When Emmalynn Remembers Page 11

  I was almost amused by the man’s incredible ego, an ego that permitted him to believe he could overwhelm me with that one skillful kiss. No doubt it had been effective many times before on many other women, but I knew him or what he was, and I was immune to his polished skill as lover of women. I had an impulse to smash his face with the palm of my hand, but that would have given him too much satisfaction. I raised my hand and wiped it slowly across my mouth. That wounded him.

  Gordon didn’t say anything for a moment. He was rigid with anger, his lean body tense. I could see the anger crackling in his blue eyes. It took him a moment to gain control of himself, and when he spoke his voice was as hard as steel.

  “Very well,” he said, “we’ll have to play it another way.”

  “So it would seem.”

  “I intend to have the house, Emmalynn.”

  “You may as well give up, Gordon.”

  “I had hoped his could all be pleasant and profitable for both of us. I can see I was mistaken, but—no harm trying. I didn’t want to use heavy artillery but it seems I’ll have to.”

  “Oh? Are you going to have me committed?”

  “I wasn’t joking about that yesterday. It would be very easy with the right doctors paid to say the right thing. I’ve already made a few discreet inquiries into the matter.”

  “You’re wasting your time, Gordon. I promise you that.”

  He shook his head. “I think not.”

  “I don’t know why you want the house, but I promise you you won’t get it.”

  “I’ll get it,” he said, “one way or another.”

  “There’s no way.”

  “If something were to happen to you, My Dear, the house would be mine immediately. I wouldn’t have to wait around for a bunch of doctors to declare you legally incompetent. Mmm—” He stroked his lower lip, contemplating something. “An accident perhaps,” he continued. “All sorts of accidents could happen.”

  “I’m very careful,” I said.

  “An accident could be—arranged.”

  “Oh, come off it,” I said impatiently. “You sound like the villain in some shoddy television show. If you think you’re frightening me, you’re very much mistaken.”

  “Am I?”

  I was standing with my back to the railing. Gordon moved a step closer to me, his body almost touching mine, and I had to lean back to look up at him. He was smiling, his upper lip stretched over his teeth. He raised his long bony hands and laid them on my shoulders. The strong fingers dug into my flesh. He moved closer, his body against mine, forcing me back. I could feel the railing give way a little. The board creaked. I stared at Gordon Stuart, my face calm, my eyes level. It took great control, but I would not let him have the satisfaction of seeing fear in in my eyes.

  “You enjoy melodrama?” I said.

  “It would be so easy—” he whispered. “So easy.”

  “Easier than an axe, perhaps?”

  Gordon released me abruptly. He stepped back. He lifted his shoulders in an elegant shrug. I thought his face looked a little ashen, and a muscle in his cheek twitched almost imperceptibly. He did not lose control, but I could see that I had startled him. I straightened up and brushed my skirt. Gordon backed away some more, watching me with a weary expression.

  “You stood to gain quite a bit by her death, didn’t you?” I said, my voice calm, almost casual.

  “You think I killed her?”

  “I think you’re capable of having done it.”

  “You’re treading on dangerous ground, Emmalynn—”

  “Did you kill her, Gordon?”

  “Burt Reed killed her,” he said.

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “If you’re referring to the babbling of that child—” He cut himself short. His face grew guarded.

  “Several people aren’t satisfied that Reed killed her,” I said. “But we’ll soon know for sure.”

  “You sound certain.”

  “I am. I remembered something this morning—a little detail, nothing important—but it’s coming back. Slowly, but it’s coming. Soon I’ll remember everything.”

  “Perhaps you won’t have the chance,” he said solemnly.

  I arched a brow, my eyes on his.

  “If Reed didn’t kill her, then you’re in grave danger,” he said. “I should think you’d realize that.”

  “I’m not afraid, Gordon. Should I be?”

  Gordon shugged again. He tugged at his dull gold tie and straightened the lapels of his sportcoat. The buccaneer’s face was composed now, elegant in its lean lines, and the short steel gray hair clung to his head like a tight skull cap. There was a streak of lightning across the gray sky. Gordon glanced up. “It’s going to storm,” he said, his voice polite. “I suggest we take this up another time.”

