He nodded. “Murder and mayhem, dastardly villains and pretty young girls who keep on being chaste all over the English countryside.”
“I think I’ve got a new plot for you,” I said.
“Really?”
“Girl vanishes. She tells all her friends she is going to get married, then leaves town and is never heard from again.”
He laughed quietly, his brown eyes glowing. “I’ve used it already in an epic called Strangler of the Moors. The girl was actually leaving for an illicit rendezvous with a handsome stranger she’d met in a pub. He was actually an escapee from a lunatic asylum who had a yen for young ladies with blond hair and trusting dispositions. It was one of my biggest sellers.”
“What happened to the girl?” I asked.
“You really want to know?”
“I’m very interested.”
He went on to give me some of the more gruesome details, telling me about the various murders. His voice was beautifully modulated, and he spoke lightly, making fun of the plot and people he had created. I could feel the color leaving my face as he described the climactic chase over the moors. I did not visualize Alex’s blond, blue-eyed heroine pursued by the villain. I saw a girl with short red curls, an outrageous dimple on her left cheek, terror in her brown eyes. He might as well have been talking about Delia.
He looked up at me. He cut himself short.
“Is anything wrong?”
“No. Nothing at all.”
“Come on—” he said, frowning. “Suddenly your face grows pale, and your voice quivers. What is it?”
“Your description is … very vivid.”
“I didn’t take you for a girl with such delicate sensibilities. All the talk about blood and gore upsets you?”
“It isn’t that,” I replied, rather irritated that he should think I was so fragile I would turn pale at the mention of blood.
“What is it, then? Look, I don’t have dandruff on my shoulders, do I? I saw a commercial on television where a girl turns pale—” He was trying to make light of it. I smiled at the effort.
“I’m fine now,” I said, “and you don’t have dandruff.”
“That’s a relief. You sure there isn’t something you want to tell me?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Later?”
“Perhaps.”
“You are the mysterious one.”
“Do you mind?”
“I’m intrigued,” he said.
We finished our meal, talking casually about unimportant things. I found that I was enjoying myself, despite my problem, and I warmed toward this man who was so witty, so wry, and yet so sincere. I felt that we might really have been friends for a long time. I wondered whether I should confide in him or not. I had a desperate need to tell someone about Delia, and yet this man was Derek Hawke’s cousin.
I delayed the decision for a while. He questioned me about the film industry and didn’t seem to be at all disappointed that I wasn’t a real celebrity. He told me about some of his experiences with his publishers and talked quite humorously about a series of lectures he had given in London to groups of ladies in flowered hats who had an insatiable fascination with murders, the bloodier the better.
“They hung on my every word,” he said.
“People are curious,” I remarked.
“I know I am,” he admitted. “About you. I wonder what a glamorous creature like you is doing in Hawkestown. Last night you told me you were coming to visit a relative, and yet you haven’t mentioned a sister or a brother, an aunt or uncle. I have the suspicion that you’re here on a secret mission, that there is no relative at all.”
“You’re right about the last part,” I said. “There is no relative.”
“Oh?”
“That’s my problem.”
“How so?” he inquired, propping his elbows casually on the table. There was a look of expectation in his warm brown eyes, a slight smile on his wide lips. He clearly expected to hear some frivolous, feminine story. I took a deep breath.
“I’m not sure I should tell you about it,” I said.
“Why not?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Try me,” he said. “I’m an excellent listener.”
I hesitated only a moment. “Very well …”
I told him everything, starting with the night Delia had first come in and told me about the marvelous man she’d met at a party in Soho. I talked quietly, calmly, hesitating now and then to fit in a detail. He sat back in his chair, his hands wrapped about his elbows, listening to me with a look of incredulity on his face. When I finished, he summoned the waiter and ordered two whiskeys, doubles, with no soda.
“I think you need it now,” he told me as the waiter left.
“Do you think I’m insane for suspecting your cousin of—of harming Delia?” I asked.
