The Last Good Kiss (52 page)

"I'll just bet you are," she said to my back.

Inside, I went to the bar for a fresh drink. I was in the

middle of my second one when Betty Sue came back

from the bedroom. She had changed out of her

nightgown and into her old baggy clothes.

"I liked you better the other way," I said.

She didn't bother to answer as she stopped to lean

against the frame of the study door. The glare of the

tilted desk lamp fell harshly across her pale, worn face.

"Let him clean up his own goddamned messes," I

said.

"I can't," she said. "What if you had felt that way

about my mess?"

"That's different," I answered lamely, but she had

already stepped into the study.

The angle of the light lowered, the line of shadow

sweeping across the carpet toward the doorway, and

the desk chair squeaked as if she were sitting down. I

poured myself another splash of whiskey and went

outside, switching off the deck lights as I stepped

through the door. My .38 Airweight still huddled on the

pad of the chaise lounge where the deputy had tossed

it. I unloaded it and stuck it in my back pocket. A slice

of moon like a hairline fracture opened the night sky,

the dark bulk of the remainder clearly visible. As I

stared at it, I heard Fireball whimper down on the

lawn. I called him and heard his slow scuffle up the

stairs. Up on the deck, he waddled over and climbed

painfully up into my lap as I sat down on the lounge

chair. His haunches were trembling furiously.

"That's okay," I said as I patted his head. "Everybody is gun-shy the first time. " The bulldog whined as I rubbed his neck until he stopped shaking. Then I sat

him down and went back into the house. He followed,

his nose brushing my heels.

Betty Sue still sat at the desk, her head in her hands

as she leaned over the pile of tangled yellow pages. Her

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eyes were dry, though, when she glanced at me.

Fireball walked over to her, and she lifted him into her

lap. I went over too and leaned against the desk.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing. "

"Then why did he try to kill himself?"

"He can't handle it, I guess."

"Handle what?" she asked as she wiped at her nose

with the back of her hand.

"Love and forgiveness," I said.

"I think I'm leaving him," she said softly.

"That's probably the best thing. "

"For whom?"

"Both of you."

"You're probably right," she said. "It might be the

best for everybody."

"Where are you going?"

She stared at me for a long time, then answered

slowly, "I'm ten years late but I'm going home. "

"At least I'll know where to find you," I said.

"Don't," she whispered, "please don't. "

"Whatever you say."

"And don't worry about Hyland and the rest of the

money," she said. "I'll take care of it somehow."

"Are you really leaving?" I asked.

"Yes. "

"Wait a minute," I said, then went out to the El

Camino to pick up the checks and her five thousand

cash.

"What's this?" she asked, as I gave her the envelope.

"Look at it," I said.

"My god." She sighed as she pulled the checks out.

"Catherine?"

"And his mother."

"If they want him back this badly, I guess I have to

let them have him," she said, then handed me the

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checks and the cash. "Give the checks back to Catherine and the cash to Hyland," she said. "I pay my own way."

I folded up the checks and stuck them back into my

pocket along with the five thousand in cash. "In the

morning," I said. "I'm going to the bank to cash this

one for forty thousand, then I'm driving down to

Denver and put it in their hands. Catherine can have

your five thousand and these other two checks back."

"Please don't," she pleaded.

"Listen," I said, "you're not the only one involvedmy ass is on the line too."

"I'm sorry," she answered. "Thank Catherine for

me-tell her I'll pay her back. "

"You tell her."

"I'll be gone before daylight," she said. "I've got a

few things to pack up in the studio and a few clothes,

then I'm gone. "

"I'll b e gone before that," ·I said.

"Come here," she said, and I leaned toward her. She

slipped a hand behind my neck and pulled my face

toward hers. Our lips brushed lightly. "Thank you,"

she whispered. "Thank you for everything."

"Do me a favor," I said as I stood up.

"What?"

"When you go home, take that goddamned worthless

bulldog with you. "

"Thank you," she said again, a touch of laughter

rising through a mist of newly born tears.

