The Twisted Window (12 page)

Turning to face the door, Tracy could see the outline of his figure, a blurred shape on the far side of the screen. She drew in a sudden, sharp breath and lowered the receiver.

"Hello?" Uncle Cory's voice crackled, tiny and thin, at the end of the wire. "Hello? Who is this? Hello? Hello?"

Doug Carver said hoarsely, "My God, the kid has a gun!"

Tracy set the receiver back in its cradle.

CHAPTER 11

Brad pulled the screen door open and stepped into the room, keeping the hunting rifle leveled at the big man's chest.

"Yes, the kid's got a gun," he said. "Keep your hands at your sides and don't try anything stupid."

"I was right! You are crazy!" Doug Carver's normally florid face had turned the color of ivory. "Put that thing down, you idiot. It might accidentally go off."

"If it goes off, it won't be an accident," Brad said evenly. "I've done a lot of hunting with this gun, and I know how to use it." The pressure of the gun butt against his shoulder was reassuringly familiar. It brought back memories of deer trails in the Pecos Wilderness; of the pungent odor of dew-drenched pine needles in the early morning; of his father, turning to smile at him over his shoulder, his breath rising from his nostrils in little puffs of steam in the cold mountain air. "Do just as I tell you. Walk backwards into the kitchen."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Tracy move away from the telephone table. Her face was pale, and she was staring at him incredulously.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a whisper. "Where did you get that thing?"

"Stay back out of the way," Brad warned her. "I don't want to run the risk of having you block my shot. If you get between us, you're probably going to get hurt." With the gun still trained on Doug, he began to advance slowly toward him. "Didn't you hear what I said? Get into the kitchen. That's the way"—as the man took one cautious step backward and then another. "Keep moving back until you're through the doorway. Now, turn to your left."

"If this is a robbery, you're not going to get much," said Doug. "We're not rich people. There's no money stashed around here. All you're going to find in my wife's jewelry box is cheap imitation stuff. The only good pieces she owns are what she's wearing tonight."

"I don't want your wife's jewelry," Brad said. "I only want what's mine."

"If you're looking for drugs—"

"Stop talking and keep on walking."

He moved steadily forward, keeping pace as Doug backed into the adjoining room. Across from them, on the far side of the kitchen, the window he and Tracy had peered through two nights before reflected the activity in the lighted room. In its depths he could see Doug's broad back, encased in a gray pin-striped suit jacket, and beyond that, a slender, curly-haired boy holding a deer rifle. The boy's face looked foreign to him, steely-eyed and oddly expressionless—the face of a stranger he had never seen before. At the same time, he knew the person with the gun was himself and that the unnatural effect could be attributed to the warp in the windowpane.

"What now?" Doug asked grimly. His voice was stiff with anger, but beneath that there ran an unmistakable undercurrent of fear.

Brad glanced quickly about him, trying to decide on the next step. When he had confiscated the grocery sacks, he had not bothered to fully close the door to the pantry. It now stood ajar, disclosing three walls of floor-to-ceiling shelving stocked with cleaning supplies, canned goods, and boxes of baking mixes.

"Get in there," he said. "Turn around and step through that door."

"You want me to go into the pantry?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

Doug seemed unable to decide whether or not to obey.

"Look," he said, "there's a little girl back in one of our bedrooms. I don't care what you do to me or how much stuff you take, but I want you to promise you won't do anything to her."

"I told you," Brad said, "I'm only going to take what's mine."

"She sleeps soundly," Doug continued. "She's not going to wake up. There's no reason you'd even want to go in there. There's nothing in that room you'd be interested in taking. It's just little-kid stuff, like picture books and toys."

"Get into the pantry," Brad told him, at the end of his patience. "If you push me any further, you're going to be sorry."

Glowering with fury and frustration, Doug did as directed and stepped through the doorway into the tiny, windowless storage room. His shoulders grazed the edges of the shelves on either side.

