Маргарет Миллар - Do Evil In Return

He picked up the key ring first. “I’m poison to you, eh?”

“No. Not poison.” A jackknife, a gun, foam.

“You won’t be making any calls tonight. I’ll put your car away for you and bring your luggage into the house.”

“No! I won’t let...”

“What’s the matter? Is there something in the house you don’t want me to see?”

“No.”

“Ballard, perhaps?”

“There’s nothing in the house,” she said contemptuously. “Come in and see. Snoop all you want to.”

“Since you put it so charmingly, I will.”

He got her week-end bag out of the car while she unlocked the front door.

She turned on all the lights in the sitting room: “There. See anything?”

“No.”

“No guns or b — bodies?”

He looked at her quizzically. “I hardly expected to find any guns or bodies. Just Ballard.”

“Why do you want to see Lewis?”

“For one thing, his wife reported him missing this morning.”

“Missing? Lewis?”

“But that’s just one thing. There are other things... Where is he?”

“I don’t know. And if Lewis wants to go away, it’s not my business, and it’s certainly not yours, Mr. Easter.”

“You might be surprised.”

“You have nothing against Lewis except that I love him.”

“The way I feel, that’s plenty to have against a man. Even if it were all.”

His intensity disturbed her. She didn’t know what to say or do. She stood near the door, her hat and gloves still on, her handbag under her arm. She said finally, “Sit down and I’ll find something to drink.”

“I’ll stand, thanks. I feel more like a policeman when I’m standing and less like a guy calling on the woman he loves. I’m both. But right now I’m standing. Where’s Ballard?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since the night before last at dinner-time. I told him I was going to drive up to Oregon.”

“Did you tell him why?”

“Yes.

“And he didn’t want you to go?”

“He didn’t care.”

“You’re lying.”

“He didn’t care much.”

“Plenty.”

“Stop beating around the bush like this,” she said passionately. “If he cared at all, it was because the trip meant that I wouldn’t see him for a couple of days. What other reason would he have for caring whether I went to Ashley or not?”

“I can think of several.”

“You. You can think of anything against Lewis. He told me that’s what you were — a troublemaker.”

“That’s what I am.” He lit a cigarette. There was no draft in the room. The smoke moved directly, purposefully, to the ceiling. “By the way, I have news for you about Voss and Eddie.”

She felt the blood draining out of her face. She turned and began taking off her gloves and her hat, fussing with her purse — any kind of quick movement to distract his eye from her pallor.

“They’ve disappeared. Sunk without a trace. I’m a little disappointed about losing them. I was hoping to ask Eddie a few questions about where he got the money to buy his new car.”

You can still ask him. But he won’t answer.

The telephone began to ring. She looked towards it, dazedly, as if she’d never heard a phone ring and was surprised that the curious black object could make such a noise.

“Answer it,” Easter said. “Or I will, if you like.”

“No. No, I will.” She crossed the room and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Dr. Keating, it’s me, Gwen Ballard. I’ve been trying to get you all day. Miss Schiller kept telling me to phone Dr. Blake. But I wouldn’t. I said, no, Dr. Keating’s my doctor, I won’t see anyone else.”

Charlotte glanced over her shoulder at Easter. He hadn’t moved, but his body was tense as if every nerve cell was straining to help him hear what was being said at the other end of the line. She put her hand over the receiver and said, “This is a private call from one of my patients. You wouldn’t be interested.”

He didn’t speak, just looked at her, unblinking.

She took her hand away from the receiver. “Is there anything the matter?”

“I’ve had another attack.” Gwen’s breathing was labored, her voice faint and tremulous. “I’m alone. I’m afraid.”

“There’s nothing to worry about Take it easy and...”

“I must see you. Please come, Dr. Keating — Charlotte — I must talk to someone, a friend.”

A friend. Gwen, alone and in terror, calling to her, of all the people in the city, as a friend. Charlotte felt a nausea rising from her stomach, souring her throat “Has anything happened?”

“He tried to kill me. Yes! He tried to kill me! He said he hated me, he’d always hated me!”

The pitch and volume of Gwen’s voice had risen. Charlotte saw that Easter had heard, not the words perhaps, but the notes of hysteria. She had to quiet Gwen before Easter got suspicious. She said, “I’ll be right over. Ten minutes.”

“Oh, thank you, Dr. Keating, thank you.”

Charlotte replaced the phone. “I have to make a call.”

“So I heard.”

“If you’ll excuse me now...” She looked pointedly towards the door.

Easter raised one eyebrow. “You want me to leave?”

“It’s customary.”

“Suppose I like it here. It’s cozy and warm, and I expect Ballard to call.”

His reaction was something she hadn’t foreseen. She’d thought he would leave when she did, giving her a chance, later, to plan what to do about Voss and O’Gorman. There was no way of forcing him to leave except — and the irony stung — to call the police.

Silently, she picked up her hat and purse and went out the door. She didn’t look back, and Easter didn’t speak.

As she backed her car out of the driveway she saw that she had made a fatal error.

In her hurry to close the garage door when she heard Easter’s car, she had forgotten to turn out the light. Its beams shone gaily out of the little window at the side of the garage, as if inviting anyone to come in and see for himself.

Nine o’clock. An offshore wind was blowing and the palm trees cringed and leaned away from it, waving their frantic arms.

The Ballard house couldn’t be seen from the street. It appeared suddenly, at a curve in the cypress-lined walk, a handsome house of oiled redwood set in a formal garden. Charlotte had always disliked this garden. The flower beds were too meticulously planned; they seemed to have no connection with nature any more. They were Gwen’s and not the earth’s. The lawn, too, was so immaculate that it was impossible to imagine real people walking on it.

And real people never did, Charlotte thought. The lawn wasn’t to be walked on, but to be admired from the dining alcove or from the picture window in the living room. Even the collies, whom Gwen loved best, were not allowed on the grass. They had their own yard behind the house, fenced runways and miniature houses and a brooder for the bitches with new pups.

A light was kept on for them all night. Charlotte could see several of the dogs watching her cautiously through the wire fencing, their tails half raised, as if they weren’t sure yet that she was a friend.

She spoke to them softly and one of the tails began to wag, slowly, with dignity, like a feathered fan waved by a condescending duchess.

The other dogs, Gwen’s three favorites, were upstairs with her in her bedroom. They lay beside her bed, a protective phalanx. Gwen had told them to lie down and they had obeyed; but their eyes were restless, they followed Charlotte’s every move, they searched Gwen’s face for reassurance, and now and then the big sable-colored male let out a whimper like a child.