Rattlesnake Hill

by Leslie Wheeler

  The opening bars of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” sent a tremor of excitement through her. Clasping a couch cushion to her chest, she rose and swayed to the music, imagining Earl was the singer rather than Elvis. She thrilled to the sound of his crooner’s voice and the feel of his hard, muscular body against hers. Millie didn’t cut in this time, but when the song ended, she was left alone in the middle of the room, hugging a cushion instead of a sexy man.

  You listen to that trashy music, you’ll wind up like your Aunt Kit, taking up with a Hawaiian half your age. Turn it off this instant! Kathryn heard her grandmother cry, as she banged on the locked door of Kathryn’s room. Her grandmother hated it when she played the Alfred Apaka records Aunt Kit gave her that last summer in Hawaii before she was forbidden to visit. She’d wept when Apaka sang “Aloha Oi.” Wept because she couldn’t return to the one place where she’d been happy and might never see Aunt Kit and Kane again. One day when she was at school, her grandmother threw out the records.

  There was no one to stop her now, though. She rewound the tape and danced to the song again and again. But it was over too quickly, and rewinding broke the spell. She decided to dance to all the songs on the tape. To her surprise, she discovered that three of them could have been written just for her. Yes, she was lonesome tonight. Yes, she wanted to surrender. Yes, it was now or never.

  Halfway through “Now or Never,” the phone rang. She dashed into the kitchen and grabbed the handset. “Is this a good time to talk?” Alan asked. “You sound out of breath, and I hear music in the background. Have you got company?”

  Her cheeks flamed. She dropped the cushion she’d been clutching. Thank heaven Alan couldn’t see her now! “No, I’m alone. Hold on while I turn off the music.”

  “That was . . . Elvis?” Alan asked when she returned.

  “I found a tape of his songs in the house and put it on as a goof.”

  “Ah, I thought you were going to listen to the tapes of that old woman’s recollections.”

  “I have been. All day practically.”

  “Have you found what you were looking for?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I wish I were there to help you. If you could wait until next weekend, we could listen to them together.”

  “No! I mean, that won’t be necessary. I’m sure I’ll be finished by then.”

  “About next weekend, have you given any thought to whether you’d like to come here or have Sophie and me come there?”

  “I’d probably like to come to you, but can I let you know at the beginning of the week?”

  “Of course.”

  That was a much-needed wake-up call. Wake up and die right, her grandmother would have said. Returning to the living room, Kathryn caught a glimpse of herself in one of the glass sliding doors. Her face was flushed, strands of hair had escaped from her clip, and her blouse was wrinkled and hiked up. What a mess! She was glad there were no Peeping Toms around. She closed the curtains, anyway, and went into the bathroom, where she washed her face, combed her hair and straightened her blouse.

  In the living room, she replaced Elvis with the final tape of Emily’s recollections. This time, she would listen till the end if it killed her. But after a few minutes, she started to nod off. Maybe she was still worn out from the trip. Or coming down with a bug. She did feel a bit feverish.

  Emily’s voice droned on. She’d take a short nap and wake up, refreshed.

  Wake up and die right.

  Chapter 42

  Voices penetrated the dimness. Somewhere nearby, people were talking.

  At least he did it for love, a woman with a soft, girlish voice murmured.

  More like jealous rage, an older woman said.

  That wouldn’t be the case with my husband, the young woman said bitterly.

  What do you mean? the old woman asked.

  He’d never kill me for love. The only thing he cares about is my money, which he’ll lose when I divorce him. But if something happens to me before that, he’ll get a big chunk. That’s why I’m having my lawyer draw up a new will.

  Kathryn opened her eyes and fumbled for the cassette player. This must be the part Emily had wanted her to hear, where Diana spoke about why Gordon might kill her. She pressed “stop,” rewound to the beginning, and listened again. Of course, Emily, who already hated Gordon, would believe him guilty of his wife’s murder based on what Diana said here. Disliking him herself, she was almost willing to believe he was the culprit. But aside from Diana’s words, there was no other evidence against him. Kathryn kicked herself again for not getting to the box at the far corner of the attic before Gordon.