“I don’t know what to think,” he replied. “It’s incredible.”
“I know. One just doesn’t vanish into thin air nowadays. It’s not done.”
“Not in real life. It’s all very well in books, but there has to be a logical reason for it when it actually happens. We can’t afford to jump to conclusions. We have to talk this thing out, look at it from every angle.”
“I’ve tried. If you knew Delia—”
“Don’t rush me. I need to think about it for a while.”
We were silent until the waiter returned with the drinks. A splotch of soft blue light fell over one side of the table, a splotch of yellow at my feet. The colors swayed with the wind, moving like live things as the oak boughs groaned. Music from the main room drifted out on the terrace, soft and muted. Alex Tanner sat with his shoulders hunched up. He fingered the knot in his tie, a deep frown creasing his brows. When the drinks arrived, he downed his in three gulps. I took a tentative sip of my own.
“This is the second time in twenty-four hours I’ve had alcohol,” I remarked. “I hate to spoil your illusion of a worldly sophisticate, but I really don’t drink.”
“Finish it anyway. You need it.”
I finished the drink. It was terribly strong. Alex Tanner tapped on the tabletop, still frowning. I could feel the warmth of the liquor surging through me. It made everything temporarily hazy, but I was no longer tense. I had handed my problem to him, neatly tied with a bow, and it was out of my hands. I felt a curious relief. I knew he would help me. I was no longer in this alone.
“You don’t get along with Derek Hawke, do you?” I asked.
“I hate his guts, as a matter of fact, but that’s no reason for me to think him guilty of a heinous crime.”
“Do you think him capable of it?”
“Derek is capable of anything. But, tell me about your cousin. I know she’s an actress, but what kind of person is she?”
“Vivacious. She loves a good time—a clean good time. She doesn’t drink or smoke, although she does have a rather coarse vocabulary—like a sailor, in fact—but that’s all part of Delia. She’ll do anything on a dare. She once climbed up on the bronze fountain in the center of Piccadilly Circus and tossed candy kisses to the crowd that gathered around to watch. Of course, her agent put her up to it and it got in the paper with a flattering snapshot and helped enhance her reputation as a madcap music-hall performer. Madcap—that describes Delia, but she’s real and warm and thoughtful and kind as well. I’ve seen her empty her purse for a group of urchins and cry real tears because she didn’t have more. We shared the flat in Chelsea all these years. We could have moved to much grander quarters, but neither of us is very grand. She—she’s just not the kind of person to run off with some man.”
“I see,” he replied. “I believe you.”
“I believe that man has done something to her,” I said. My voice trembled, and I looked away from him.
“I—I don’t know,” Alex said. “Everything seems to point to it, but there’s no apparent motive.”
“There has to be one,” I told him. “There must be.”
“You said your cousin drew her savings out of the bank?”
“Eleven hundred pounds. Why—why do you ask?”
“I was just wondering.” His voice was very serious. He seemed to find it hard to express what was on his mind. “Derek has investments in London. A firm handles them for him. I know he’s been speculating rather heavily of late, and I know he asked Andy to lend him the money to cover some loss. I haven’t got any of the details, but I know she refused to give him the money. They quarreled about it. Still—that isn’t important.”
“It gives him a motive,” I insisted.
“Eleven hundred pounds? It’s not likely, Deborah.”
“A man like that—”
“We’ve got to be fair,” he replied calmly. “He claims he’s never met your cousin. That could be true, you know. She could have seen the article and made the whole thing up, just as he suggested. Perhaps there isn’t a man involved at all. Perhaps she merely wanted to get away for a while. The entertainment world must be frantic and nerve-wracking. Perhaps she wanted to get away from it for a few weeks without telling anyone where she was going. Perhaps she wanted to think things out, organize her life. That’s very fashionable at the moment. Gurus—”
“Delia would go stark raving mad if she had to be alone for twenty-four consecutive hours,” I said, “and her life was perfectly organized. She had a good job with a revue that was doing big box office, and she was perfectly contented. The idea of her consulting a guru is laughable, to say the least. They’d both have screaming nervous breakdowns.”