"You won't get away with this." His voice was muffled by the closeness of the room. "Why don't you quit while you're ahead, kid? We'll chalk this one up to the fact that you're high on something and aren't in any condition to be held responsible. I give you my word, I'm not going to call the police. You can walk out of here, and it'll be like nothing ever happened."

Not deigning to dignify the statement with a verbal response, Brad thrust out his foot and kicked the door closed. The slam of it jolted the kitchen like a crack of thunder.

Instead of the usual punch button lock, this door had a bolt lock at shoulder height. Brad reached up and slid the bolt into place.

"Tracy?" he called. "Come out here! I need your help."

Tracy appeared in the doorway, visibly shaken. Her eyes were wide and frightened, and she glanced apprehensively about her as though she expected to be confronted by a scene of bloody horror.

"That noise!" she said. "When I heard it, I thought you'd shot him!"

"That was the sound of the pantry door," Brad told her. "The blast of a gun is a lot louder than that."

"This wasn't supposed to be part of it," said Tracy. "If you'd told me you had a gun, I'd never have agreed to this."

"The gun was my dad's," Brad said. "I had it in the trunk of the car. The way things worked out tonight, it's lucky I did."

"Put it down. It makes me nervous just seeing you hold it." Her voice had a sharp edge to it. "You wouldn't really have used it, would you? No matter what he did, you'd never have shot him?"

"I don't know," Brad told her honestly. He thought back upon the moment when Doug Carver had hesitated at the door to the pantry. If instead of obeying his command the man had attempted to rush him, would he have had the nerve to pull the trigger?

"I don't know," he said again. He set the stock of the gun on the floor and propped the tip of the muzzle against the kitchen wall. "That flimsy door won't hold if the Hulk tries to force it. We're going to have to pull the table over to brace it."

The dinette table had a butcher-block top, and there was a double-leaf insert attached beneath it, which made it a great deal heavier than it appeared on first glance. Even with Tracy's assistance, it took more effort than he had anticipated to haul it across the room and shove it tightly against the pantry door. Then they went back for the chairs and brought them over also.

By the time the job had been completed, the two black hands on the Garfield clock that hung over the refrigerator were indicating the time to be well past seven. Beyond the window, a thin slice of moon had ascended above the rooftop of the house next door and settled into the sky like a misplaced jewel in a witch's hair. The lighted kitchen reflected in the glass produced the illusion of an eerie second dimension, as though two unrelated photographs had been superimposed one upon another.

"We need to get a move on," Brad said. "Having Carver come back for those tickets screwed up our timing. His wife is going to be calling to see what's keeping him. When she doesn't get any answer, she's going to panic."

"I haven't finished packing yet," Tracy told him.

"Don't worry about that. Mom can buy her new stuff. The important thing now is to get Mindy out of here."

With Tracy at his heels, he went swiftly down the hall to Mindy's bedroom. After the loud scene in the living room, he half expected to find his sister awake and crying. To his relief, however, she was still sleeping soundly, curled in the same position in which he had left her, thumb in mouth, stuffed toy clutched to her heart.

When he bent to lift her from the bed, she emitted a soft kitten-mew of sleepy protest. Then, as Brad gently worked her free of the tangled bedclothes, she pulled her thumb out of her mouth with a popping sound and, with her eyes still closed, slid one arm around his neck. With her free hand, she continued to cling to the monkey.

"Mindy," Brad whispered, "do you know who's got you? It's Brad. I've come to take you home to Mommy."

She was as unexpectedly heavy as a sack of wet feathers, and she smelled of talcum powder and toothpaste and baby shampoo. The warm, limp weight of her body, the tickle of her hair against his cheek, the small sigh of her breath as she buried her face in the curve of his neck had been so long unexperienced that the new reality of them brought him close to tears.

It was strange to recall there had once been a time when he had not wanted her, when he had tried with all his mental strength to wish her out of existence. He could remember the shock he had experienced when his mother, pale-faced and teary-eyed, had broken the news to him that she was pregnant.