  At least he did it for love. Kathryn returned to Diana’s earlier remark. Who was the “he” in question? It dawned on her that Diana and Emily must have been talking about Marguerite’s murder, the very story she was eager to get. She started to push “rewind,” then hesitated, fingers hovering over the button. Did she really want to do this? She could simply accept the version Emily’s daughter had given her, in which Clyde shot Marguerite and blinded himself. But there were two sides to every story. And so much depended on the teller. Irene was prejudiced against the Barkers. She’d revealed as much when she said she preferred to think of her mother’s family as the Judds. Emily, Kathryn suspected, was prejudiced in the opposite direction. She’d have to take that into account when she listened to Emily’s version. Taking a deep breath, she pressed “rewind,” “stop,” then “play.”

  My great-grandmother always said Clyde Barker was a man more sinned against than sinning. But she didn’t explain why until after his death and she was close to dying herself. You already know how Clyde and Marguerite met and fell in love at the lake that bears his name. Now I’ll tell you about the sad end of their romance. They’d been lovers for several months, meeting secretly in the woods, when Marguerite discovered she was pregnant by him.

  How did she know the baby was his?

  Women just know these things. The baby was probably conceived while Jared Cutter was away on business. When she told Clyde the news, he urged her to run away with him. But Marguerite was afraid of traveling into the unknown while she was with child. She wanted to have the baby at home, where she knew she would get good care. Reluctantly Clyde agreed. Months later, Marguerite gave birth to a healthy baby girl. It was named Leonora after Jared Cutter’s mother, because he assumed the baby was his.

  Again, Clyde urged her to run away with him. But she still wasn’t ready. Finally, when the baby was about six months old, she agreed. They planned their flight for a time when Marguerite knew her husband would be away. She arranged with her dear friend, Aurelia Judd, to care for the baby until they could send for it.

  You’ll hear all kinds of nonsense about what happened that night, but the true story is the one my great-grandmother got from Clyde. He and Marguerite hadn’t gone far when they heard someone coming after them. They ran, but Marguerite fell and twisted her ankle. “Shoot me, if you will, but spare her,” Clyde pleaded. But Cutter showed no mercy. Before Clyde’s horrified eyes, he shot Marguerite then turned the gun on Clyde. Sometime later, Clyde came to. His head hurt and when he opened his eyes, he couldn’t see a thing—only darkness.

  The next morning a mill worker discovered him weeping over her body. Clyde told the man what had happened. Since Clyde came from a disreputable family, and Cutter from a prominent one, most people believed Cutter’s story—that he’d been away and only returned home that morning. Clyde was found guilty of Marguerite’s murder and would have been hanged if my great-grandmother hadn’t appealed on his behalf.

  What happened to Cutter?

  He left for California soon afterward. Eventually, people in town learned that he’d remarried and begun a new life. But I think he remained a troubled man. Why else would he have kept Marguerite’s photograph with him until his dying day? Seems he never spoke of her o
r revealed her name, because his descendants are still trying to find out who she was. I like to think he spent the rest of his life tormented by guilt—that even now he’s rotting in hell.

  You’re terrible, Emily.

  Nope. Man like that doesn’t deserve happiness, in this life or the next.

  At least he did it for love.

  Kathryn hit “stop.” She’d guessed Emily would try to pin Marguerite’s murder on Jared Cutter, but hearing her actually say so made it worse. And more damning. Could the dignified, silver-haired old gentleman in the photographs Aunt Kit had showed her, the man her great-aunt had always spoken of with such reverence, really have been the merciless killer that Emily described? Was this the awful truth she’d gone to such lengths to discover?

  Be careful what you wish for: the cautionary words echoed in her brain, followed by noise from overhead. It wasn’t Amore. The cat crouched beside her, ears pricked, suddenly alert. Someone was in the house. She heard the scrape of metal against wood, then footsteps. Her blood froze. “Who’s there?” she called in a voice that barely masked her fear.

