Cover-Up Story (17 page)

‘I'll try,' I said. In ancient times, messengers had been slaughtered for bearing less unwelcome messages. ‘Do you mind if I break it to him gently?'

‘Do it any way you like, boy,' Eugene said. ‘Just make sure it's loud and clear. We don't want him bothering us any more. We've had it. We're on our own now.'

‘Fine,' I said. ‘Congratulations. Count on me for a silver fish slice – or something.'

He smiled at me. He looked taller now, more self-assured. It was a phenomenon I had noticed before. With his teeth in, and Crystal by his side, perhaps he could stay that way. If Bart could be kept from interfering.

‘You know,' he said conversationally, ‘once upon a time, I actually took a degree in music. Oh, not in any college you'd recognize, I expect. Just some cornpoke little place that called itself an Institute of Learning. But it was a genuine degree.' He grinned. ‘Maybe, someday, I'll compose a symphony.'

‘I'd like to hear it,' I said.

‘Maybe you will.' He grinned again, turned, then hesitated and turned back.

‘Meanwhile,' he said, ‘like they say, “Mention my name in Cheboygan – but don't tell them where I am.” ' Then they were gone.

But I had received the message. I wouldn't tell Bart where they were. For one thing, I couldn't. They hadn't told me where they were going.

NOT BEING ANXIOUS to deliver the message about Crystal, I found it easy to develop a guilt complex about neglecting our other clients. True, they weren't very well paying, but they might be some day. And a little more publicity might help them towards that happy time. I spent the rest of the day working on their behalf.

In any case, Uncle No'ccount had given me permission to break the news gently to Bart. If I stayed away long enough, it might seep through to him by osmosis. You couldn't get gentler than that.

The telephone began to ring in the cold grey light just before dawn. After lying there for a few moments, thinking of the things I'd say if it turned out to be a wrong number, I dragged myself out of bed.

But a telephone ringing in the night has an urgency all its own. I nearly collided with Gerry, who had also put on a last-minute spurt to answer it.

‘Makes you long for the good old days when we were disconnected for lack of payment, doesn't it?' Gerry asked, picking up the receiver.

‘Now see here,' he said firmly. ‘Suzette moved eighteen months ago. I do wish you'd try to spread the word. We're tired of you and the rest of her friends. This is a respectable business establishment these days.'

The voice on the other end of the line was terse and loud. I had no trouble hearing the words.

‘Get over here,' Sam said. ‘Quick. Lou-Ann took too many pills.'

‘She shouldn't of done it,' Bart moaned, pacing the room like a caged panther. ‘She shouldn't of done it.'

Sam appeared briefly in the bedroom doorway, looking haggard and harassed. ‘The doctor's with her,' he said. ‘She'll pull through – if there aren't any complications.' ‘Complications!' Bart swung on him, gripping his shirt front and pulling Sam to him. ‘What do you mean – complications?' It was a good act, but he was overdoing it.

‘How do I know? Do I look like a doctor?' Eyeing Bart with cold loathing, Sam detached himself from Bart's grasp. ‘How did this happen, anyway? I thought you were supposed to be looking after her.'

‘I can't watch her
every
little minute!' Bart flung his arms out wildly. ‘I told her to give me those pills. I never wanted her to have them at all. She was jest too wrought-up. Accounta her Maw an' all. An' she was even worse yesterday – because we was gonna shoot the pilot tomorrow. I mean, today.'

Gerry and I were watching him nearly as coldly as Sam. Bart obviously felt his audience wasn't with him. ‘Doc! Doc!' He lurched brokenly towards the doorway, seeking more receptive material. ‘Doc, how is she?'

‘I'll speak to you later.' The doctor closed the door firmly in his face. It looked as though we had yet another resignation from the Fan Club.

‘Shouldn't we be doing something?' Bart wheeled back towards us. ‘Ain't there
nothin'
we can do?' He flicked a snakelike glance at me. ‘We sure could use that little gal o' yours now – to go an' fetch us some coffee.'

‘What's the matter with Room Service?' I asked.

‘They've sent coffee up once,' Sam said hastily. ‘We don't want them to pay too much attention to what's going on here. We don't want any publicity about this.'

‘Hell, no!' That was at least one point on which Bart and Sam agreed. ‘That's what I said – we sure could use that little gal o' yours right now.'

