Vicki, steeling herself for what she knew was there, entered the bedroom. Here was a duplicate of Sue-Anne’s room, except that this one was decorated in blue. Even the candles with their blue-and-gold flames were pale blue. From every wall Belle smiled at Vicki. And she lay in the coffinlike bed, surrounded by tiny blue cornflowers, embalmed on canvas.
THE RUST ROOM belonged to Goldie and differed only in that shiny bowls of oranges and tangerines sat waiting for anyone who was hungry to sample. Vicki hadn’t touched the flowers in the other rooms, but her hand reached out automatically to feel of the lovely brown orchids. Silk. This was the secret of their perfection, each flower was a silk replica of the fresh bloom.
What could she do? Could she gather a bouquet of the silk flowers to take to Mrs. Lawrence? Was that proof enough of David Altman’s guilt?
No, no, she had to leave here, get the police, bring them back. Bring them while Altman was here. How long would he stay? All night? Could she get back to town, bring help by then? Did he really have to be here? This was his work. The photographs proved that, certainly.
Davita was here. Vicki was certain of that now. Could she help Davita to escape if she stayed until Altman left? Then go for help, taking Davita with her?
A whole list of possibilities filled Vicki’s mind as she stood, staring at this shrine to Goldie’s beauty.
She would follow through with none of her ideas. So intent on a plan, so horrified at what she had found, she had stopped listening for each tiny sound in the old house.
“Good evening, Vicki Valentine,” said a husky voice behind her. “Are you enjoying your tour? I had no plan to include you in my photo gallery until today, but I think you leave me no choice.”
Vicki swung around to see the tiny smile on David Altman’s face spread into a wicked grin.
Chapter 19
Scott panicked the minute he stopped at Vicki’s house and found she wasn’t there. Berk had suggested they pick up Vicki and go to The Pit for Cokes.
“She doesn’t answer.” Scott felt his pulse race and his heart pound harder and harder.
“Maybe she’s asleep. Did you try the door?”
“No, I’m sure it’s locked.” Scott never even thought about walking in, even if the door was open.
Berk hopped out and headed for the house. “People here never lock up.”
“Surely they’ve changed their ways with a murderer loose.” Scott followed him.
“Some maybe, most haven’t.” Berk opened the Valentines’ front door and walked right into the living room. “Vicki,” he called. “Out of the sack, lady. Let’s hit The Pit.”
Scott didn’t settle for yelling. He leapt up the steps to check Vicki’s room. The bed was made neatly, and there was no sign that Vicki had taken a nap or even been there all afternoon.
“Where would she go?” he asked, grabbing Berk’s arm.
“Hey, man, I have no idea. All we know is that she wasn’t at school. She had a chance for the rest of the day off, she took it. Can’t say that I blame her.” He picked up a small music box with a carousel horse on it, wound the key, and listened to a song from the musical Carousel start to play.
Scott wanted to grab the horse and throw it through the window. “What are you doing, man? Let’s go! We have to find her.”
“Maybe she went over to her mom’s office. We can try there, or maybe her mother knows where she is.”
Berk drove like a little old man. “Can’t you go any faster? I’ll pay for a ticket if you get one, or we can tell the police we need help.”
Berk sped up a little and swung into the parking lot at the clinic. Scott was out of the jeep before it stopped rolling. He burst into the offices, swept past a waiting room of patients, and demanded to see Mrs. Valentine.
The receptionist looked at him calmly. “Is this an emergency?”
“Yes! I need to talk to her.”
Now Scott got a look that said rudeness will get you nowhere, but at least the woman punched a button and spoke to Mrs. Valentine. “Darcy, there’s a boy here who says it’s important that he sees you.”
“Where is she?” Scott wasn’t willing to wait any longer.
“She’s coming, young man. Hold your horses.”
If Scott had a horse, he’d be galloping all over town, shouting Vicki’s name. He met Mrs. Valentine as soon as she came from one of the closed doors.
“Mrs. Valentine, is Vicki over here? Do you know where she is?”
Mrs. Valentine shook her head, puzzled by Scott’s attitude. “No, Scott, she was supposed to stay home and sleep.”
