Give Up the Body

by Louis Trimble

  “I wasn’t at dinner.” Glory was sullen now. She looked at me with suspicion. “That’s all I know.”

  “Did you hear that Tim admitted arguing with you and throwing you in the lake?”

  “Did he? Well, I was wet, wasn’t I?”

  No one spoke. Glory stirred restlessly. “You find the answers to what I told you. Then you’ll have Carson’s killer.”

  Jeff got up, cursing cheerlessly. “Meanwhile they’re pounding the kid to pieces at the county jail,” he said.

  Glory reversed herself completely. “He can take it,” she said. “He’s tough. Anyway …” And her voice was suddenly vicious. “… anyway, he had it coming to him.”

  XVI

  JEFF AND I went into the living room for a consultation. Glory refused to say another word. She just lay back and closed her eyes and looked wan. There was nothing for us to do but go.

  “I’ll give her a sedative,” I told Jeff. “Then maybe she’ll stay here and sleep until we can decide what to do.”

  “Hop to it,” he said.

  I went back into the bedroom. Glory opened her eyes. When she saw who it was she closed them again. I stalked into the bathroom and prowled the medicine cabinet. The iodine bottle with a skull and crossbones prominently on it tempted me. I felt like feeding poison to Jeff too. But I controlled myself and got a sleeping tablet and a glass of water and went back to Glory.

  It was amazingly easy to get the pill into her. All I said was, “Medicine. Jeff thinks you need some rest.” She swallowed the tablet and half the glass of water and lay back and shut her eyes. She didn’t say a word. But there was a satisfied smile on her face that made me want to kick her—hard.

  Jeff and I locked up and went back to the office to help Jud finish. I did the mailing list. Jeff said, “What if Delhart did catch her with Tim? What is she hiding?”

  “She isn’t hiding anything—from you,” I said bitterly.

  Jeff chuckled. “How was my acting, O’Hara?”

  “Too good,” I said pointedly.

  “The case called for psychology,” Jeff said. I caught him winking at Jud. “Anyway, O’Hara, you’ll have to admit I got results.”

  “Or laid the groundwork for results,” I said nastily.

  “Now, Addy,” Jud said placatingly. He didn’t know what the row was about but he did know me.

  I glared at him. Jeff repeated his question. “What is she hiding?”

  Jud rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. “She wouldn’t hide an affair—not that girl,” he said. “Just what did she say?”

  I told him. Including Jeff’s little by-play, which I had to admit, produced results. Jud chuckled over that. He said, “Sounds like riddles to me. She’s trying to throw you off.”

  “What about Big Swede overhearing Delhart and Mrs. Willow arguing?” I said. “And I know Daisy is scared of her mother. Someone bruised the kid. It may have been Frew pawing her but …”

  “I have a hunch it’s not the simple open and shut case the police want to make it,” Jeff said. “It’s more than a jealousy motive. More than just Tim wanting to hack Delhart for the sake of Glory.”

  “Or Frew to protect his Daisy,” I said, ignoring Jeff’s smug look at his pun. “Now what do we do?” I glanced at Jud.

  He watched me paste the last label on the rolled-up newspapers. “All for you two,” he said. “Thanks—and off to the wars with you.”

  I reached down and patted Bosco who was nibbling at Jud’s shoelace. She dearly loved string and inky paper. She had dined off the front page of the Pioneer and was topping her meal with Jud’s shoelace.

  “We’ll go if we get a drink of your whiskey,” I said. “Otherwise we stay and bother you.”

  “Not my smelling liquor,” Jud said. He got out his drinking bottle and two paper cups. He sniffed his good whiskey while Jeff and I drank the other. Then we were ready to go. I reminded Bosco to do her duty as a mousetrap and not fill up on paper and we went outside. Jud was staying to close up. Jeff and I proceeded to his car.

  “Shall I use Nellie?” I asked.

  “We don’t want a fanfare heralding our coming,” Jeff said. “We’ll take mine.”

  I removed my bag of old clothes from Nellie and dropped it into the back of his late model sedan. We started for the ranch. The clock on the grocery store said midnight. I remembered what had happened after that hour last night and the trees began to press more closely to the road, and the darkness was again charged ominously. I was thankful for Jeff’s presence.