‘She doesn't work after five o'clock," Gerry said. ‘She's only a kid, you know.' I saw him remember, too late, that that was Penny's main virtue in Bart's estimation.

‘Who discovered what had happened?' I asked.

‘I came by,' Sam said, ‘to talk over a few points before we started filming the pilot tomorrow . . .'

‘It's today now,' Bart put in. ‘I sure hope Lou-Ann will be able to make it. What a terrible, terrible thing to happen right just now.'

I bit back the impulse to ask him when he would have liked it to happen. Gerry and I exchanged glances, then crossed to the sofa and sat down. Sam and Bart might be willing to spend the rest of the night on their feet, pacing about; but, with all due respect to the lady, Gerry and I were not so involved with Lou-Ann as they were.

‘I wanted to talk to Lou-Ann, too.' Sam turned to face us. ‘So we knocked on her bedroom door. And when we couldn't rouse her –'

‘I went in,' Bart declared. ‘I'da broke the door down, if I'd had to.' He seemed to wait for applause that didn't come, then went on quickly. ‘I went in. She was sleepin' jest like a baby, 'cept she wouldn't wake up. So, Sam here –'

‘Our Hero tiptoed out,' Sam said bitterly, ‘telling me we shouldn't disturb her. I looked in, and called the doctor quick.'

‘
I
was gonna call the doctor,' Bart said indignantly. ‘You jest didn't give me a chance. I called everybody else, didn't I?'

‘You always do,' Sam said.

The doorbell shrilled sharply. Bart leaped to answer it. ‘Shhh,' he said, as the Cousins filed into the room. At their best, presuming I had ever seen them in that state, they had always seemed almost a subhuman species. Now, blue-jowled, narrow-eyed and grunting, they were pure Neanderthal, ready to crouch beside a flickering watch-fire and gnaw the raw meat off some dinosaur bones before going out to bash a few heads in.

To Bart, they were a welcome audience, however. Hardly pausing to close the door, he launched into his act. ‘Boys, it's jest terrible,' he said. ‘You won't hardly believe this. Our poor little Lou-Ann has took an overdose of them sleeping pills.'

Cousin Zeke yawned hugely. ‘Too bad,' he said, after waggling his jaw to make sure he hadn't dislocated it.

‘Well, we all gotta go
some
way,' Cousin Ezra said.

‘She was a real nice gal.' Cousin Homer tried for a more human touch. ‘We're sure gonna miss her.'

‘Miss her?' Bart demanded indignantly. ‘What the hell you talkin' about? She ain't dead.'

‘If she ain't,' Cousin Ezra said, ‘then why'd you drag us all over here?'

It was a fair question, but it seemed to infuriate Bart. ‘Because, God damn it! – I thought you'd want to know.'

‘Sure we do, Bart,' Cousin Homer said. ‘But morning woulda been time enough. Seeing as nothing really happened. We didn't get to bed till late, what with rehearsing for tomorrow, and all.'

‘It's today!' Bart snapped. ‘Today! And she plays this damfool trick. Now, what are we gonna do?'

‘Postpone it?' Cousin Zeke suggested helpfully.

‘Hell, no!' Bart shot him a murderous glance. ‘You think our little Lou-Ann would want
that
? She's a Trouper – like her Maw before her. The one thing they always said to me was, “The Show must go on.” An' that's jest what we're gonna do – go on. It's only the first show we're filming today. Won't make no difference if she misses that.' He glanced sideways at Sam. ‘Like, maybe we can mention her a coupla times – give her a big build-up, so next show she comes on and there's an audience all waiting for her.'

Reluctantly, Sam nodded. ‘The studio is booked, all the technicians will be there, we're on a tight budget. If she can't make it, I'm afraid that's what we'll have to do. We might be able to cut her scenes in later.'

‘Why, shore, it's only plain old common hoss sense,' Bart agreed. He shrugged deprecatingly, but there was a glint of satisfaction deep in his eyes.

I rose to my feet, abruptly and instinctively. Then felt immediately foolish. There was nothing I could challenge him on. So, I didn't like the look in his eye. You can't hang a man for the look in his eye. It jest plain isn't evidence.

