Skeleton Key

by Steven Charles

  “We’re from Thaler,” Monica explained.

  “Well, he isn’t,” the man said, pointing the cigar at Lee. “Move on, pal, before you get picked up for truancy. And you three better get back where you belong.”

  Jennifer felt Lee tense and put a hand on his arm, told him with a glance not to say anything, and slid off the wall. After hesitating, he followed reluctantly and took her hand, and they all headed back toward the car. Beauford and Holt trailed, saying nothing, and when they reached the car, the two girls got in without a word.

  Rumbel remained where he was. Watching.

  Lee jammed his hands into his pockets and remained standing on the sidewalk, glaring at the pavement. “He’s trouble, Jen,” he said quietly.

  “Good.”

  He looked at her in bewilderment, and she couldn’t help a quick laugh before launching into an explanation of her plan. Lee tried several times to interrupt her, but she wouldn’t let him, and when she was finished she glanced over at the cop still standing in front of the hedge.

  “He’s perfect, Lee, don’t you see that? He’s just what we want.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Jennifer took hold of his arm and waited until he looked at her. “He is, Lee, trust me. He’s a creep, just like you said, but that’s going to work in our favor, see? If we can get him to follow us, we’ve got it made.”

  Lee shook his head doubtfully. “Here he comes. I’d better go, or I’ll get nailed for vagrancy or something.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you this afternoon. After—” She stopped. She was going to say, “After ecology class,” but the still missing Borden Overbrook was their instructor, and they had been told to spend their classtime in the library until further notice.

  Lee, however, knew what she meant and nodded. He was about to lean forward to kiss her cheek but changed his mind and moved off in a hurry. She watched him go and sensed Rumbel coming up from behind her.

  “He’s trouble, you know,” the man said over her shoulder.

  “I don’t think so,” she answered stiffly.

  “Yeah, he’s trouble. Him and his pals, they’re in for a lot of surprises if they think they can keep this up. You know what I mean?”

  Slowly she turned to look at him, and slowly she shook her head. “No, I don’t know,” she said. “And I’m sure you’re mistaken, officer.”

  She opened the car door and slid in, but Rumbel took hold of the handle and prevented her from closing it. He leaned over, the cigar jutting from a corner of his mouth, and looked at the girls one by one.

  “If you’re his friends,” he said with a crooked smile, “I guess I’ll be seeing you again.”

  Then he slammed the door and walked off.

  And Jennifer nodded.

  Whether he would be on their side or not, the battle had indeed been joined.

  Four

  “I DON’T BELIEVE IT,” MARYSUE WHISPERED. THEN, louder, “I just don’t believe it!”

  Jennifer hurried into the other girl’s room and closed the door, leaned against it, and stared straight ahead.

  “How,” Beauford said, “could we have been so stupid? You’d think we were just born yesterday.”

  She stood at her desk and gestured furiously at the open books on its top and those spilled onto the floor. She glared at the notebook whose pages had been partially ripped out in someone’s haste to flip through them. Then she dropped into her chair and looked at the ceiling.

  “I don’t care what you say, child, I am calling in the marines.”

  Marysue insisted that her desk had been searched. And Jennifer had to believe her because she could tell the rest of the room had been gone through too. Each dresser drawer had been opened and the clothes shoved out of place, the bedclothes had been pulled off the mattress, and in the closet all the clothes had been pushed away from the center.

  “Y’know,” Marysue said, “they didn’t—” She took a deep breath and shook her head. “They didn’t even try to put it all back. They didn’t even care whether I knew it or not.”

  The morning light outside was still gray from the heavy cloud cover, and the shadows in the room were weak and cold. Marysue hadn’t bothered to turn on the lamp; it was all too clear what had happened.

  Jennifer crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself against a feeling of dread. She shivered. When they had returned to campus, Monica had told them she would come to the dorm after getting a book from the library. That was nearly five minutes before. And Jennifer was still in Marysue’s room, afraid to look in her own.