  But I wasn’t going to let him know it. “Just what do you expect to accomplish at this ungodly hour?” I demanded.

  “Can you swim?” he asked. He thrust his pipe and tobacco pouch at me. “Fix that.”

  “I can swim, yes. Can you?” Before I knew what I was doing I had filled the pipe and returned the pouch. I lighted the pipe and handed it to him, coughing over the strong smoke. “Next time do your own dirty work,” I said. I remembered I was irked with him.

  “I like these homey touches,” Jeff said. “No, I can’t swim. That is, not very well. I haven’t the lung power, I mean,” he amended, “I can’t hold enough air to be a good diver.”

  “Who’s going to dive for what?”

  “You are,” Jeff said cheerfully. “For things. By the dark of the moon, witch.”

  I told him what I thought of him and his idea. I ran out of breath and got no place. Finally, I said. “Besides I have no bathing suit. My one and only pre-war model supported a full colony of moths while I was in the army. There isn’t enough left to make a lace doily.”

  “The ranch should be full of suits,” Jeff said. “Glory is about your size.”

  “Then you’ll be the prowler, not I.”

  “Fair enough,” he agreed. He lapsed into silence then and stayed that way until we reached the covered bridge. He pulled the car off to the side just at the spot where I had stopped and let Willow out that first afternoon.

  “Can you find the way from here, O’Hara?”

  “You pick the loveliest dressing room,” I said. But I realized the sense of stopping here so I chased him away and climbed into the back of the car to change. I felt foolish putting that rough clothing over my best lace-trimmed underwear, but for the most part I was very practically dressed.

  We set out then, using our flashlights to reach the little beach. I stayed close to him, feeling again that pressing of the trees and the brush, that ominous darkness. I couldn’t help thinking that these woods might be sheltering a killer. When we left the beach and followed the path toward the lake we shut off our lights and the darkness was more intense than ever. Jeff went ahead, his hands in front of him. I clung to the back of his coat, afraid to lose even that contact with him.

  My imagination was playing havoc with me. Trees reached down their long, stiff branches and slapped my face until I wanted to scream. With every touch I could feel a cleaver cutting into my flesh. I wondered if we weren’t all wrong. If it weren’t possible that Delhart had been killed by a homicidal maniac, someone still roaming these woods looking for another victim. I nearly gagged on my own fright.

  I sagged with relief when we broke from the forest onto the gravelled path that ran around the ponds. At least here the sweep of dark water gave me a feeling of space. We stopped and looked toward the house.

  There was a light on, shining brightly from the living room. Another came on in the upper hall as we watched. A guard made circuits of the house before we moved. We could see his light come around the corner, follow it along the near side of the house and see it disappear as he rounded the other corner. After the second trip Jeff said:

  “I’ll have to get through him.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Get me that bathing suit, Raffles.”

  “It may take a while,” he said airily. “You go park by the dam. Back in the trees and wait for me.

  “I’ll hoot like an owl, O’Hara. Like an owl.”

  I could imagine it. But all I said was, “Be
careful,” and he was gone. I stood there and shook, listening to his footsteps fade away. The darkness was closer than ever now, but I wouldn’t have let him know my fright for anything. We weren’t that well acquainted, I thought idiotically.

  I went down to the dam but I didn’t slip back into the trees. I could stand just so much and I knew that if those trees were too close and would press around me again I would get the screaming meemies and probably run out on Jeff. As it was, the darkness and the soft, steady slap of the water against the face of the dam began to work on me. I tried to forget what I had found out on the dam last night. I tried to forget everything. But I couldn’t stop the shakes. I began to wish I hadn’t been so nasty to Jeff. Certainly, I would have enjoyed prowling the house in preference to this sitting and waiting and feeling that I was surrounded with unknown things. I began to regret my own modesty. In this darkness I could have gone in after the manner of Daisy Willow.