I touched her cheek with the fingers of my broken

hand, then left her that way.

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1 9 ••••

WIDLE I WAS PACKING, I WENT INTO THE BATHROOM TO

pick up my toilet articles and found the large mirror

broken by the round Trahearne had fired through the

floor. A large piece had fallen off it and crushed the

slim vase with its burden of straw flowers and lonely

women's faces. I reached into the tangle of glass and

pottery to pick out a large piece with a woman's face

upon it. I stared at it for a long time, then tossed it back

on the counter and finished packing.

After I loaded the El Camino, though, I didn't have

anyplace to go. I drove down the gravel track to the

highway, anyway, then turned right toward the mountains again. When I reached the crest of the first rise, I stopped and got out, lit a cigarette and opened a beer.

The Trahearnes' houses were dark, but a flood light

spilled out of the studio up the hill from his house, and

behind the windows, Betty Sue's shadow walked back

and forth briskly. In the darkness of the valley, the

studio seemed like a crystal island in a sea of black

water. I finished the cigarette and the beer, then drove

on up to Moondog Lake to wait out the rest of the

night.

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At dawn an early loon filled the far end of the small

lake with his maniac gibber. I kicked out my poorly

tended campfire and headed back toward Cauldron

Springs.

When I reached the edge of town, I stopped at an

outdoor telephone booth to call Torres to tell him that I

had his money, then I eased through the waking town,

searching for a cup of coffee. Everything was still

closed, though. I toured the town aimlessly, the only

person awake except for an arthritic old man shuffling

from a cheap motel toward the hulk of the hotel and its

hot spring waters. I stopped to offer him a ride, but he

refused, cackling as he told me that he needed the

exercise. I drove slowly on past the hotel and as I

turned, I saw Betty Sue's VW parked in the alley

behind the pool house and the tennis c,ourts. Staring at

it, I went past, then turned around and eased down the

alley to park behind her car, which was stuffed with her

gear.

The back door was unlocked, but when I went inside

the pool house, the waters lay flat and empty, filled

with a luminous viscosity from the underwater lights, a

light as ashen as that seeping through the skylights. I

walked over to the pool and shouted her name, but her

naked body floated face down in the pellucid waters,

her right arm draped over the small body of the

bulldog, as if she had tried ·to protect him from the

bullets. Three black holes clustered in the middle of

Betty Sue's back, and another glowed like a coal behind

Fireball's ear. Below them, the .45 nestled like a

poisonous sea plant against the bottom of the pool, and

a cloud of blood, undissipated in the still water,

surrounded the bodies like a hazy halo around a dark

moon.

It wasn't what I wanted to do, but what I had to do. I

went back outside to open the hood of the El Camino

and remove the air cleaner. I hid the checks and the

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cash inside the paper element of it, then went back

inside and over to the hotel. The old man who had

refused a lift and an even more crippled and older desk

clerk were discussing their ailments. I let the conversation die a natural death before I told the desk clerk to call the sheriff's office.

The first thing Sheriff Roy did, of course, was arrest me. I spent two weeks and three days in the Logan County jail without saying a word to anybody

except my public defender lawyer, and I only told him

that I didn't have anything to say. If the Trahearnes

didn't push, the county attorney had no case, so I

kept my mouth shut, and they didn't push. They came

once, thougb, Catherine and Trahearne, to visit me

in jail. We sat at the end of a long table, my attorney at the other end. Trahearne looked downcast, but Catherine smiled as she told me that I wasn't going to

be charged.

"Thanks," I said.

"We told them about those people in Denver,"

Catherine said, "but of course they all have iron-clad

alibis. "

"Those sort of people always do," I said.

"What happened to the money?" she asked casually.

"It's in a safe place," I said. "Do you want it back?"

"You've earned it," Catherine said, smiling.

"Right," I said.

Trahearne started to say something, but Catherine

reached over to press her fingers to his mouth. I

assumed that she was living in his house again, comforting him, protecting him.