  “They didn’t even try,” Marysue repeated quietly.

  A trick. The whole morning’s episode must have been a trick to make sure they were away from their rooms long enough so someone could search them. Jennifer wasn’t sure what they’d been looking for, but she could make a fair guess—notes. Her notes, those of Dean Innlake, or those of the missing librarian, Pauline Klopher. Evidence they had collected that proved the aliens existed.

  She closed her eyes and leaned back against the door.

  “So, Field, now what?”

  Jennifer didn’t say a word. She only opened the door and walked into the hall, looking left before turning in the opposite direction toward her room. When she reached her door, she turned the knob without hesitating, and her expression betrayed nothing when she saw her clothes, her books, and her cosmetics strewn across the floor.

  She stepped inside.

  Marysue came in behind her.

  She picked up a skirt and shook it, took it to the closet, and hung it up.

  “Field?”

  Methodically, without a word, Jennifer returned the rest of her clothes to their places, then went to work on her books and her desk.

  “Jen?”

  When that was finished, she motioned Beauford to help her remake the bed, telling her with her eyes that she didn’t want to talk. Not yet. Not then. Not until order had been returned could she think without screaming in rage.

  And when she was done with the room, she simply said, “Monica,” and went straight to Holt’s room. Her knock on the door brought no response. Another knock, and then she pounded—no response. When she tried the knob, it wouldn’t turn. At that moment Karen Immano hurried by and called over her shoulder that Monica had last been seen heading away from the dorm and the Student Union.

  Jennifer clenched her fists and tightened her brow.

  “Jenny,” Marysue said, “you can’t think that again. It can’t be.”

  But Jennifer didn’t know what else to think. Only about a week before, she had accused Monica of being an alien and had been proven wrong. Shamefully wrong. But now her doubts were beginning to surface again.

  It was possible Holt had actually received that telephone call, the caller knowing the three girls would rush immediately into Staines to see what had happened. If that was true, it was also possible that Rumbel’s wanting Lee for questioning was part of the plan to get them off campus.

  She shook her head once, sharply.

  Too many possibles.

  It was also possible that the caller, having seen Lee go into the station, took advantage of a perfect opportunity.

  And it was possible there had been no call at all.

  Too many, she thought. And too many suspicions.

  “C’mon,” Jennifer said. “Let’s clean up your room and go to lunch. I’m starving.”

  “Lunch?” Marysue yelped as she followed Jennifer down the hall. “How can you think of eating when we’ve been burgled, or robbed, or whatever?”

  “Nothing was taken, right?”

  Marysue nodded. The first thing she’d done was check her jewelry, and not a piece was missing.

  “Then what do you suggest? We call the police and tell them our rooms have been searched? They’ll ask why. We don’t have an answer they’ll believe.” She shrugged sadly. “I don’t see what else we can do.”

  “We can tear Holt’s face off, for one thing,” Marysue said angr
ily.

  Jennifer laughed. “We don’t know for sure,” she said without much enthusiasm.

  “I guess,” Marysue admitted after a second’s hesitation. “But it would be nice. Then I’d have a good reason for hating her.”

  They worked swiftly in Marysue’s room, with Marysue muttering and swearing the entire time. When they were done, they grabbed their jackets and headed for the dining hall in the Student Union.

  Neither girl mentioned what had happened to anyone.

  They scanned the crowded tables and exchanged glances when they couldn’t see Monica Holt.

  The food was tasteless, the noise and chatter unbearable, and Jennifer ate as quickly as she could, paying hardly any attention to those who tried to talk with her. She knew that she didn’t dare lose her temper then. She had to remain calm. Otherwise, she would act without thinking, and she imagined that that was exactly what the aliens wanted.

  They wanted her to panic.

  They wanted her to isolate herself in some way, and then they would move in.