  “There won’t be another time.”

  “Emmalynn, do yourself a favor. Leave the house. Leave tonight. Save yourself a lot of unpleasantness. I’m quite charitable, actually. I really don’t want to see you hurt. You shall be, I promise, unless you do as I say. Go back to London.”

  “Not a chance,” I said.

  I smiled briefly and left him standing there. I went around the store to where Boyd stood waiting by the car. He gave me an inquisitive look but didn’t say anything. He opened the back door of the Rolls and helped me in. There was another streak of lightning across the sky, and another, fierce silver fingers ripping at the gray, but still the storm didn’t come. Boyd got behind the steering wheel and started the car. I saw Gordon walking towards his car as we drove away. His shoulders were hunched forward and his hands were jammed into his pockets. He had a thoughtful look on his face, and he was frowning, as though he had a duty to perform and was reluctant to carry it out.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I DID NOT recognize the battered blue car that was parked in front of the house. Boyd let me out at the front door and drove on around the back to carry in the groceries. I went inside, curious. I heard voices coming from the library, and as I walked down the hall Billie came out to meet me. She was smiling. Her brown eyes were full of excitement that she could hardly contain. “I’ve got something fantastic to show you,” she whispered. Her voice and manner were those of a conspirator. “Unbelievable—” She put her finger to her lips. “Later,” she said. “The doctor is here now. When he leaves—”

  She ushered me into the library. Dr. Clarkson stood up to greet me. He wore brown pants and a rust colored corduroy jacket with leather patches at the elbows. His silver hair was tumbled on his head, and his blue eyes examined me carefully as I went to shake his hand. He gripped my hand with both his own, holding it firmly as his eyes studied my face. His black horn-rimmed glasses slid forward a little on his large nose, and he nodded his head, apparently satisfied with what he saw.

  “Came down for the weekend,” he bellowed. “Thought I’d better stop by and see how you were. You look radiant. Ah, youth—” He nodded his head some more and released my hand. “Your friend has been keeping me company. She has the most interesting theories about this crime! The young girls in my day thought about hair ribbons and scrap books, but nowadays it’s crime and archeology and nuclear fission! Can’t say as I mind, though. They may not be as feminine as they used to be, but they’re a hell of a lot more interesting—the young girls, I mean!”

  “Is that a compliment, Doctor?” Billie asked.

  “You might say so. Yes, you just might! Emmalynn—” He turned to me. “Miss Reed here has been telling me that you remembered something today. Is that true?”

  I nodded. “I remembered a dog’s name. It just came to me—the name was on my lips. I can’t remember knowing it before.”

  “The first wedge,” he said, pleased. “It’ll all start coming back now. Still think you can—uh—go through with it?”

  “I think I’m strong enough.”

  “I know damn well you are! Healthy girl—all young girls today are a healthy lot. Look shiny and underfed and pale, but mo
st of them are karate experts and can fly airplanes and run a mile in seven minutes, that sort of thing. Most unfeminine—most fascinating!”

  Billie had, in fact, taken karate lessons and she had done her solo flight in a cub airplane belonging to a former beau. I doubted seriously, however, that she could run a mile in seven minutes unless there was a sale at one of the high fashion shops and no taxi was available. I saw that she had kept the doctor entertained during my absence. I wondered how long he had been here.

  “Doctor Clarkson was thoughtful enough to bring gifts,” Billie said. She indicated a bottle of scotch and a box of party mix. “He was afraid we wouldn’t have anything for tea time. It’s tea time now—but scotch?”

  “Always have it for tea!” Doctor Clarkson exclaimed. “Picks you up! All these little cakes and fiddle-faddle folks stuff themselves with in the middle of the day—most unhealthy. Disasterous to the digestive system! I am here to tell you that’s why folks are so peaked and pale. Cakes! Get us some glasses, Girl. Both of you can use a belt!”

