When Clark got up in the morning he skipped his exercises, as he had been doing the past weeks, and dressed silently. He glanced at Faye, still sleeping loudly, and thought, You poor slob. He tiptoed quietly out of the room.
Though the morning air was chill, with a heavy dark fog bank creeping steadily in from the ocean, he had breakfast on the terrace and watched two gray squirrels busily chewing on nuts high in a pine tree. He felt a strange sense of exhilaration stealing over him and smiled over his meal. This was the crucial day. Later in the afternoon he would start an air search in progress over the wrong desert and would fly out to join it. He would not return. Two days would be enough time spent on the desert, supposedly looking for Joey; then he would go on to Las Vegas and establish residence for the divorce. Nothing could possibly go wrong. He had planned too well and each detail was falling precisely into place. He was feeling very good.
He felt even better as the day progressed. He checked first at the bank and learned that the Nevada checks had already been cleared. The bank manager seemed puzzled over the large sums that had been transferred, but Clark explained that he had a little business deal brewing in Nevada. He visited the construction jobs under progress and saw that they were moving along smoothly. He then talked with realtors and affirmed what he already knew, that his subdivisions were going to be profitable gold mines.
Everywhere he went he spoke casually of his desert landing, and as the day advanced he began exhibiting concern over Joey’s nonappearance. He telephoned the airport a number of times and finally told the field manager, “Listen, Kane. I’m worried. Do me a favor, will you? Call CAA and have a search instituted. Panamint Valley is the spot. I’ll fly down to Fresno about five o’clock, check in with the CAA there, and help out with the search. Have my plane ready for me.”
He stopped at the Lodge on the way home and telephoned Ione. She had already heard of his emergency landing from Ricki, so he told her, “I don’t understand why Joey isn’t back, or why I haven’t heard from him. I was positive he’d been picked up by a car. Otherwise I would have seen him.”
Ione said lightly, “He’s probably enjoying himself in some bar.”
“Maybe, but I don’t know. I’m worried. I’m going to fly down there and look for him. But there’s something else I wanted to tell you.”
“Yes?”
“I’m not coming back.”
She gasped, “Clark!”
“That’s right. As soon as I locate Joey I’m going on to Las Vegas. Six weeks from now, my dear, I’ll be a free man.”
“Oh, God, I’m glad it’s now.”
“It has to be now. I can’t take it any more. God knows, I’ve tried.”
“Oh, you have tried. No one is going to blame you, Clark.”
“There’s something that frightens me, though. As I told you before, there’s going to be a hell of a row over property. You’re going to hear some pretty lousy things said about me, which always happens in these situations. You’re going to need an awful lot of faith in me.”
She whispered, “I have faith. Please don’t worry. I know how malicious gossip can be. I’m going to miss you.”
“Same here.” He waited a few seconds, then asked, “How about joining me in Vegas?”
“Oh, I can’t do that. It couldn’t — Well, maybe — ”
“Of course you can.”
She laughed softly and said, “All right, I will. Not right away, but I’ll be there in a week or two.”
“Your mother will probably try to stop you.”
“I’m a grown girl now. Remember? I’ll be there, darling. Believe me. Oh, how I’ll be there!”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“Ten minutes after your divorce is final we’ll get married.”
“Make it five and I’ll buy it. Be seeing you?”
“No one can stop me. Not now. Not ever. What a beautiful world! Good-by, sweet, while I cry a little.”
Clark wore a wide grin as he walked outside and got into his car. The heavy gray fog was now in over the land and he had to use fog lights to drive the short distance home. The fog, however, could not dampen his spirits. He was feeling too good and was chuckling to himself as he turned into the driveway and parked his car. Another car, a strange one, was also in the driveway. He got out of his convertible and had a look at the other car, gleaming damp in the fog. It was a county patrol car from the sheriff’s office. Clark’s grin faded.
He stood there a moment and thought of Scott. It had to be Scott. He had probably heard of Joey’s disappearance and, considering his hostility toward Clark, had had his suspicions aroused. But what could he do? His actions, after all, were limited to Monterey County; Panamint Valley was far out of his jurisdiction. There was no way Scott could take a hand in the case. He could be annoying, but that was all. Clark’s spirits rose again, though he was frowning thoughtfully as he walked to the house.
He moved slowly and cautiously into the huge living room, his body tensed for the encounter with Scott and his brain sharp and alert to the smell of danger. Scott was there, standing before glowing logs in the fireplace, his hands held behind his back toward the heat. No lights had been turned on, and though it was still afternoon, the large, vaulted room was in semigloom. Clark could not make out Scott’s expression, but could see his eyes, narrowed and watching him coldly.
Clark took off his hat, dropped it onto a chair, and stopped a few feet before the deputy sheriff. He asked coldly, “Something you want?”