  Earlier, at the beginning of the nightmare, she had convinced herself the creatures wouldn’t harm her because to do so would call too much attention to the academy. They had already disposed of one student. If any others disappeared, someone was bound to investigate.

  Now things were different.

  Jennifer knew where the aliens’ base was.

  She knew what they were planning.

  They could no longer afford to leave her alone, just as they could not have left the former dean, John Innlake, alive when, as she’d speculated, he’d threatened to expose them when his association with them had gone sour.

  Moving like a robot, she returned her tray and walked out to the front of the building, pausing only long enough to glance into the Unon’s game room. It was empty.

  Marysue followed her, her cheeks pale, her hands tugging constantly at her ponytail until she pulled too hard and uttered a short curse. They watched the movement of students across the grassy insert of the circular drive; they listened to the giggles, the laughs, the snatches of gossip and argument that swirled around them; and when they saw the white Mercedes glide between the pillars that marked the academy’s entrance, Marysue slapped her arm.

  “That’s it,” she said. “C’mon, Field.”

  Puzzled, Jennifer followed her back into the Union, where she marched directly to a bank of public telephones beside the bulletin board. Cadging some change, Marysue dialed a number, turned her back, and began talking.

  Jennifer could only watch, catching one short, barked sentence: “I don’t care how much it costs, just bring it out here!”

  Beauford slammed the receiver back onto its cradle and grinned. “The old red machine will be here in an hour.”

  Jennifer gaped. “But it’s—”

  “Finished, or darn near,” Beauford said, taking Jennifer’s arm and pulling her back outside. “The jerk was going to wait for me to come into town to get it. Can you imagine? I could’ve been waiting here until graduation before he found the brains to let me know.”

  The red machine was Marysue’s old, full-sized Thunderbird, a legacy from her brother and a car that, though lovingly cared for, had seen better days. It had been in a Staines garage for a few days being worked on, but Marysue had evidently promised the mechanic quick money for a personal delivery.

  When she asked about it, Marysue grinned and answered in an exaggerated southern drawl. “Well, sure, honey, I promised him a big tip. What’s the sense of having the stuff if you can’t spend it, huh? I don’t intend to line my coffin with it when I go. What a waste!”

  Jennifer didn’t know what to say. The Beaufords were a wealthy Richmond family; the Fields were solidly middle class. Yet Marysue had never once made a point of acknowledging that difference in their backgrounds. In fact, except for moments like this, Jennifer seldom thought about it herself.

  “Besides,” the girl continued, “it’s in a good cause, right? We can’t trust ol’ Monica now, not until we find out if she told the truth.”

  Again Jennifer felt torn between her new suspicions and the results of the old ones. But she also understood that now she was in a fight for her life.

  “So!” Marysue said. “What next?”

  Jennifer thought a moment, then crossed down off the porch of the Student Union and into a stream of students hurrying to their next classes. “We still don’t know about Overbrook, right? All we know is that he’s gone.”

  “Dead, most likely.”

  “No!” she snapped. “We can’t think that, Marysue. Why don’t we snoop around a bit until Lee and Conrad get here?”

  “And if we get caught?” Beauford asked.

  “We’ll deal with it then.”

  “Wonderful. So—where?”

  “Overbrook’s lab.”

  And though there was no reason for anyone to stop them, Jennifer couldn’t help feeling as if everyone was watching as they hurried up the steps into the science building and took the staircase down into the basement, which consisted of a warren of rooms and labs reaching out beyond the aboveground walls. Some of the rooms were in use, and Jennifer was somewhat comforted by the muted sounds of instructors and students talking. But that security died as soon as she reached the door to Borden Overbrook’s lab.

  He laughingly called it the dungeon because it was stuck off in a corner all by itself. It was small, empty, and dimly lit. Only the globes in the hall ceiling were on. Vials, jars, and cartons were stacked on the shelves; books were piled on the man’s desk; and the lab tables looked as if they hadn’t been used in years.

  “Creepy,” Marysue said and immediately volunteered to stand at the door in case someone interrupted them.