  Billie went to get the glasses, and Doctor Clarkson and I sat down. He lolled on the vast brown leather couch and I sat on the green leather chair across from him. The library was an enormous room with a vast black marble fireplace and three walls with bookcases towering to the high ceiling. The books were all dark brown and dull gold and red, most of them leather bound and stamped with gold. The fourth wall was composed entirely of tall French windows, all of them open now, the heavy green curtains billowing. There were several dark tables with tall brass lamps with red glass shades. They were old-fashioned oil lamps, and Billie had lighted several of them. Many rich Persian rugs, now old and faded, were scattered over the parquet floor and there was a huge multicolored globe standing beside the roll top desk.

  Doctor Clarkson took out his pipe, and his face sagged a little. The ruddy vitality had vanished as soon as Billie left the room, and he looked at me now with serious blue eyes.

  “How is it going?” he asked, his voice low.

  “Fine, I think.”

  “I’m not so sure about all this,” he said, indicating the house. “I’m not so sure you should be here.”

  “I can’t leave now.”

  “I can understand why you want to stay, but I’m not so sure I want you to have any part of it. There’s bound to be a great deal of strain on you. I don’t know if you can stand up under it.”

  “I’m a healthy girl, remember?”

  “I think there might be danger, too, Emmalynn—”

  “We knew there would be danger,” I said interrupting him.

  “I never seriously doubted that Reed did it,” he said irritably. Doctor Clarkson didn’t like to be interrupted. “If I had thought there’d be any real danger, I’d never have agreed to have any part of this. I’ve discovered a few things I don’t like since I saw you last.”

  “What things?”

  “I’ve learned something important. This friend of yours—”

  “Billie’s quite fascinated with the crime. She doesn’t think Burt Reed did it. I—I’m not sure I do myself. You can discuss anything in front of her. Anything but—”

  He nodded. “I understand. I know why you want to keep that part of it quiet—for your own good. No one must know, not even your best friend. To be quite frank, I never thought you could carry this off—”

  “You underestimate me,” I said.

  “You’re brave, Emmalynn, too damn brave.”

  “Determined, I should say, not brave.”

  “Your friend tells me Reed was here.”

  “He was. He was—most belligerent.”

  “I think he’s trying too hard.”

  “So do I,” I replied. “I had an encounter with Gordon Stuart this afternoon. I must tell you about it.”

  “What I have to say involves Stuart, too. I can talk freely in front of this girl—up to a point?”

  “You can.”

  “I wanted to be sure before I said anything. What about this Devlon?”

  “He claims I had a love affair with him. He is eager for me to remember so that we can—resume our romance.”

  “He’s a handsome devil. It would seem likely that you’d have fallen in love with him.”

  “It’s preposterous,” I said “Not me, not with Boyd Devlon. I’m not the kind of girl who falls for bronzed muscles and bedroom eyes.”

  “You’re quite sure?”

  “I’m positive!”

  “You never know,” Doctor Clarkson said. There was a twinkle in his eye. “Given the right circumstances—”

  “You can forget that,” I said frostily.

  He grinned. “Ah, Emmalynn, still full of inhibitions. Good girl. I know inhibitions aren’t the rage right now what with all this free love and LSD and rebellion, but they’re the backbone of the country. Lose them all, and you’ve lost everything.”

  “Sometimes I wonder about myself,” I said. “I think I must be out of my mind—being here. It’s all such a nightmare. Henrietta—I try not to think of her, but I keep seeing it happen over and over again. What a horrible thing to happen, and it’s my fault. If I hadn’t left her—”

  He shook his head, his face grave. “Don’t blame yourself. It would have happened anyway.”

  “If only there were some way I could make it up to her.”

  “Aren’t you doing that now?” he asked quietly. “Isn’t that the real reason you’re here?”

  “I’m going to find her killer,” I said.