“Well, she didn’t, and now she’s gone.”
“Calm down, Scott. There’s probably a good answer. Was her bike there?”
“I didn’t look. Where would she go?”
Scott’s alarm was catching. Although Mrs. Valentine didn’t go all to pieces, her face registered her concern. She picked up the secretary’s phone and punched in another number.
“Sheriff Jenkins, I’m probably unnecessarily worried, but my daughter isn’t where she was supposed to be. Will you have one of your men go to my house, but tell him to stop at the Safeway and glance around on his way. She might have gone for some groceries.” Mrs. Valentine gave her address and phone number.
“Do you really think Vicki would have taken the day off from school and then gone grocery shopping?” Scott paced in small circles, fists clinched, needing to do something, not knowing what to do. He’d never felt so helpless in his life.
“Let’s go back over to the house, Scott. Mildred,” she turned to the receptionist, “can you handle shuffling patients among the doctors?” When Mildred nodded, Mrs. Valentine hurried to get her things. “Do you want to go with me, Scott?”
Scott turned to see what Berk was going to do.
“He can ride with me, Mrs. Valentine,” Berk said. “I’m going back over there, too. I can help look for her.”
“Hold on, Lawrence.” Berk tried to calm Scott as they ran for the jeep. “There’s probably some simple explanation, and Vicki is going to feel foolish for not leaving a note someplace.”
“We didn’t look for a note.” Scott felt a tiny grain of hope.
There was no note, no clue to where Vicki had gone. After several calls to Vicki’s friends’ homes, Mrs. Valentine was getting scared, too.
“All we can do is drive around town and look for her bike,” Sheriff Jenkins suggested. He had come instead of sending a deputy. “Since it’s gone, I’d guess she rode it instead of walking.”
“She wanted me to go someplace with her after school,” Scott remembered. “Someplace she’d seen this morning. Maybe she went back there.”
“Elsie’s?” Mrs. Valentine looked puzzled. “That’s too far to ride a bike. And another storm is coming in. No, I don’t think so. She didn’t feel that good, either.”
“That light,” said Berk, pointing to the answering machine. “Doesn’t that mean you have a call?”
Mrs. Valentine appeared relieved. “Of course, how silly of me. Vicki has called and left a message.” She rewound the tape and switched PLAY.
“Vicki, this is David Altman. I’m sorry, but your photos aren’t my best work. Would you be willing to come in tomorrow after school for retakes?”
“It’s the same pattern,” said Scott. “She didn’t wait. She went over as soon as she heard the call. She’s there now, with him.” Scott dashed for the front door.
“But, Scott—” Mrs. Valentine couldn’t stop him.
“Hurry, Berk, hurry! Vicki was obsessed with that guy Altman having something to do with the murders.”
Sure enough, the minute they got close, Scott recognized Vicki’s green, Monkey Ward bike, chained to a parking meter. He jumped out and looked at it, as if it had an answer for him. Then he dashed to the door of the studio.
“It’s locked. He’s not here.” He looked around, his heart racing again. “There’s a pay phone on that corner, Berk. You call Mrs. Valentine and she’ll
call the sheriff if he’s already left her place.” Scott headed around the old house David Altman had turned into a place of business.
The back was locked up tight, and there was no sign of Vicki. Clouds boiled to the west. A storm was moving in fast. Where was she? Where was she! Oh, God, please let her be all right. Scott wasn’t a particularly religious person, but there was nothing left for him to do except appeal to a higher power.
At first Vicki could do nothing but stare at David Altman while a wave of fear washed over her. Her next impulse was to run, but there was no place to go. Altman blocked the bedroom door. He wasn’t big, but muscular. Could she fight him off and get past him?
Panic turned to anger as he stood there, grinning at her.
“You did it, didn’t you? I knew you did. You murdered SueAnne and Belle and Goldie. Where’s Davita? Is she here?”