  Finally, in desperation, I began to count. I watched the house and counted to sixty. Then I crooked one finger and started over again. I allowed Jeff ten minutes to get there, ten inside, and ten to return. I decided I had waited ten minutes before I began counting. But it seemed like centuries. After twenty-five minutes of counting I began to worry.

  Suddenly the house blazed with light. I was too far away to hear much but shortly after the light came on I heard what sounded very much like a shot. My stomach flopped over and then I found myself in the bushes, shaking again, but this time for Jeff.

  The damned fool, I thought. I wanted to cry. It was all my fault. After all, it was dark and I could have used my lace underwear. Even if it did get ruined it would be better than having Jeff full of bullet holes. I blew my nose and sniffled and wondered what to do.

  There were no more sounds now. I began to feel the pressing trees again. I moved onto the path, thinking I had better go to the house, deputies or not. A bush cracked under foot, and someone scuffed gravel. I went rigid and hysterical. A voice went:

  “Who-o, who-o.” It was supposed to be an owl hoot!

  The next thing Jeff was in front of me. I flung myself onto him and bawled, “You’re safe!”

  He untangled me. “O’Hara!”

  “Damn it,” I sniffled, “I thought they’d shot you. Oh, Jeff!”

  He patted me condescendingly; I could have kicked his shins. He made some crack about not knowing I cared. I said, “Don’t be stupid. You have the keys to the car. That’s what worried me.” I was feeling better.

  Jeff said, “I’m the champion second-story man of Oregon, O’Hara. Only I couldn’t get a suit. I only found a cap.”

  I completely forgot my willingness to go in without a suit. “After all that fuss! Jeff Cook, you do your own diving.”

  “Now, O’Hara,” he whispered soothingly. He patted me again. “Anyway, why haven’t you bought a new suit?”

  “Because,” I said, “this is my first summer out of the service. And my first chance to swim. Besides, I was waiting to see what the new styles would be.”

  “Invent one,” he said cheerfully. He put the bathing cap in my hands. “For the glory of The Press, O’Hara.”

  “Tell me what I’m hunting for,” I said. I put on the cap.

  “A felt hat and a weed chopper,” Jeff told me. “Tiffin is planning to drag the pond for them tomorrow.”

  I needed no more incentive than that. I placated myself by conjuring a picture of Tiffin in a defeated rage. I was practically shaking with the desire to get in the water and start the hunt.

  “I’m not giving Godfrey a chance to find that evidence and then bury it because it doesn’t fit in with his theory. You count stars.”

  Jeff obediently gawked upward. I went into the trees and got rid of my flannel shirt and trousers and the ski boots. I dashed across the path to the edge of the pond. There I crouched in bushes and peeled my stockings, tucked stray hairs under the cap, and then pushed a toe into the water.

  I was beginning to lose my zest now. The water looked black and forbidding and oily. I could hear the ominous slapping it made against the bloodstained dam. I couldn’t help thinking of the hideously mangled man who had flopped there. I gagged and nearly lost my nerve.

  Before I could think too much I forced my way into the water. The bottom sloped deeply here and in an instant I was over my head. A few probings with my foot told me it wasn’t over six feet anywhere. It was chilly at first but that wore off. Soon the water began to feel warmer than the definitely cold night air.

  When I had got over the first shock I crouched up to my neck in the water, near the bank. Jeff stood not three feet away. I said, “Look, the lights are dim again at the house.”

  “They’ve given up,” Jeff said. “I sneaked around and made a racket in the other direction. I don’t think they’ll come down this way.”

  “If they do,” I said, “and you leave me stranded here …”

  “I will,” he said, “unless you hurry up and get started.”

  He made me so mad I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I turned and swam away, using a breast stroke for quietness. I stopped by the center of the dam and clung to it. When my arms began to ache I let loose and tread water. The whole thing seemed impossible. I couldn’t see. The bottom was three inches of gooey mud on top of sand. And despite Delhart’s fish farming there were a number of weeds ready to tangle me and hold me under water. I liked it less and less.

  But by reminding myself that I was working against Tiffin I kept going. I used the dam as a base and swam out from it, along the bottom, until I could hold my breath no longer. Then I would come up for air and go down again, returning toward the dam. I tried not to cover the same area twice, but after what seemed an eternity of running my fingers through muck I got no place.