"This wasn't my idea," she had told him bitterly. "The last thing I ever wanted was to go through childbirth again. Gavin has this selfish need to prove his masculinity—and of course my feelings have never meant anything to anybody."

Throughout his mother's pregnancy, Brad had made a concentrated effort to avoid looking at her. It had horrified him to see her slim body grow increasingly thicker as the existence of the baby within her became more and more apparent. When Jamie had teased him about his upcoming role of "big brother," he had put the conversation to rest with such a blistering retort that his friend had never dared mention the subject again.

In the end, though, it had not been at all what he expected. His mother's labor had been short and the birthing experience comparatively easy. Mindy had been a Christmas baby, born right at the peak of the holidays, and she had come home from the hospital wrapped in a bright red blanket with a Santa Claus cap the size of a mitten on her round, bald head.

From the first moment he had laid eyes on her, garbed in her silly, festive outfit, he had blocked from his mind the thought that Gavin was her father. Instinctively, he had extended his finger to touch her, and immediately her tiny hand had closed around it. He had been amazed at the strength of the grip of her doll-size fingers, and the way she stared up at his face as if she already knew him. His heart had filled with a sudden rush of tenderness, and he had known, in that moment, he wanted to be a brother.

"What's the matter, Brad?" Tracy's voice snapped him back to the present. "You're the one who said we had to get out of here fast."

"We do," Brad said. "Do you think Mindy's going to be warm enough? Maybe we ought to take a blanket to wrap around her."

"I'll get one, and a pillow so she can sleep in the car. If you can handle one of these sacks, I'll take the other."

"And the gun," Brad said, raising his left elbow so Tracy could wedge one of the bags of clothing under it. "I left it leaning against the wall in the kitchen. Oh, and on your way back through the living room, take the phone off the hook. That should buy us some time when Carver's wife tries to call here."

Leaving Tracy to deal with the final aspects of their departure, he shoved the screen door open with his shoulder and carried Mindy out into the gentle darkness of the April evening. The night air was filled with the fragrance of hyacinths blooming in the flower beds along the walkway, and the cicadas in the hedge chattered sociably like friendly gossips.

When he had come out to the car earlier to retrieve the gun, he had been too preoccupied to notice where Doug Carver had parked. He was happy now to discover that the Carvers' car was not blocking his own in the driveway, but was sitting instead at the curb in front of the house.

Except for that unoccupied car, the street was empty.

At the edge of the driveway, Brad let the paper sack slide out from under his arm so he could use his left hand to open the back door of the Chevy. As he was settling Mindy on the seat, he heard the door to the house slam closed, and a moment later Tracy joined him at the car. Her arms were piled with a blanket and a pillow and the second bag of clothing and she was gripping the rifle gingerly with both hands.

Brad took the sack from her arms and tossed it onto the floor of the car, and then he took the gun and laid it carefully on top. He spread the blanket over Mindy. "That does it," he said. "So, good-bye, Winfield!"

"Haven't you forgotten something?" Tracy asked quietly. "What's going to happen to me when you take off with Mindy? Doug knows now that the two of us were in this together. The plan about leaving me tied up here isn't going to work."

"I haven't forgotten about you at all," Brad said hastily, realizing with a rush of guilt that he had done just that. His mind had been totally occupied with his sister. "Of course you can't stay here," he improvised. "You'll be coming with us."

"All the way to New Mexico?"

"Is there any reason not to?"

Tracy considered a moment and then shook her head.

"No, I guess there isn't. There's nothing to hold me here. My aunt and uncle will probably be relieved to get rid of me."

"Then, get in," Brad said. "We've got a lot of ground to cover."

He opened the front door of the car and slid in behind the wheel.

Tracy got in beside him, and he started the engine.

CHAPTER 12

"I don't understand it. Doug should have been back long before this." Sally Carver threw a worried glance at the steak and baked potato that sat cooling in front of the empty seat across from her. "His dinner's going to be ruined by the time he gets here. I can't imagine what's keeping him."

