Her lashes fluttered. “Thank you, kind sir. You inspire me.”
“I hate to think how in a few days—”
“Then don’t. Make with the corkscrew while I unwrap the sandwiches…. M-m-m, look. Feta cheese and marinated tomato slices, Italian salami and cucumbers, roast beef and horseradish on sweet-buttered pumpernickel, Greek olives and those magnificent pears.”
“Plus a magnificent woman.” He laid his face against her breasts. A hand roved over her buttocks.
She rumpled his hair. “Sensualist! Let’s eat.”
They took their time and talked much. She spoke mostly of Arizona, and of one unforgotten summer in Europe on a bicycle during her undergraduate years. For her, he remembered Japan, sans a girl named Suiko, and an unaffectedly bohemian houseboat community on Lake Union in Seattle, and scrapes he had been in that made entertaining stories; for himself, he recalled boats he had sailed, and finally he told her about Morgana le Fay.
“What a wonderful dream,” she murmured, and stroked his cheek.
“Maybe you’d like to join me in it?” Having finished the meal, he sat leaned against a bole, smoked his pipe and nipped at the last of his wine. She knelt before him. The wind made ripples in her locks.
“No, darling,” she said. “I have my damned duty. But every time the breeze blows in from the sea, I’ll think of you.”
“I was hoping for more.” He leaned forward. “Julia, this’s turned out to be not just a romp for me. After we get back to the States—”
“We have to do that first. Get back, with what we came here for. Otherwise nothing is any good.”
“If we do, though, you and me?”
“We’ll think about that then.”
He set down his cup and reached for her, but she avoided him. “Please, not now,” she requested. “We have serious business.”
He sucked hard on the pipe. “Okay,” he said dully. “You’re right, I suppose.”
“We’re a working partnership as well as … what we’ve become since last night.” She settled herself crosslegged. “We’ve a jungle, no, a nightmare to win through. A man has already died. I can’t bear to imagine the next might be you.”
“Or you.” The paper cup crumpled as he snatched at it. Claret ran over hand and wrist. “Judas priest! Let’s get busy.”
“I’ve thought a lot about this. Maybe deeper than you. You’ve reacted. I … Well, they do say women are the practical sex. I have some ideas.”
He tensed himself to listen.
“We dare not assume Orestes was killed by an outside enemy,” she told him. “Because if that’s wrong, our guard would be let down against the real murderer. Anyway, how plausible is the notion? Why would a political assassin choose that exact moment? He could operate easier, safer, at practically any other time. I’m convinced this was an inside job. One of our group arranged it.”
“Or Haverner?” he exclaimed. “I’ve been wondering. He could’ve paid a hireling off—to keep the game going, and to see how we’d react.”
She tugged her chin. “That hadn’t occurred to me.” After a few seconds, tossing her head: “Not too reasonable, however, if only because I doubt any of those nice Islandmen would go along.”
“He could’ve bribed Matt.”
“Or a player could have done that. Three possibilities there.”
“Huh? You mean four, don’t you? Or, no, wait, two.”
“Three. If you were involved, Larry, and afterward registered the kind of shock you did, you wouldn’t be needing a million dollars. You would already have made them, on stage and screen. But I can’t be eliminated on those grounds. I even did have a confidential talk with the old monster.”
“What about?”
“Equipment for my game. Never mind now. You’ll simply have to take on faith that what your partner asked for was not a rifle which she later slipped to a trigger man.”
“I believe,” he said gravely, before he smiled a bit. “Logic, too. Your only possibility in that line would’ve been Matt, and you’ve been mighty cold to him.”
“We could have reached a working agreement, he and I, while keeping up a pretense. In fact, two such collaborators would make a point of not seeming especially close.”
“Him and Gayle—” Larry frowned. “Something funny there.”
“Gayle knows what she isn’t telling … probably doesn’t dare tell.” Julia nodded. “But let’s continue our list. Ellis? He’s egoistic enough to arrange a murder. Byron? He’s crazy enough.” She shivered. “What he made us do … Ellis wants the money, Byron wants the thrills. Both have the means on hand to pay for a killing. I know Ellis held a private talk with Haverner. Byron could doubtless have done the same when nobody was looking.”
