Rattlesnake Hill

by Leslie Wheeler

  “Sure.”

  Amore dashed ahead of them and streaked up the stairs. “I’d think he would be hungry,” she said.

  Earl shook his head. “He’s had a big night and now he just wants to sleep it off.”

  He knew about these things. Knew what it was like to spend a night on the wild side. Knowledge she lacked.

  “How about that beer?” Earl said. “Your plant could use a drink, too.” He stepped past her into the kitchen, and for the second time she caught a whiff of his musky smell, mixed with the pot’s earthy one.

  He took the pot to the sink while she rummaged in the refrigerator. When she turned around, he’d finished watering the plant and was splashing water on his face. The sight filled her with a sudden, overwhelming longing. He was just reaching for a paper towel when she went to him. She pressed her lips against his cheek and began kissing him—on his face, on his neck, wherever it was wet—like Marguerite drinking the drops that fell from the handsome stranger who saved her from drowning.

  Earl stood perfectly still, neither stopping her nor responding. Finally he put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a little push backward, holding her at arm’s length. “You know what you’re doing, Star?” He fixed his faded blue eyes on her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Things got pretty hot at the benefit, but then Mill cut in, you got scared, and ran back to your boyfriend in the city.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “What?”

  “Last night’s aftershave. You didn’t put that on just to have a few beers at the Stag.”

  “You think I—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I put it on to pay you a visit.”

  “You did?” It was her turn to be amazed.

  “I knew you were back. Cheryl said you’d been at the cabin. When I got to the house, you had the music on so loud, you didn’t hear me. I went around to the rear and watched you a while,” he finished sheepishly.

  “You spied on me!” She turned red. He’d seen her sway to the music, clutching a pillow, pretending she was dancing with him.

  “I was going to let you know I was there, but the phone rang. It was Alan. I heard you making plans. I left and went to the Stag. I love you, Star, but every time we start to get close, you pull away. I don’t want an on-and-off thing. You go with me, you stay with me.” He gripped her shoulders tightly, looking deep into her eyes.

  You go with me, you stay with me. His demand frightened her, but she desired him more than she’d ever desired anyone.

  As if sensing her turmoil, he said, “I don’t expect you to decide on the spot. I’m going back up the hill. When you’ve made up your mind, you know where to find me.” Removing his hands from her shoulders, he turned to go.

  She couldn’t just let him walk away. Not while she could smell his scent, taste him on her tongue. It was now or never. She grabbed his arm. “Yes!”

  He let out such a joyful whoop he might have won the lottery. Scooping her off the ground, he swung her in the air like the winning ticket. As he brought her down, he covered her with kisses. Their coming together was like an explosion ripping the clothes from their bodies and landing them on the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. He lifted her up again, carrying her into a realm of sensual delight she had not known existed. She couldn’t believe the sensations erupting within her. The more pleasure he gave her, the more she craved. More, more, more.

  At last, a hazy bliss settled over her. Through it she was dimly aware of a chain being slipped around her neck. Opening her eyes, she saw the small blue round of his St. Christopher medal dangling between her breasts. “You’re mine now,” he said. “And you’re gonna stay mine.”

  Chapter 46

  The commotion jolted Kathryn from sleep. Outside, men were shouting and hooting. Earl stirred and cursed softly next to her. “What is it?” she asked, as he got up and began pulling on clothes.

  “The start of Deer Week. I’m supposed to go hunting with Wayne and the other guys. But if you don’t want me to, I won’t.”

  “It’s okay. When will you be back?”

  “Dusk at the latest, sooner if I’m lucky and get a deer.”

  She smiled drowsily at him. “I hope you’re lucky then.”

  “Me, too. But if I’m not, it won’t matter because I’ll be coming home to you.” He bent and kissed her.

  “You coming, brother?” Wayne called from below.