“I don’t like the word murdered, Vicki. I prefer to think that I preserved them.” He spoke calmly, in a quiet, unhurried voice. “You called me, didn’t you? I called you back, but you had left. I don’t know how you found me, but Vicki, I’ll have to keep you now. You realize that, don’t you. And I haven’t prepared for you. I like to prepare. I’ve discovered how delicious the anticipation is, the planning.”
“Plan what?” Vicki calmed down enough to listen to Altman. He was talking to her as if this was any other day, an appointment in his office. He’d have to plan for her to come in and get a photo taken.
Maybe if she could talk to him, or get him to talk, she could think of some way to get past him and run.
“I didn’t have as much time to plan for Davita,” he continued talking, almost to himself, “but I’ve finished her room now that she’s come to me. I needed her right away since Goldie didn’t last long, and the opportunity presented itself. I like to take advantage of those opportunities. She is so lovely. Would you like to see her?”
Altman was inviting her in to see Davita, as if this were a social visit. Vicki couldn’t believe he would stand there and speak normally, as if next he’d say, “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Yes, yes, I want to see Davita. Is she all right?”
“Of course she is.” Altman stepped aside, but he took Vicki’s arm in a firm grip. “She’s getting weaker, which is inevitable. Maybe it’s a good thing you came along when you did, now that I think about it. I do have rooms left, even though it wasn’t you I wanted. I think Holly was my next choice.” He appeared to think about it. “Yes, Holly. Very appropriate since she would be Miss December, don’t you think so? I would have gotten holly with red berries for her, and red furnishings. Is her dress red? I can’t remember. A red dress would be perfect.”
He’s insane, totally mad, Vicki thought. And he doesn’t even know it. She’d have to play along with this game he’s set up. She would think of some plan of her own to escape. First she’d get him to talk, to tell her what was going on in this house.
They reached the next door in the hallway. Altman, still gripping Vicki’s arm, reached out and twisted the knob, then pushed the door open.
A rush of stale, warm air blasted Vicki. A similar sight to the other three rooms greeted her. Candles lit the room dimly, silver candles in silver candlesticks on the tables and dripping over sconces on the wall. The furnishings—draperies, bedspread, were black velvet. The furniture was that silver tubular design, ultramodern. All the portraits on the walls were framed in silver-and-black frames. Davita smiled at Vicki from every wall.
But instead of a portrait on the bed, as was the case in the other rooms, this bed held a real person.
“Davita!” Vicki wrenched her arm away from Altman and ran to the girl.
Her appearance was shocking. Cheeks were sunken, eyes circled with dark smudges. Her skin was almost white, as if all the blood had drained from it.
She recognized Vicki. One hand reached out, its fingers skeletal. “Vicki,” Davita whispered. “Vicki, I’m so glad you’re here. I want to go home, Vicki, please take me home. David has been very nice to me, but I feel so tired, so weak. I need to go home now.”
“Davita, can you get up?” Vicki tried to help Davita sit up, but she was dead weight. Her lovely prom dress no longer fit snugly, but clung to shrunken flesh like sunburned skin ready to peel.
Vicki screamed at Altman, who stood smiling at the pair. “How could you do this to her? What have you done to her? Oh, Davita, Davita, hold on. I’ll take you home, I promise.”
“Some promises are made to be broken,” Altman said as he stepped closer to Vicki. Again he took her arm in a viselike grip.
“Let me go. What are you doing?” Vicki tried to pull away. Altman’s hand bruised her, sending pain shooting up to her shoulder.
“Did you bring your dress, Vicki?” Altman continued talking as he pulled Vicki from the too-warm room. “It’s green, isn’t it? If you didn’t bring it, I can go get it, or maybe I’ll buy you a new one. I don’t really like green. But if I have to make you Miss December, green is my second choice to red. I guess I can get pine and poinsettias and mistletoe. I do wish you were prettier, but since Davita isn’t much fun anymore, I’ll settle for your being here.”
While Altman’s soothing voice hypnotized her for a minute, what he was saying finally registered with Vicki.
He planned to keep her here as he had SueAnne, Belle, Goldie, and Davita. He planned to put her in a room, to decorate it as he had the others. She was, in his mind, his next permanent houseguest.