She paused, until she added in a wintry voice, “We’d better admit a further possibility. Crime is contagious. If TV reports a liquor store holdup, next day there are three times as many as usual. Or shootings or bombings or whatever. Well, we’ve all been under a terrific strain. And Byron is not stable.”
He lowered his pipe. “What’re you driving at?”
“Even if he was innocent yesterday, the example … Didn’t you notice how he wallowed in the excitement?”
“Not really. But … m-m-m …”
“I got to understand him a little, Larry, when I thought he might make a good ally. Under that smooth surface, he’s racked by demons. I’m pretty sure he’s impotent. In any case, think about his career. He’s had to keep proving he’s a real man. And … ‘the most dangerous game.’ ”
Larry grunted as if kicked. “Haverner, Flagler, Nordberg, Shaddock. We can’t watch them all.”
“No.” Julia spoke crisply. “But we don’t need to. Haverner would scarcely act unless his torture chamber gets threatened again with premature breakup. Ellis is no physical menace. He’s far too cautious, besides being on the wrong side of forty. That leaves Matt and Byron. Matt’s under suspicion, therefore under close surveillance by everyone. He might give them the slip regardless, but hardly in the near future. Which brings us to Byron. He could be neutralized.”
“How?”
Her gaze dwelt on him. “You’re a strong man, Larry. You’re gentle with me, but I can feel your strength underneath.”
“Wait!” He sat bolt upright. “You mean I … But Julia, we don’t know if he’s ever dreamed of harming a soul!”
“Dare we take the chance?” She returned to her kneeling position, grasped his shoulders, said quickly and intensely, “You wouldn’t kill him, nor seriously hurt him. But you could, I know you could leave him unfit …for a while … to be a menace.”
“Or to play against us.” Larry’s voice came thick.
She dipped her head. “True,” She raised it. “He doesn’t need any share in the money. He’s here for nothing except competition—excitement—and he can buy as much of that as he wants around the world. How big a break does he deserve?”
“Hush.” She laid a palm across his opening mouth. “Let me finish. If I last out tomorrow, whatever Ellis is hatching in that cold brain of his, I’m certain of a share in the loot, because of course I won’t call a game I could lose myself, the way you did, dear chivalrous Larry. The question is, how large a share? I’m not necessarily able to eliminate anyone else. Suppose I don’t, and the pot splits four ways. Then you and I each have a quarter million, two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, to play with. Sound like a lot? Think. It might buy you your ship, but what about supporting her for a lifetime? The interest on it, if Malcolm and I make the right investments, will maintain Kilby, but we won’t dare touch the principal. It won’t liberate us from debt, from the damned middle class; and you, you who don’t carry my burdens, can you imagine how I want to escape that pen after these past years? How I want, how I need money to be something that’s simply there, like air or sunlight?”
She barely caught her breath before hastening on.
“Now say you alone drop out. We’re partners. So we split one thir
d of a million, which is one-sixth apiece, worse than before, not sufficient at all. A hundred and sixty-odd thousand. I’ve lain awake nights with those figures, Larry, and wretched company they are!
“If I’m broken tomorrow, but you aren’t, the contest ends, because I’ll have forfeited my turn. Same situation. One-sixth apiece for us.
“But a three-way split at the finish, you, me, and Ellis—I say Ellis because he doesn’t seem to have buttons we can push—that’s three hundred and thirty thousand plus. Too little for his purposes, and we can grin at that, but not bad for ours.
“And if Byron’s forced out, and I last through Ellis’s game, and he doesn’t last through mine … Larry, you and I will each walk away with half a million. Five hunched thousand tax-free dollars to spend however we please. You could take half of that to build and supply a Morgana like you’ve never dared imagine, and invest the other half for a good income the rest of your life!”
“If Byron’s forced out,” he rasped.
Her face was flushed, eyes brilliant, lips parted over ice-white teeth. “Yes. If Byron’s forced out.”