  “In a minute,” Earl yelled back. He kissed her again before leaving. Outside, she heard more shouts and hoots. They were probably ribbing Earl about where he’d spent the night. Let them, she didn’t care. A truck rumbled away and the noise faded into silence. She yawned and stretched, sleek and satisfied as a well-groomed cat. Like Amore after Earl had stroked him. She snuggled into the place where his body had been, feeling his warmth, inhaling his scent. And drifted back to sleep.

  When she woke, light was streaming in through a crack in the curtains. At first she missed Earl. Then she was glad he wasn’t there. What had happened last night was still so new and strange she needed time to get used to it. She’d never given herself so completely to a man. Always before, part of her had held back. There was no holding back with Earl. She had let him be intimate in ways she hadn’t thought possible.

  She wandered through the empty house like a silent sleuth, seeking traces of him and surprised to find how precious each was. She felt tender toward the sheets where he had lain, the loose change that had fallen from his pants pocket, a button torn from his shirt in her eagerness.

  She put the change and the button in a box for safekeeping. She imagined sewing the button on his shirt. Then she had to laugh. When buttons needed replacing, she got the cleaners to do it. But after a single night with Earl, she was ready to perform this and countless other domestic tasks. She wanted to cook him breakfast, wash and fold his laundry, iron his shirts. She was so busy imagining all the things she’d do for him it took an angry meow from Amore to remind her that he, too, needed care.

  She fed him and made a meal for herself out of what remained of the bread and wedge of cheddar she and Earl had feasted on during a break in their lovemaking. He must be hungry now himself. She hoped Wayne had thought to bring him a sandwich. If he went hunting tomorrow, she’d see to it. She started to make a shopping list then realized it was almost eleven a.m. and she was still in her bathrobe. She went back upstairs. If Earl returned early, she wanted to be ready.

  In the hallway, she noticed the attic trapdoor was ajar. She must have forgotten to close it when she and Earl had left the attic. Standing on tiptoe, she gave the door a shove. Dust motes rained down. The cord swung wildly like a hangman’s noose. Distracted by Earl’s arrival, she hadn’t finished yesterday’s search for the second will. Should she continue now? No. She didn’t want to mar her current bliss with more discoveries like the pond collage, which hinted at Gordon’s innocence. And neither Hank Lapsley nor Earl seemed to think a second will existed.

  She went into the shower. The hot water washed away the dust, but also, regrettably, the smell of him. Showered and dressed, she returned to the shopping list. To her dismay, she realized she didn’t know Earl’s food preferences. How could she have been so intimate with him and not even know if he liked peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? She should have paid closer attention to what he’d had for lunch while he was working on the driveway. But how could she have foreseen how important this information would be? Millie knew, but she was the last person Kathryn wanted to talk to right now. Not Millie and . . . certainly not Alan.

  She was supposed to be seeing Alan next weekend. She’d have to call him and break things off. She had chosen Earl, and she didn’t regret that choice. But she did regret having to tell Alan. He was a good man, and had meant more to her than any of the other men she’d been involved with. She hated the thought of hurting him, but what else could she
do? Last night had changed everything. She was a different person now. She could no more go back to Alan than return to being her old self. She decided to put off telephoning him, though.

  Kathryn floated through the rest of the day, alternately making lists of things she wanted to ask Earl about himself and reliving each exquisite moment of their intimacy. Gunshots sounded at intervals. Looking out the window, she saw a truck parked down the driveway near where Gordon’s road led into the woods. Earl and his companions might be nearby. She went out onto the patio, where she had a view of the spot where they would come out, and sat down to wait.

  After what seemed like a long time, two figures emerged from the woods, dragging a deer. A third figure trailed behind them. She ran toward the men. By the time she reached them, Earl, Wayne and Pete had hefted the deer carcass onto the cab of the pickup. Earl turned and hugged her. Dressed in camouflage and blaze orange, he was unfamiliar and even a little intimidating. He smelled of damp earth, sweat, and gore. Her stomach twisted. Over his shoulder, she saw Pete watching them. He broke eye contact immediately. “Have a look at the buck Pete shot,” Earl said.

