here is no skin off my nose, and I guess it’s nice for Aunt Bea. You think they have something going?”

“Would you mind if they did?”

“Hell, no. She deserves some fun after old Harry. I wouldn’t have thought Roger was her type, but it’s none of my business. Tomorrow okay with you, then?”

“Fine. Oh, and Kevin—if your room is too hot at night, why don’t you change?”

“I might at that.”

I didn’t press it. Bea returned, trailed by Roger. They were deep in another argument.

“Why can’t I go?” he demanded. “Steve won’t mind; he and I—”

“Because I don’t want you,” Bea said. “Kevin, if you don’t stop eating those carrots, I’ll have to cut a whole new batch.”

“But you hate to drive at night,” Roger persisted. “And it looks like rain.”

“I can manage. It’s only a few miles.”

“At least take Annie.”

Bea considered the suggestion. Behind her back, Roger winked and gestured at me. I knew what he wanted—a spy in the other camp. Well, I was curious myself.

“I’ll be glad to,” I said.

“Thank you, dear.”

We had drinks and snacks on the patio. Roger couldn’t take his eyes off Kevin. His stare was so unblinking that Kevin began to squirm. “What’s the matter, am I sprouting horns or something?” he demanded.

“No, in fact you look fine,” Roger said. “Better than you did when I first met you. Tanned, sleek, bulging with muscle—”

“You make me sound like a prize bull,” Kevin complained.

“Uh,” Roger said, startled. “I only meant you look—er—healthy. Are you doing anything in particular—exercises, yoga, vitamins?”

He was as subtle as a sledgehammer. I wanted to kick him. But Kevin didn’t seem to find the question out of line. Men do take their muscles so seriously.