  It was out in the open now. I was rather startled that I had said the words. I had tried to convince myself that I believed Burt Reed had killed her. I had tried to pretend that it was all over with, that I had merely come to look over the house before selling it, but I knew now that that was not so. Deep down inside I knew Burt Reed had been innocent, just as his son claimed, and all that had happened since I arrived here only served to strengthen that belief.

  Doctor Clarkson didn’t make any reply at first. He shifted his large body on the couch and folded his arms across his chest. He held his head down, the silver hair spilling over his forehead, the glasses slipping down on his nose, and his wise blue eyes watched me, noting my anxiety. He was perhaps the one person on earth I felt completely at ease with, the one person with whom I did not have to pretend to be something I wasn’t. He was like a father to me, wise, thoughtful, protective, and there was no use trying to hide anything from him.

  “I didn’t want to come here,” I said. “I thought it was foolish, a waste of time. I just wanted to sell the house and be done with it. Now I know—I feel—” I made a vague gesture, trying to find the right word to express what I wanted to say.

  “I think I know,” he said.

  “I care,” I said. “I care, and I want to do something.”

  “I admire you for that.”

  “Right now I’m scared. I may as well admit it. I’m scared, but I’m not going to give up.”

  “You’re trying to do too much.”

  “There’s no one else to do it,” I replied.

  “Isn’t there?”

  “Burt Reed didn’t kill her. I can’t fool myself into believing that any longer. Too much has happened. I met a child this morning—”

  I told the doctor about my encounter with Betty Murphy. He listened, his head nodding drowsily now and then, his eyelids lowered. I knew from past experience that this was his way of concentrating. He might seem to be on the verge of dropping off to sleep, but he was noting everything I said, and two or three weeks from now he would be able to quote my words verbatim if need be. Billie came in while I was talking. She mixed the drinks and set them out for us. Then she sat down, quiet, subdued, a serious and intelligent look on her face.

  “Very interesting,” Doctor Clarkson said when I finished. “Of course children make things up.”

  “I don’t think she made this up,” I said. “I believe her. She was frightened. I could see the fear in her eyes. She knows something, something impo
rtant.”

  “What do you intend to do?” he asked.

  “I—I’m not sure. I think I’ll go talk to the widow. I think perhaps I can make her see the importance of telling what she knows. Perhaps she’ll tell me what she wouldn’t reveal to the police.”

  He nodded his approval.

  “I—I have my own idea about who did it,” I said hesitantly.

  “Do you indeed?”

  “Yes. I had a most interesting encounter with Gordon Stuart this afternoon.”

  I told them both about the meeting with Gordon. I stepped over to one of the French windows and peered out, looking up at the black sky. The air was wet with mist, and the mist stung my cheeks as I stood there. The dark green curtains billowed around me. Beyond the gardens I could see the black trees bending in the wind, the limbs twisting and snapping. I wandered around the room, running my hand over the spines of the books, touching the cold black marble fireplace, talking all the while, trying to remember all that had been said and to report it accurately.

  The doctor finished his drink, and Billie poured another for him. She sat with her legs tucked under her, her hands in her lap, and I could see that she was finding it hard to contain her excitement. There was something she was bursting to tell me, and I wondered vaguely what it could be as I finished relating the conversation I had had with Gordon.

  “He threatened you?” Doctor Clarkson asked.

  “Very definitely.”

  “Hmm. Rather bold of him, under the circumstances.”

  “When I asked if he had killed her, he looked stunned—then scared.”

  “I can see why,” the doctor replied.

  “If only I knew why he wants the house so badly—”

  “Ah,” Doctor Clarkson said, smiling grimly. “I can answer that. Sit down, Emmalynn. All this prowling about gets on my nerves. I’ve got something to tell you both,” he added, nodding at Billie. “Emmalynn assures me you’re as interested in this as she.”

  “Fascinated,” Billie retorted.

  “Do you remember Lock?” the doctor asked me.

  “Albert Lock, Gordon’s lawyer? How could I forget him. He combines all the worst qualities of a grave robber and a professional mourner. He’s exactly the kind of man Gordon would have to represent him.”