  She glanced at the dead animal then back at Pete, who was already getting into the truck. “Congratulations,” she called after him.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled.

  “You coming back with us?” Wayne asked Earl.

  “Nope. I’ll catch you later.” He tossed his gear into the back of the truck.

  “Are you disappointed you didn’t get a deer, too?” she asked, as they walked arm in arm up the driveway.

  “No, because I’ve got you.” He gave her a squeeze.

  When they reached the house, she said, “You must be starving. Have you eaten anything since last night?”

  “Wayne brought me a sandwich.”

  “If you go out again tomorrow, I’ll make the sandwiches.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to. I want to do for you,” she finished awkwardly.

  Earl kissed her. “Sure, Star. But right now I need to shower and change.”

  He rejoined her in the living room where she’d put out beers and a bowl of chips and some dip. He settled on the couch beside her and took a long drink. “This really hits the spot.”

  The phone rang. “Aren’t you going to answer that?” he said.

  “The machine can do it.” She nuzzled his cheek, but he pulled away at the sound of Alan’s voice. “Hi, Kathryn. Thought I would have heard from you by now. Hope everything’s okay. Give me a call when you have a chance, so we can finalize our plans for next weekend.”

  Earl gave her a long look, his eyes the icy blue of a glacial tarn. Finally, he said, “You need to talk to him, Star, tell him it’s over between you.”

  “I know. I’m going to. But it’s hard. I don’t want to hurt him.”

  Earl said nothing, merely looked at her. She felt naked and vulnerable under his gaze, as if she’d shed her defenses along with her clothes last night. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “You think I won’t break things off, but I will, I really will! I’m not going to run back to Alan like I did before. I promise I’ll never—”

  “Stop it, Star!” He gripped her by the shoulders. “There’s no need to get all upset. You’ll call him and everything will be fine.” He tipped her head gently back and smiled at her. “Okay?”

  Chapter 47

  Kathryn’s fingernails beat a rat-a-tat-tat on the kitchen counter. She frowned at the phone on the opposite wall. How to break it to Alan? In the past, her relationships had ended with a whimper rather than a bang. Maybe she should write a letter instead of calling. But her letter wouldn’t reach him for a few days. It wasn’t fair to keep him in the dark. And she’d promised Earl she would call.

  She’d put it off all morning. Now, she couldn’t wait any longer. It was already past two p.m., and the Spitzers, Gordon’s mother and stepfather, were due to arrive at three. Reluctantly, she dialed Alan’s office number. She would have preferred to call him at home, but that meant waiting until evening when Earl would be here.

  “Mr. Marquette’s office,” the secretary said crisply.

  Kathryn’s throat went dry; she could barely get the words out. “I’d like to speak with him, it’s Kathryn Stinson.”

  “Just a minute.”

  Kathryn hoped the secretary would tell her Alan was in a meeting. Instead, he came onto the line. “Kathryn, thank God! I was starting to worry about you. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes—no, I mean, there’s been another shooting,” she blurted.

  “That’s terrible. What happened?”

  She gave him an abbreviated version of Saturday night’s events.

  “You must be very upset. If it weren’t for Sophie, I’d drive there tonight. Maybe you could come here.”

  His concern was touching, but it made what she had to say all the harder.

  “Look . . . um . . . it’s not a good idea for me to go there, or for you to come here. I—I’m involved with someone else now.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m involved with another man.”

  “But we just spent Thanksgiving with my parents. We were making plans for this weekend.”

  “I know it’s sudden.”

  “That’s the understatement of the year! Who is this other man?”

  “Earl Barker.”

  “The guy who suckered me into getting drunk at the bar, whose brother tried to run us off the road. Is this some kind of joke?”

  “No, I’m perfectly serious.” Kathryn heard a rapping noise. “Someone’s here. Hold on a minute.” She hurried to the front door. No one. She returned to the kitchen. “False alarm. As I was saying, I really am involved with Earl Barker.”