Pushing and shoving, she tried to pull away from him. With her last surge of strength, she tugged and pounded on him with her free hand. It was no use. He was too strong. She was trapped. And he was going to cage her here, as he had the school beauties. She had walked right into his lair. And no one, not one person knew where she was.
Chapter 20
Vicki didn’t realize she had passed out until she woke up, feeling weak. Forgetting where she was for seconds, she wondered why it was so dark, why she couldn’t move. Then memory of the last hours returned and she straightened up, only to find she was in a chair, her hands tied behind her back.
The room, smelling musty and stale, closed in around her, choking her. She felt so weak, so helpless, even had she been free of the ropes on her arms. Wiggling, she found the chair wobbly, legs uneven or old. But before she could think about trying to get loose, before she could think at all, he returned.
When the door flew open, she came alert, forcing herself to pay attention. Then all she could do was watch.
David Altman came in, flashlight sweeping the room, blinding her for a moment as he made sure she was where he’d left her. His arms were full of pine boughs, and the smell of winter holidays, hikes in the winter woods, penetrated the room.
“Oh, good, you haven’t left. I’m so glad.” He spread the tree limbs around the room. “I don’t have time to go to the city tonight, but I’ll do the best I can. Tomorrow I’ll go get the proper decorations.”
He hummed while he lit candles around her, their bright flames creating grotesque shadows that danced on the walls. It was the same tune he’d hummed when he took her photo at the studio, familiar, yet she couldn’t identify it.
“I gave you the room I was saving for December—not knowing it would be you, my funny valentine, but you will have to do. You know what they say, a bird in the hand.…”
His laughter sounded like chalk on the blackboard, a squeaking shrill rise and fall, sending shivers up her spine. At least she knew the song he matched to her. “My Funny Valentine,” appropriate, she had to admit.
“While you’re not a classic beauty, Vicki, you do have a charm, a vitality that I find intriguing. I might have gotten around to you when the lovely ladies of Sparksville ran out.”
He laid a fire in the fireplace to Vicki’s left, then struck a match, its scratching sound on the hearth followed by the pop and crack of dry kindling. Remembering the storm, she could have found the atmosphere cozy, inviting.
“I love an open fire. You
know, I just realized I’ve never photographed anyone in a room with a fireplace. This will be a new experience, one we both will enjoy, I trust.”
She found her voice. “What are you doing, David Altman? You’re crazy, you know that, insane!”
She had planned to stay calm, to try to reason with him. But the words at the top of her thoughts flew out.
His laughter became maniacal, then turned into giggling, which seemed out of character for the person, not to mention the situation. “I knew it. You’re strong, my valentine. You’ll fight back. None of the other girls fought back. That’s usually true of the beauties. They’re lazy, weak, they have no real fire.”
Vicki pulled her emotions together. Think, she commanded herself, think. “David people will be looking for me. Why don’t you just try to escape? If you left right now, you might be able to go far enough that no one could find you.”
He stared at her as if trying to decide whether what she said was true. “I don’t think anyone will know you’re here with me. I came upon this place accidentally. It has been abandoned for years. A shame, this old house, lovely place.”
Now that he had some light, he moved his camera, on its tripod, to focus at her.
“Why are you doing this, David?” She took a new path, get him talking about himself.
“I found I enjoyed it. I am a good photographer, you know. The best.”
“Yes, I agree. I’ve never seen such lovely portraits.”
“My interest wanes, though. Only the senior beauties had anything to offer me.”
“Why would you want to kill SueAnne, David? And Belle and Goldie? Why have you put Davita through such anguish?”
“Oh, I didn’t kill them, Vicki. I would like to keep them forever. The camera does it, you see. And as brilliant as I am, I can’t seem to adjust it. I have to accept it, so I try to think of preserving their beauty on film.”
“You’re right, beauty doesn’t last forever, but—”
“My mother’s beauty didn’t last.” He threaded a new role of film into the back of the camera. “But that was her fault. She was weak, like all beautiful women. She destroyed herself, slowly. She had no respect for the gift she had received.”
The Photographer II Page 12