A voice growled, “Plenty,” but it wasn’t Scott’s voice. Scott had not spoken. Clark turned slowly about and ice settled in his spine. Joey was sitting on one of the oversize couches, slumped down deeply so that he had not been seen as Clark entered the room. Firelight flickered on his face, and his eyes, too, were narrow and cold. His face was a boiled red and there were sun blisters on his neck and the backs of his hands. Except for sunburn, however, he did not seem to be in bad shape.
Clark stared at him as if seeing a ghost and his brain was momentarily paralyzed. Joey smiled thinly and asked, “Surprised, kid? You sure look it, all right. Never expected to see good old Joey Malloy again, didia? Kinda takes the wind outa your sails, don’t it? Yeah. My good old pal Clark. Brother, when you start bein’ a bastird you don’t fool around.”
Clark’s brain lost its paralysis and began working again, quickly, furiously. “Joey!” he cried. “My God, it’s good to see you! You had the devil worried out of me. I was just leaving to fly down and lead an air search for you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Of course. When I didn’t hear from you — well, naturally I began to worry. I just notified CAA to look for you a little while ago. What happened to you? Where have you been?”
“Well, for your information, kid, I been back since last night. I got in maybe a couple hours after you.”
“But — but you didn’t call.”
“That’s right. I thought maybe me and Mr. Scott here had some things to talk over first.”
The smell of danger grew in Clark’s nostrils, but his brain was now functioning smoothly. “I don’t understand, Joey. Did you see me flying around the desert looking for you?”
Joey sneered, “I seen you take off.”
“Then you were still there. I don’t know how I missed seeing you.”
“You wasn’t lookin’, kid. I seen you. You took straight off and got the hell out. I wasn’t only a little ways off, sittin’ in the shade of some rocks, when I heard the engine and then seen you go. That’s when I got thinkin’. And a couple minutes later I hear two cars on the desert. Only they wasn’t south. They was to the east. Then I knew I’d been taken.”
“Joey — ”
“Look, chum. It was even the wrong desert. I had a hunch if I didn’t move fast I wouldn’t be movin’ at all. It scared the hell outa me, but I walked out on that desert and kept goin’ and walkin’ to the east ’stead of the south, and ’bout a mile away, when I was ready to quit, I stumbled out on
the highway. A truck comes along and picks me up and takes me over to Furnace Creek Inn. That’s where I learn I’m in Death Valley and not that other place. They got a flyin’ field there, so I hire a guy and his plane to fly me back here. But now I’m gettin’ real cagey, so I land at Salinas and take a bus over. Mr. Scott here was real glad to see me.”
Clark managed a puzzled frown as he glanced at Scott, who had not moved, then back at Joey. His feeling of exhilaration was returning. He knew what to say and exactly how to say it.
An injured tone crept into his voice as he said, “I get it now. You thought I did that deliberately. I’m surprised at you, Joey.”
“You ain’t the only one.”
“I mean it. Haven’t you ever heard of a pilot getting lost? That’s what happened to me. Those damned deserts all look alike and I had a lot of other things on my mind. When we came down I really thought we were in Panamint Valley. You remember the map, don’t you? Remember the roads? Well, if we really had been where I thought we were, you would have hit the highway exactly where I said, by walking due south.”
Scott spoke for the first time. He asked sharply, “Is that right, Malloy?”
Joey shrugged. “Yeah, on the map, sure. But we wasn’t in no Panamint Valley.”
Clark said quickly, “I didn’t know that at the time. I thought that’s where we were. I was so sure of it that it wasn’t until I realized it was taking me a lot longer to reach Fresno than it should have that I began wondering. That’s easy to do in those mountains and deserts. However,” he smiled, “all’s well that ends well.”
Scott asked abruptly, “How do you explain being out of gas one moment and being able to fly away shortly after? Do you expect us to believe you found some gas lying around on the desert?”
Clark gave him a bland smile. “We weren’t out of gas. I just thought we were by the way the engine quit, exactly the same as running out of gas. I could have checked my gauges and learned differently, but I was so sure of what had happened I just didn’t think of it. It wasn’t until I had walked a good distance to the north of the plane that I realized how stupid I was being. So I went back, checked the gauges, and found plenty of gas. Then I knew what had happened, an air bubble or a vacuum lock in the gas lines. I cleared them out and everything was O.K. I took off and looked for Joey, but evidently those rocks hid him from me. I thought he had been picked up by a car, so I went on home. I didn’t really start worrying about him until this afternoon. Thank God he heard those cars out on the highway.”
Scott again looked sharply at Joey. “You know this is a damned lie, don’t you? It’s a good one and maybe he can make it stick, but you and I know he put you down on that desert to die.”
There was a long silence in the room, so thick it could almost be felt. Joey sat quietly on the couch, hunched down, his head sunken in his shoulders, his beady little eyes fixed on Clark. His brain, too, was racing, and what he was thinking was apparent in his eyes. He was thinking of the money involved and of the chinchilla ranch and of the more pertinent fact that now, with Scott always in the background, he would be safe.