  “But that night at the bar, you seemed repelled by him.”

  “I know, but since then, I—” Kathryn gasped, as a woman’s face appeared at the kitchen window. The woman waved and mouthed something at her. Then she stepped into the kitchen. Tall and robustly built with a heavily made-up face and perfectly styled silver hair, the woman looked to be in her late sixties or early seventies.

  “What’s going on?” Alan demanded.

  The woman reached for Kathryn’s free hand and shook it. “Yvonne Spitzer. And this is my husband, Jerry,” she said in a loud voice, gesturing toward a short, dark, reedy man who had followed her into the kitchen. “Go ahead with your call. We’ll wait for you in the living room. But first I need a little sustenance.” Yvonne Spitzer opened the refrigerator and peered inside.

  “Kathryn?” Alan said.

  “I’ll have to call you back. The Spitzers are here.”

  “Who?”

  “The Spit—”

  “What kind of ham is this?” Yvonne Spitzer held up several slices in plastic wrap.

  “Deli ham,” Kathryn said.

  “What’s this about ham?” Alan’s voice filled the room.

  “You don’t have the healthy kind?” Yvonne Spitzer asked.

  Kathryn shook her head.

  “Well, I guess I’ll just have to make do.” Yvonne Spitzer took out bread, lettuce, and mayonnaise, and proceeded to make herself a sandwich.

  “Kathryn, talk to me,” Alan pleaded. “Who are these people, and what are they doing?”

  “Mrs. Spitzer is having a sandwich.” Mrs. Spitzer could have had a sandwich in Great Barrington or at the New Nottingham General Store instead of waiting until now. But apparently she shared her son’s sense of entitlement.

  “Why? Did you invite her for lunch?” Alan sputtered.

  “No, she just—”

  Yvonne Spitzer grabbed the handset and spoke to Alan, “I’m hypoglycemic. If my blood sugar drops too low, I’m in trouble. All the stress I’ve been under lately has made my condition worse.”

  Alan mu
st have made a dismissive comment, because Yvonne Spitzer said, “You don’t have to be nasty. It’s a serious condition.”

  “Was he rude to you, Vonnie?” Jerry Spitzer jumped in.

  When Yvonne Spitzer nodded, her husband seized the phone. “How dare you insult my wife! This is our house, and we’re here on important business. You’ll just have to wait your turn!” He slammed the handset into its cradle.

  Kathryn didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, the situation was so awful and absurd. She’d been spared the continuation of a painful conversation with Alan, but the Spitzers’ overbearing manners were too much. She opened her mouth to protest. Jerry Spitzer beat her to the draw. “Sorry, but I can’t stand it when people are mean to Vonnie. Especially at a time like this. And we do have important business. We need to inspect the house before we put it on the market. We also need to have a look at whatever personal belongings my stepson left.”

  “Most of his stuff’s in the attic,” Kathryn said. “You could start there and work your way down.”

  “We’ll do that,” Jerry Spitzer said. “But first we’d like to ask you a few questions about the night Gordon was killed.”

  Kathryn tensed. “I already made a statement to the police.”

  “Let’s go into the living room,” Jerry Spitzer said, leading the way.

  He and his wife sat on the couch, while Kathryn took a seat opposite. Even seated, Yvonne Spitzer possessed the erect carriage of someone accustomed to balancing a book on her head. In contrast, her husband had the darting eyes of a ferret and restless hands which he kept clasping and unclasping, as he spoke: “In your statement, you refer to a place on the tapes of Mrs. Goodale’s recollections, where Diana says she thinks Gordon might kill her for her money, right?”

  Before Kathryn could reply, Yvonne Spitzer said, “But that’s ridiculous! Gordon didn’t kill Diana. It was that boy they found in the woods with her. Or someone else from around here. Gordon told us she’d been having an affair with a local man—a trashy sort of person. There was that hunter she’d been feuding with, too.” Yvonne Spitzer shuddered and glanced anxiously around, as if she expected Diana’s killer to appear at a window.