Presently she added, “Don’t think of it as greed. Think what you and I could do for the world that he or Ellis would not. You mentioned the Salvation Army a while back that seems like ages. Or what about some genuine oceanographic work? Or—more my department, perhaps—getting into politics, helping elect a few of the right officers for Spaceship Earth?”
Her mouth stretched wide. “Oh, unmerciful God, Larry, I’m so sick of being helpless! Aren’t you?”
The tears came, and he held her close and promised everything.
Gayle kept to her chamber, uneasily napping.
Ellis, in his own, sought the news, especially Stateside, on the radio.
Matt watched television and drank bourbon in the living room. Eventually he passed out on a couch. He was to wake about midnight, grope his way to bed, and snore on.
Byron went fishing. He had no luck.
Returning at four, he sauntered up from the dock. His white sport clothes were no longer immaculate. Following a shower and change, a gin and tonic would go well. The crew stayed behind, cleaning the boat and battening down. Thus he emerged on a wide sweep of lawn, trees, flowerbeds, altogether alone.
No—from the brush, to the right, a murmur: “Byron.”
He turned. Julia stood on the trail, gesturing. Her tall form was clad in shirt, slacks, walking shoes, to which a few pine needles clung. When he joined her, palmetto and bamboo screened them from the grounds, and from the beachward path itself after she had drawn him around a bend. Stalks and fronds rustled dryly amidst wave-boom and gull-cry. It smelled green here, and the light was unrestful, a shadow-stippled yellow.
“Hi,” he said tentatively. “What’s the occasion?”
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you, Byron.” Her manner was shy. “In private, I mean.”
He stiffened. “Oh?”
“About what happened—that night before your leadership. ” He bit his lip and regarded his toes. “I owe you an apology. But, well, next day—day after my turn, that is—I felt awkward. And then came poor Orestes’s death.” He swallowed. “All right. I’m sorry I slapped you. I was overwrought. “
“That’s what I wanted you to know,” she told him. “That I do understand. Or think I do. In fact, the mistake, the fault was mine.”
He reddened under the sun-scorch and ran fingers through his limp brown hair. The long chin quivered. “I must have, well, misinterpreted what you said.”
“You didn’t. It was me who misinterpreted you.” Her hands fell briefly onto his waist. She caught his glance and did not release it. “They call you a playboy. I knew that wasn’t right. Don’t you remember? I told you you’re a terribly serious person. But I suppose enough of the ‘playboy’ label stuck that I didn’t quite see you’re more principled than I am.”
He cleared his throat. “Everybody to their own principles. Very well. Two-way confusion, and under these unnatural conditions … Well, I’m glad you took the initiative, … Julia. I do like you.”
“And I you, Byron. I couldn’t let that wall stand between us.” She sighed. “I wish …”
“What?” he was forced to ask.
“Oh, nothing. Everything’s too ghastly mixed up.” She looked away. “Who do you think killed him?”
“I hesitate to make possibly unfounded charges,” he said. “Of course. But we can’t help wondering, can we? Especially when the killer might … I’m scared, Byron. Less for myself than for my daughter. If I never come home …”
He touched her shoulder. “Stick close to me if you want,” he offered.
“I’m not sure I can,” she said forlornly.
“What?” He showed surprise. “Why not?”
“Well …” She filled her lungs. “Okay, I’ll tell you. It’s Larry Rance. You must have noticed how he was kind of paying me court. And how desperate he was, yesterday after the thing happened. Well, I was too. I showed it less, but I was. He and I… gravitated together? … But he’s almost a paranoiac. He thinks anybody may have done the crime, or instigated it. So he trusts nobody. He spent this whole time today, that I’d hoped could be an escape for a few hours, he spent it haranguing me … Oh!”
The big man stepped into their sight.
He halted and glowered. “Hello,” Byron ventured.
“I warned you, Julia.” Larry’s voice was flat. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
Byron attempted a smile. “Do you mean I might be the one behind the murder?” he responded as casually as possible.
“And maybe ready for a do-it-yourself project,” Larry said.
“Ridiculous. Why on earth should I?”