  “Me.” The next instant Gordon’s big shape loomed at the top of the stairs. He lumbered down, carrying a file drawer that he dumped on the coffee table in front of her.

  “I can’t believe you just walked in without letting me know,” Kathryn flared.

  Gordon shrugged. “It’s my house, and I’m used to coming and going as I please. But this time, I did knock, and when you didn’t answer, I let myself in. You were asleep so I went upstairs.”

  “I asked you to telephone beforehand.”

  “I didn’t think you’d be back yet.”

  “I didn’t think you would either. Why did you come back early?”

  “Let’s just say the family scene in North Carolina got old fast.”

  “Or was it because you wanted to search the house when you thought I wouldn’t be here?”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “You tell me.”

  “There’s stuff I need in the attic, and you don’t seem to like my coming here.”

  “Something up there must be pretty important to you, because you’ve sure spent a lot of time rummaging around.”

  “My art is very important to me,” Gordon puffed.

  “Your art?” she mocked.

  “I’m having an exhibit and I need to prepare for it.”

  “That’s all you’ve been doing up there?”

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you. This conversation is over.” He reached for the file drawer.

  “Wait.” Kathryn put a hand on his arm. “You took that box, didn’t you?”

  “What box?”

  “The one in the far corner where there’s no flooring.”

  “What if I did?”

  “Then you . . .” She backed off, unwilling to accuse him outright of taking a box that might or might not contain incriminating evidence.

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at, and frankly I’ve no desire to find out. Now, if you’ll remove your hand, I’ll take my file drawer and go.” His gaze fell on the Elvis tape she’d left on the coffee table. “What’s this? Elvis love songs, well, I’ll be! Where did you find it?”

  “Diana’s study.”

  “You were going through her things?”

  “I was looking for the tapes of Emily’s recollections.”

  “You obviously found them, because that’s what was playing when I came in. Put you to sleep, didn’t they? Would’ve put me to sleep, too, the old bat’s so incredibly dull.”

  “She’s actually quite interesting. I was tired.”

  Gordon picked up the Elvis tape and scowled. “Earl gave this to Diana, and got her listening to this trashy music.”

  Kathryn hadn’t been an Elvis fan until recently, but she decided not to let the slight to the King go unchallenged. “Lots of people wouldn’t agree with you.”

  Gordon’s yellow-flecked eyes narrowed. “Including you? You and Earl danced to an Elvis song at the benefit, though ‘danced’ hardly describes what you did.”

  Kathryn’s face burst into flames. “Shut up!”

  Gordon shook his head pityingly. “Kathryn, Kathryn, you poor thing. Don’t tell me you’ve let that hillbilly hunk cast a spell on you like he did Diana?”

  His condescension infuriated her. “He really loved her, but all you ever cared about was her money.”

  “Is that what Emily told you? Has the old bat poisoned your mind, too?”

  “Diana says so herself on—” She broke off but not before Gordon guessed her meaning. He reached for the cassette player and jabbed “play” with a speed Kathryn hadn’t expected from such a large, languid man.

  More like jealous rage.

  That wouldn’t be the case with my husband.

  What do you mean?

  He’d never kill me for love. The only thing he cares about is my money, which he’ll lose when I divorce him. But if something happens to me before that—

  Gordon stabbed “stop.” “So Emily’s at the bottom of this. She’s the one who wrote those notes, who’s trying to—I’ll fix her good!” His fat body quivering with anger, he hurled himself toward the door. Kathryn sprang from the couch and ran after him. On the walkway leading from the house, she got close enough to grab at his sweater. The soft wool slipped through her fingers, but then she found purchase and yanked hard, pulling Gordon backward. He whirled around, twisted free, and gave her a shove. She skidded on the leaf-strewn path, lost her balance and landed hard on her rear, dazed and hurting.

  The engine noise of his departure brought her to her feet. She had to stop him.