Clark broke the silence by saying softly, “Of course he knows it’s not a lie. After all, he and I are partners in business together. In fact, we’re right on the verge of putting over a hell of a big deal. I couldn’t get along without Joey.”
Joey smiled cynically and said, “You’re so right, kid.”
Clark knew he had won and excitement built within him. “Why,” he said, “even Faye could tell you. Incidentally, where is Mrs. Holt? Isn’t she home?”
Joey said, “She’s developin’ some pitchers in the darkroom.”
“Doesn’t she know you’re here?”
“Yeah, sure. But Scott was talkin’ to her ’bout that day Hibbard Hicks fell off the rocks into the drink, so she’s in developin’ the pitchers.”
“What pictures?”
“Jees, I don’t know. She just said she was takin’ pitchers that day and had never developed one batch. Somethin’ ’bout breakin’ a camera.”
Clark frowned, then nodded. “I remember. That was the camera she dropped on the rocks.” He turned to Scott with an easy smile. “Why should you want those pictures? They were just snapshots of the picnic.”
Scott’s face had flushed the angry red of deep frustration and he was about to growl a reply, but his eyes suddenly swung beyond Clark. Faye was standing in the doorway and had apparently been there a minute or more. She was staring at the three men with the stricken expression of a wounded animal. She moved toward them slowly, stiffly, almost as a sleepwalker.
“Yes,” she said. “The camera I dropped on the rocks. The one I broke. I never had it fixed. The film was still in it.”
Clark had the weird feeling of ants crawling on his back. He barked, “What’s the matter with you?”
She turned her cowlike eyes on him and gasped, “I’m sorry, Daddykins. Really I’m sorry. But Mr. Scott questioned me again about that day and I remembered that camera I’d been using and broke on the rocks and he thought he’d like to see the film, so I just developed it and printed some pictures. I’m awfully sorry, darling. You just have to believe me.”
Clark watched her, fascinated, as she walked by him and handed Scott a number of negatives and still wet prints. Her hands dropped and she stood there with her head down, biting her lip, not wanting to look at Clark. Large tears oozed up in her eyes and ran down her cheeks.
Clark growled, “Say, what the hell’s going on here?”
Scott snapped, “The usual routine, Holt. I haven’t given up on you. I know you’re responsible for that maid’s death and I know you tried to kill your ever loving partner. So I guess you’re able to lie out of that one, too. But I’ve always had a funny hunch that someday I could pin that Hicks deal on you. That’s why I want these pictures. I want everything I can get on that day. All right, even though they’re just ordinary snapshots of a picnic, nevertheless — ” His words slid to a sudden halt.
While talking to Clark he had been looking through the prints. One caught his attention and his body stiffened with shock. He held the print toward the fireplace to see it better, then straightened and stared off into space for a long moment. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, wrapped it carefully about the negatives, and placed them safely in his jacket pocket. He also placed the prints in his pocket, except the one that had caught his attention. He handed that print to Clark, his lips thinned to a cold smile of victory.
Clark frowned, took the print from him, and held it toward the light. His senses went numb. For one of the few times in her career of amateur photography, Faye had snapped a photograph that was sharp and clear and beautifully in focus. Also, not knowing what she was doing, she had tripped the camera at precisely the right moment. The picture was of Hibbard Hicks and Clark on the rocks at Point Lobos. Hibbard was just beginning to fall toward the angry water down in the roiling channel. With exceptional clarity, the picture revealed Clark’s left hand on Hibbard’s back, at the split second after shoving him, and Clark’s foot before Hibbard’s ankles in the act of tripping him. There was no doubt of exactly what was taking place in that picture.
Clark looked up with his eyes staring and his physical responses at dead center. He felt the cool steel of the handcuffs suddenly about his wrists and saw the hard, implacable smile in Scott’s eyes. His head moved like a mechanical thing and he stared at Faye.
She looked at him and the tears flowed faster. She was wringing her hands and clasping and unclasping them. “You just must believe me,” she cried. “I didn’t know I was taking a picture of — of that. You do believe me. Don’t you, darling?”
Darling? he thought. Or had she said Buster? He wasn’t sure.
THE END
Serving as inspiration for contemporary literature, Prologue Books, a division of F+W Media, offers readers a vibrant, living record of crime, science fiction, fantasy, western, and romance genres. Discover more today:
www.pr
ologuebooks.com
This edition published by
Prologue Books
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
www.prologuebooks.com
Text Copyright © 1953 by Fawcett Publications, Inc.
Cover Art, Design, and Layout Copyright © 2013 by F+W Media, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Cover image(s) © 123rf.com/nejron
Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 10: 1-4405-6293-8
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6293-8
eISBN 10: 1-4405-6294-6
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6294-5
Up a Winding Stair Page 21