“Yet she quit her job,” he persisted.
“Because she intended to get married. She would never have done it if she didn’t have a valid reason. She loved the revue.”
“You can never be sure about other people,” he replied.
“Your cousin said something like that.”
“It’s true, nevertheless.”
Alex was silent for a while. He seemed to be lost in thought. The Japanese lanterns poured their colors down on the terrace. I noticed a few acorns scattered over the wooden planks, fallen from the oak trees. I could smell the river. The alcohol was beginning to hit me hard now, and everything grew a little hazy. I studied the man across the table from me. The sport coat hung loosely from his broad shoulders. His hands rested on the edge of the table, strong brown hands that seemed to have a personality of their own.
“I shouldn’t have bothered you with all this,” I said. “I shouldn’t have brought you into it. He’s your cousin …”
“You need help,” Alex replied. “I can’t believe anything is seriously wrong—I’m sure your cousin will turn up—but I can understand your distress. You can’t just sit by idly and wait for her to come back home.”
“I don’t intend to,” I said. “I intend to get proof. That’s why I am staying at Blackcrest.”
“I’m not at all sure I approve of that,” he told me.
“Why?”
“I can’t bring myself to believe that Derek is involved, but if he is, and he knows you suspect him, Blackcrest can’t be a very safe place for you. Damn! That sounds like a line from one of my books! But it’s true.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Look, Derek said he had a man in London working on it. Maybe he’ll turn something up.”
“I don’t believe there is a man in London,” I replied. “I believe he made that up to pacify me and keep me from going to the police.”
“I wonder … I have a friend, Martin Craig. He’s a detective. He’s helped me several times with my books—checking details of police procedure, verifying facts about criminal behavior, and so forth. I could put in a call to London and ask him to look into the matter. Martin is very good. If there has been some kind of foul play, he’ll find out. He owes me a favor. I’ll call him.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“In the meantime, I wish you’d change your mind about staying at Blackcrest. It makes me uneasy.”
“Don’t be,” I retorted. “I’m a big girl now.”
Alex Tanner smiled. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said. “You’re remarkable, you know. I’ve never met anyone quite like you. Here I am, driving along, minding my own business, leading a perfectly ordinary and unspectacular life, and I stop to change a flat tire on a rainy night and find myself caught up in something utterly fantastic.” He shook his head and summoned the waiter. “I can’t believe any of this. Check, please, waiter.”
He settled the bill, left a large tip, and led me across the wooden floor of the terrace and through the main room. I walked unsteadily, my head reeling a little with the sudden motion. Alex noticed this. When we stepped outside, he took my hand and led me away from the parking lot and down a path that went toward the river. I did not protest. His hand gripped mine firmly, and I stumbled once or twice. The smells of the river were strong, crushed milkweed and moss, mud and sulfur. It was chilly. My shoulders trembled. Alex stopped, took off his sport coat, and draped it around my shoulders.
“You really aren’t used to liquor, are you?”
“I told you I don’t drink. Am I drunk?”
“Not quite. All you need is a little fresh air to clear your head. I thought you were going to fall flat on your face in the restaurant.”
“It was a strong drink,” I protested.
“You’re full of surprises,” he remarked.
“Where are we going?”
“I thought we’d stroll by the river for a while until you’re steady on your feet. There’s a park of sorts down here, delightful view of the local teen-agers. They all come here to neck.”
“Is that what you had in mind?” I asked foggily.
He laughed softly. “I’m no cad. I don’t get my ladies drunk and then take undue advantage. However, if you’ve a mind to …”
“We’ll walk,” I replied. “I’m not that drunk.”