  She raced to her car and sped out the driveway onto Rattlesnake Hill Road. The narrow roadway was level for a short stretch before curving to begin the steep descent to the bottom. Around the bend, the lights of an oncoming car barreled at her. She slammed on the brakes, felt them lock, and the car go into a slow, sickening spin. It slid across the roadway, ground to a halt off the pavement, and then tipped precariously, throwing her against the driver’s side door. She shut her eyes and clung to the door handle, bracing herself for the inevitable fall through the trees, down the hill, into the swamp below.

  Nothing happened. The car remained tilted at an angle. Something had stopped its downward hurtle. She opened her eyes. A tree trunk filled the window, holding the car in place like a bookend. Thank god! She had to get out of here, had to reach Emily before Gordon harmed her. She fumbled with the buckle of her seatbelt. It wouldn’t unsnap. Terror had drained the strength from her fingers. She heaved herself toward the passenger side. The belt stretched but didn’t break. She was stuck like her car. Tears of frustration spilled down her face. She tried the buckle again. This time, it came undone. As she scrambled across the seat, the door suddenly opened and strong arms pulled her out.

  “Jesus! Are you all right?” Earl exclaimed.

  “I . . . Emily—Gordon’s gone after her.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll explain later. We’ve got to hurry.”

  He helped her into the pickup and jumped into the driver’s seat. They careened down the hill, the snake rattle swinging like a pendulum gone wild. She wanted to believe Emily would be all right. Surely, Gordon wouldn’t dare harm a woman over ninety. But, despite being old and frail, Emily was feisty. She might say something to provoke Gordon even more. And then who knew what he might do? Kathryn pictured Emily growing smaller and smaller until she disappeared altogether, swallowed up by the giant, spreading blob of Gordon.

  “Faster!” she cried.

  Earl floored the gas pedal. The speedometer needle jumped from sixty to seventy. They shot up the hill to the village. Kathryn leaped from the truck before it came to a full stop behind Gordon’s vehicle at Emily’s house. She fairly flew up the porch steps, not eve
n looking to be sure Earl was behind her.

  Inside, nothing was as she’d imagined it. Wearing a blue, quilted robe, Emily perched on a wing chair at one end of the parlor. She held her head high and sat so straight she might have been a child-queen. Gordon sprawled at her feet like a supplicant. An unlucky one. Blood leaked from his body onto the carpet. An acrid odor filled the air. A revolver lay on the table beside Emily.

  Kathryn opened her mouth, but no sound came out. “God Almighty, Em!” Earl exploded behind her.

  “Gordon is dead,” Emily said. “You’d better call Hank.”

  Part III: The Woods

  Chapter 43

  “My life was in danger, I had no choice,” Emily told Hank Lapsley.

  Lapsley raked a hand through his graying hair. “Still gotta do things by the book. Take pictures, get statements. Don’t anyone touch anything.” He shooed them to the sidelines while he went about securing and photographing the scene. After the EMTs had removed Gordon’s body, Lapsley told Earl and Kathryn to wait in the bedroom while he questioned Emily in the kitchen.

  Kathryn sat on Emily’s bed, still too stunned to speak. She glanced at Earl, seated on a nearby chair. He looked at her with a mixture of sympathy and something she couldn’t name. “Why did Gordon go after Em just now?” he asked.

  She explained about the anonymous notes Emily had written to bring Gordon back to town, and how Emily hoped he’d betray himself as Diana’s killer. “When he came to the house to get more stuff from the attic, I was listening to a tape of Emily’s recollections. There’s a part where Diana tells Emily she thinks Gordon would kill her for her money. When Gordon heard that, he realized Emily had written the notes. He got really mad and said he’d fix her. I tried to stop him, but . . . well . . . you know the rest.”

  “Except how you ended up on the other side of the road with your car leaning against a tree.”

  “I’d just rounded the bend when I saw another car speeding toward me in the middle of the road. My brakes locked and I went into a skid.”