  I came up for air near Jeff on the shore. “O’Hara?”

  “No luck,” I said.

  “Try more toward the middle. That’s where you found the blood, wasn’t it?”

  “Shut up,” I said savagely. “I’m all over goose-flesh now. Wait, Jeff! If Frew is telling the truth he saw Delhart across the pond.”

  “Sure,” Jeff said. “Snap into it, O’Hara, I’m getting chilled.”

  I had an unholy desire to grab his leg and haul him into the water. He was cold! “Then take a walk,” I said. “Have you anything for me to dry on?”

  “My pajamas are in the car,” he said after a moment. “In my suitcase.”

  “Leave the case and get me the pajamas,” I ordered. I turned and struck out, breast-stroking the width of the pond. At the other side, after resting, I began diving again. I was tired to the tips of my toes by now. Wet and chilled and miserable. I didn’t like the feel of my nice, lace-trimmed underwear all soggy against my skin. I was ready to call it off and go home and have a good cry.

  And right then I struck it. My hand hit something soft and yielding, floating above the bottom, rocking ever so slightly in the current I created. I was so startled I had to rush back up for air. I trod water a moment and went down again. I did some careful feeling. Whatever it was went down in the mud and was held there by a weight of some kind. I had to surface twice before I could get it all rolled up and safe from the suction of the mud.

  I found I had a good-sized bundle of what felt like clothing. I laid it carefully on top of the dam. I guessed my spot of discovery about six feet from the dam and the same from the shore. I went back and felt some more. There was nothing.

  I began to be pessimistic again. There was such a lot of water to hide one small hat. It was just too much to contemplate tonight. I was played out. The only thing was to try and be on the job when Tiffin dragged the pond.

  I swam a half-hearted sidestroke going back, holding the bundle of clothing above the surface. It was tiring but I made it. Jeff was on the shore. I thrust the bundle at him.

  “Treasure,” I said.

  “O’Hara, I love you. I put my pajamas by your clothes. Come on down to the river beach when you’re ready.”
And he walked off!

  I located my socks and then ran across the path to the trees. Jeff’s pajamas gleamed whitely and I reached for them. Then I had an inspiration. I felt the pajamas. They were soft, knitted cotton, snug at the wrists and ankles and very tricky.

  I dried on the flannel shirt and put on the pajamas. They were tent-like on me but they were nice and soft and warm. I balled my sodden underwear in the shirt and wrapped the whole thing in the slacks. Then I put on my shoes and socks and headed for the path to the beach.

  I ran, once I got going in the right direction. Trees slapped against my face and brush reached out to snag the flapping legs of Jeff’s pajamas. But I only ran faster. Every slap, every snag was a prod to me. I was literally trying to outrun the darkness and my own fear of the forest.

  And when I was nearly there I pulled up short. My breath came harshly to my ears. I was trembling again. There, gleaming through the trees, was a weird orange light. I knew it was not made by Jeff’s flashlight. A lantern, I wondered. Were we surrounded by Tiffin’s deputies? Or was it—something else? Someone else?

  The light flickered, grew brighter and then very dim and bright again. I knew it was a fire. I crept forward until I could see onto the little beach. I nearly collapsed with relief. Jeff was crouched there. The fire was as close to the water as he could get it. It looked safe enough.

  “You’re liable to the forest service for that,” I said, dumping my clothes on the sand. I edged up to the fire. “But it feels good.”

  Jeff was on his knees with our treasure spread out. He looked up and grinned. “I see my pajamas are honored.”

  “Get a smaller size next time,” I told him. “Well?” I poked at the treasure with my toe.

  Jeff proudly held up a pair of pants, a shirt, a coat, old gloves. And then the chopper! I knew it was that. It looked like a machete only not quite so long in the blade. It had a longer handle, though, and a leather thong with a wrist loop. I shuddered. That had killed a man. Firelight danced on the damp blade, throwing bright streaks into my eyes. I looked away.

  Jeff said, “Clothes without labels. Not big enough to fit me, though. Too wide in the waist and too short in the leg.”