  Jennifer didn’t argue. Knowing full well she probably wouldn’t find a thing, nevertheless she tackled the desk drawers, the books, the shelves, even the storage closets at the back of the room. An hour later, just as the other labs were taking a break and the halls were filling with students, she admitted defeat.

  “Hopeless,” she said, closing the door behind her. “Now if we could only get into Mrs. Klopher’s apartment. Maybe we could find something—”

  “Whoa!” Marysue said, hands up, shaking her head. “No way, child, am I going to break into a faculty boardinghouse. No way at all. If you do that, you are on your own.”

  Jennifer opened her mouth to argue but changed her mind when she saw, at the end of the hall, Esther Fine starting up a set of stairs.

  “I’ve got it!” she said and began running.

  “Got what?” Marysue demanded and saw where she was looking. “Esther? You want to talk to Esther?”

  “Klopher,” she said.

  “Klopher?” Marysue asked.

  “Seeing Esther reminded me of Klopher.”

  Jennifer shook her head and ducked into the first stairwell she reached. As she took the stairs two at a time, she berated herself for not thinking of it sooner. Mrs. Klopher’s apartment had already been searched by the aliens. But the last time Jennifer had seen Mrs. Klopher, the woman had implied that the notes she had made weren’t easy to get hold of.

  Which meant they probably weren’t in her rooms.

  Which meant, Jennifer hoped, they were where no one would think to look for them—in the library.

  Five

  THE OVERCAST SHEET OF GRAY HAD DEEPENED AND reached down lower over the hills while they were inside. Tendrils of cloud drifted over the summits as the girls hurried out of the building and turned toward the Student Union. The temperature, too, was lower, and Jennifer could imagine that before the day was over they could have the season’s first flurries. Ordinarily snow would have excited her; now it only depressed her, because if it was true, it would mean getting around would be all that much more difficult. It was much too early in the year for snow, she thought suddenly. Maybe they were doing something to change the weather too.

  They had just reached the Union entrance when suddenly Marysue slapped her s
houlder.

  “What?”

  “My baby has come home to roost!” Beauford shouted and ran toward the drive.

  Jennifer watched Marysue, wondering what had gotten into her, until she saw the familiar bullet shape of the red Thunderbird coming up the long drive. She looked at the doors in frustration, debated, then ran after her friend, grinning broadly as Marysue jumped onto the blacktop and waved her arms frantically to stop the mechanic. Then she ran around to the driver’s side, practically yanked the driver out, and sat behind the steering wheel, caressing it with one palm while she adjusted the rearview mirror with the other.

  Jennifer looked at the man, who seemed only a few years older than Lee, and said, “She’s missed it.”

  He nodded without smiling, reached into his coveralls pocket, and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper, which he handed to Marysue through the window. “All listed,” he said. “Including the special delivery.”

  Marysue laughed, grabbed the bill, and climbed out, asking him to wait. Then she sprinted for the dorm, waving the paper over her head.

  “She always get that way over this car?” the man asked, pushing a stained hand back over his short-cropped hair.

  Jennifer leaned back against the fender and shrugged. “I guess so.” The name Chuck was embroidered on the coveralls, and Jennifer tried not to smile when she saw Chuck notice that the campus was crawling with young women, and only young women. “You don’t get up here much?”

  He shook his head slowly.

  “Did you have trouble fixing the car?”

  “Nope,” he said absently. “Would’ve been quicker if she didn’t keep calling all the time.”

  She did smile then. “It’s a family heirloom.”

  Finally he looked at her, frowning as though trying to decide if she was joking. “Good car. She sure beats the heck out of it, though.”

  Jennifer was saved from saying anything more by the return of Marysue, checkbook and pen in hand. They went over the bill, and Marysue saw for herself that everything was in order. Then she wrote out the check, handed it to the mechanic with a flourish, and winked at Jennifer when the young man’s eyes widened.