"Maybe he couldn't find the tickets," Kenneth Mahrer suggested, shoveling a forkful of french fries into his mouth.

"He said he knew where they were—or, at least, he thought he did. I wonder if I ought to try calling again."

"You've already called home twice, and the line's been busy both times. That must mean Doug's left the house and is on his way back over here." Kerry Mahrer reached across and gave her friend's hand a reassuring pat. "No sitter would have the nerve to stay on the phone like that if her employer was right there watching her do it. Who is sitting tonight, the Arquette girl again?"

"No, Katie takes driver's ed on Fridays," said Sally. "We're using somebody new, a friend of Gavin's roommate. We'd planned at first for Gavin to stay with Cricket. Then, the other evening, some girl called while he was at our place and invited him to go to a concert tonight. Of course, Doug and I encouraged him to accept. As depressed as he's been, he needs to get out and do things."

"It's hard to imagine being depressed at the Continental Arms," Kenneth remarked. "From what I've heard, that's heaven on a platter for singles."

"That's why we suggested Gavin move in there," said Sally. "A young bachelor who works with Doug was looking for a roommate, and we hoped life in a singles atmosphere might lift Gavin's spirits." She laughed ruefully. "A great idea, but it didn't work. Gavin's so wrung out he couldn't care less about dating. He spends all his free time at our house, mooning over Cricket."

"He seems to be awfully attached to her," Kerry commented.

"Far too attached to be healthy, in Doug's and my opinion. He needs to put the past behind him and start his life over. That's why we were so pleased when that girl invited him out. We felt it was important for him to go."

"If he's that much of a homebody, why didn't he stay married?"

"That marriage was a lost cause right from the start," Sally said. "I think the only reason Laura married my brother was because she couldn't exist without a man to take care of her. You've never seen such a helpless female in your life. She thinks the term 'woman's movement' means a trip to the beauty parlor. Nothing Gavin did for her was ever good enough. When he took her on a cruise of the Bahamas for their honeymoon, she wouldn't go out on deck for fear she'd get sunburned. When he bought her a sports car for her birthday, she refused to drive it because it 'made her nervous.' She complained about Gavin so constantly to that son of hers that the kid considered his stepfather some sort of ogre."

"What a shame!" exclaimed Kerry. "He'd probably have made that boy a wonderful father."

"Of course he would. That's obvious from the way he dotes on Cricket. It was Gavin who suggested he and Laura have a baby of their own. He thought if they had a child together, it might cement the family. That was another fine plan that didn't work out. According to Gavin, the boy got weird once the baby came. He acted as though she were his mother's and his private property. All Gavin was allowed to be in that family was a wage earner."

Sally nibbled at an unbuttered roll and glanced at her watch. "On the subject of cars, do you suppose Doug might have had car trouble?"

"If that had happened, he'd have had us paged," said Kenneth. "Poor guy, he's sure missed out on one fine meal. We'd better get the waitress to pack it up in a doggie bag."

"I bet he'll arrive within the next few minutes," Kerry said optimistically. "Let's order coffee and talk about something pleasant. Tell me, Sal, how is Cricket enjoying nursery school?"

"I called again, and the phone's still busy," Irene Stevenson told her husband, sinking down into the armchair across from his.

"She's probably telling Brad how unreasonable we are. That's the sort of teenage discussion that could last for hours."

"You're sure it was Tracy who called?"

"No, I'm not sure, Rene. I only told you I thought it might have been Tracy." Gory Stevenson pressed his right thumb against the channel turner, and the picture on the TV screen changed abruptly from a red-haired boy brushing his teeth to a cat eating Meow Mix. "There was a man's or boy's voice in the background. I thought I heard him say Tracy, but maybe he didn't."

"It might have been somebody talking on television," said Rene. "There's no reason for Tracy to call here and hang up without having said anything. That would be a senseless thing for her to do."