“Because you can’t stand to lose,” Larry jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “On your way, charlie.”
Byron tautened a notch further. “See here, Rance, I’m willing to make allowances, but I don’t concede you the right to order me around. ”
“Come over here, Julia,” Larry said. “I don’t want you out of my sight. It isn’t safe.”
She caught Byron’s arm. “No. You’re wrong.” She sounded frightened.
“You heard me. Both of you.”
“Hey, wait just a damn minute,” Byron erupted. “It’s you who’s begun acting dangerous. Julia, would you like me to escort you to the house?”
“Please.” She could barely be heard.
“We both will.” Larry moved closer. He donned an unpleasant grin. “Not that you need be afraid of losing your virtue … to him.”
Byron stood dead motionless. A jay cawed off in the fallow shadows.
“Larry.” Julia slipped halfway behind Byron. “Please.”
Byron stirred. “That’ll do, Rance.” He spoke as if hands were around his throat. “Leave us. Immediately. Or must I give you a lesson in manners?”
Larry cocked his fists. “Care to try, pansy-boy?”
Byron looked suddenly tired. “I’m sorry, Julia,” he said. “Stand clear.” He advanced.
He moved in boxer wise, bent-kneed, slightly crouched, left arm on guard, right fist held low and back. Larry waited.
As the attack came, Larry slipped aside, caught wrist and elbow, used momentum to whirl his opponent around. Byron recovered and threw a punch at the stomach. Larry chopped the blade of his left hand down to deflect. With his right, he struck at the neck. Byron staggered. Larry closed. His knee drove upward. Byron shrieked and lurched back. Sweat spurted forth upon him. Larry pursued, blow after blow to the now defenseless body. He grunted as he smashed them home. Byron toppled and lay curled in the dust, half-conscious, hugging his agony.
Larry stood above him, gasping nearly as hard. Julia plucked his sleeve and hissed in his ear, “Kick him a few good ones.”
Larry shook his head as if to tear it loose. He walked stiff-legged away. Out on the lawn, beneath the sun, he mumbled, “Christ. I could puke. He expected I’d fight fair.”
“Did the engineer o
f Orestes’s murder?” Julia retorted. “Who’s proved that was Byron?” Larry half turned. “Look, I’ve got to go back and help him.”
“No. He’ll manage. You didn’t do any permanent harm.” Julia embraced Larry. “I know. It was an ugly thing. But you had to do it. You had to. Come on, darling. Upstairs, bring a stiff drink for both of us, and I’ll soon have you feeling better.”
Only they and Ellis dined with Haverner that evening.
“I trust the breach between you and Mr. Shaddock can be repaired, Mr. Rance,” said he at the head of the table. “Would you care to tell me how it came about?”
Larry stared at his plate. “A mutual misunderstanding,” Julia said. “Each near the point of breakdown. I’ll try to make peace between them.”
“Good, good,” Haverner answered. “Mr. Shaddock is resting in his room under sedation, however, so I doubt the advisability of speaking to him before morning.”
“Will he be in shape to compete?” Ellis inquired fretfully. “I don’t want my turn postponed. No disrespect, sir, but I have to get away, get home as soon as possible.”
“That depends on what you have in mind, Mr. Nordberg.”
“You know what I plan. Nothing physical.”
“But pain and the aftereffects of shock may be too heavy a mental handicap. I think, in fairness, we shall have to ask Mr. Shaddock tomorrow if he himself feels able to participate.” Ellis scowled. “I believe he will,” Julia said. Further talk was desultory.
They went back to her room right after the meal. Unlike Gayle’s, it was of almost military neatness and held a minimum of feminine gear. Two pictures of Kilby stood on the bureau; she had put Malcolm’s in a drawer. Some books, paperbacks she had brought and hardcovers she had borrowed from the library here, were on a bedside table. They included a couple of mystery novels, de Voto’s The Course of Empire, a Kipling collection, an anthology of modem verse. Both windows stood open on the duskless tropical nightfall. Stars and fireflies were coming forth, as if racing to see which could finish first. The wind had died, leaving only surf, and warmth and forest odors drifted in.
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