He laughed again. It was such a pleasant sound. My arm was in his. The heavy sport coat hung on my shoulders. It was scratchy and smelled of sweat and leather, masculine. We didn’t talk for a while. We walked down to the edge of the river and followed a path through the trees. The moonlight was bright, and silver filtered through the limbs. Dark purple shadows danced across the path. We crushed acorns and dead leaves underfoot. We passed a couple of startled teen-agers who were sitting on an old marble bench beneath one of the trees. The river lapped noisily at the banks. An owl hooted. It was all foggy and dreamlike, and I felt more relaxed and at ease than I had since the moment I had first arrived in Hawkestown.
Alex walked with long, loose strides. I had to take short, hurried steps to keep up with him. He led me to a bench near the edge of the water. He took my shoulders and set me on the bench as though I were an invalid who couldn’t manage it alone. I leaned back against the trunk of the oak tree and closed my eyes. Alex gathered up a handful of pebbles and tossed them into the water. There was a series of soft plops as the stones skimmed the surface.
I don’t know how long it was before I opened my eyes again. My head was clear, although there was a slight throbbing that I feared would be a major headache later on. Alex was standing beside the bench, his arms folded across his chest, looking down at me. For a moment I thought he was Derek Hawke. They did look remarkably alike.
“Feel better?” he asked.
“Much.”
“Head clear?”
“Almost.”
“Fine.”
“You must think me terribly naïve, not being able to hold one glass of whiskey without staggering. I feel very foolish.”
“I find it charming,” he replied. “What shall we talk about? It’s a lovely night. The crickets are chirping, and the moon is high, and you don’t want to neck. We may as well talk.”
“Tell me about yourself,” I said. “I know you do a wonderful job of changing flat tires, and I know you write mystery novels, but I don’t know anything else.”
“Andy didn’t tell you anything?”
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br /> “I’m afraid she was a little prejudiced.”
He chuckled. “She’s a grand old girl. I’m very fond of her, and she’s fond of me, too, deep down. If I had half a chance, I could win her over completely, but there’s not much point in that, is there? Derek has pretty well convinced her that I’m unworthy of notice. I should care about that, but I don’t. He’s willing to live his life sheltered in that old pile of stone, waiting for the money, and someday he’ll get it and realize the best days are over and the money isn’t much good to him. I’m content to be an outsider, a Tanner, son of the outrageous Tanners who lived high and died worn out and had no regrets. They disgraced the family, but they lived. I’ve got no roots, no strings, and I’m open to any suggestions.”
“Are you really so nonchalant?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Does Blackcrest and the family really mean so little to you? Are you really content to thumb your nose at them and stand back and see Derek inherit everything? Isn’t it as much yours as his?”
“That’s Andy’s decision. She’s made it—with Derek’s help. I’m not complaining.”
“You’re human,” I said. “Surely you must feel some bitterness.”
“Bitterness? Life’s too short.”
“It doesn’t seem fair of Andy to cut you out like that.”
“Perhaps it’s not, but I guess I’m an incorrigible black sheep. I just missed out. Derek was always the fair-haired boy in the family. He was always proper and good and respectful and ingratiating, even when we were children. I broke windowpanes and put frogs in the maid’s bed and refused to eat my cereal, while Derek behaved himself and addressed old Stephen Hawke as ‘Sir’ and let Andy fuss over him. Both of us stayed at Blackcrest a lot of the time when we were growing up. Derek knew even then that he stood to gain by such conduct. I never gave a damn. Still don’t.”
“Was he really such a good little boy?”
“When adults were around he was. He did exactly what they told him to do. When they weren’t around, it was quite different. I was punished many a time for misdeeds he’d done. They never asked me if I was guilty or not. They just whammed away, knowing that dear Derek would never put sugar in the gas tank of the Rolls or slash Andy’s best dress. He used to smirk when I’d come in with a smarting bottom. He used to taunt me—tell me that Blackcrest would be his and I’d be left out in the cold one day when we grew up.”
Betrayal at Blackcrest Page 8