Bart looked at me expectantly. ‘Er ... I thought I'd see how Lou-Ann is coming along,' I said lamely.

‘Me too.' He moved towards the bedroom doorway with me. ‘I sure am worried about that little gal.'

I thought it would serve him right if I were sick on the carpet and the cost of taking it up and cleaning it were added to his bill. But a lifetime of training as an English gentleman prevailed, and I smiled weakly and let him accompany me.

He stalked up to the bedroom door, threw it open, then hesitated. ‘You better ask,' he said, evidently remembering the doctor's treatment of him.

I looked in. Lou-Ann was sitting up, wrapped in a blanket. She lifted her head and smiled wanly at the sound of Bart's voice, but the doctor hurried across to the door and shut it again. He didn't bother to say anything. He didn't need to. The one exasperated look he gave us was enough.

‘I think we'd just be in the way in there,' I said.

Bart shrugged. He peeled off and began circling the room in a smooth, loping stride, like a jungle cat pacing its cage. I sat down, but couldn't keep my eyes away from him. Neither could the others.

The sky was lightening outside. The Cousins slumped in chairs, yawning and semi-comatose. Sam chainsmoked, standing by the fireplace. Gerry leaned back against the cushions, his eyes half closed. But we were all watching Bart. It was like the black hush before a storm broke with ferocity.

Meanwhile, I had a slight brainstorm of my own breaking. It had something to do with Bart's insistence that the show must go on – without Lou-Ann – and something to do with a crack Bart had made a few days ago, which had sunk to the bottom of my subconscious without fully registering. He'd snarled something about Sam's having thought the show could go on without anyone
but
Lou-Ann.

But Sam had never told Bart that, he'd have done everything in his power to keep Bart from suspecting he'd been slated to be dumped. Sam had told
me,
however. And I, like a fool, had told Maw Cooney. Maw, who could have qualified for one of the original members of Blackmail, Incorporated. Very shortly afterwards, Maw was dead. And now, Lou-Ann had taken an overdose.

But there was still no evidence.

Bart stopped pacing abruptly. The effect was like a clap of thunder. We all sat up straight. Bart glared around the room menacingly.

‘Where
is
everybody?' he demanded.

I discovered I was going to enjoy this, after all. I sat back and waited.

The Cousins looked blank. Or blanker than usual. Sam lit a cigarette from the stub of another, pausing only to gnaw at a fingernail he suspected of growing. It must be unnerving to be solely responsible for steering a potential several-million-dollars-worth of gelignite. And the road was getting bumpy.

‘Come on,' Bart snarled at them. ‘Come on – where is she? Where's Crystal? And where's Uncle No'ccount?'

‘We don't know, Bart,' Cousin Homer said placatingly. ‘We thought they must be with you. They most always are.'

‘Well, they ain't. You can see that, can't you? Now, where the hell are they?'

‘Maybe they're on the way,' Sam suggested. ‘It isn't easy to find a taxi at this hour of the night – morning.'

‘And maybe they ain't comin' at all,' Bart snarled. Sam's eyes appealed to me to say something helpful. Bart intercepted the signal and whirled on me. ‘What do
you
know about this?'

‘As a matter of fact,' I said, ‘I don't believe they
are
coming.'

‘You don't believe they
are
coming,' he mimicked me. ‘Why don't you believe it, boy?' He advanced on me menacingly. ‘You better tell me now, 'cause I intend to
know.
'

‘Eugene sent a message.' I
was
enjoying this. Whether I would continue to do so depended on how much nearer Bart came, and what he would do when I gave him the message.

‘Well?' he said. ‘I'm listening.'

‘Eugene found a flat. He and his wife have moved in. He said they're tired of ...living in hotels.'

‘He did, did he?' Bart's eyes narrowed dangerously; he was a tiger about to pounce. ‘An' what does he think he's gonna do for a job? How's he gonna support her, like I done all these years?'

‘He realizes he may be out of the act,' I said. ‘I don't believe it matters very much to him. In any case –' it was another dart in the side of a wounded jungle cat – ‘he'll do quite well from his royalties from all those songs, won't he?'

‘You know, boy –' the eyes were slits now – ‘I could do real good without you.'

Sam moved forward nervously. ‘Now, now, we don't want to be too hasty. I mean, we're already going to be one short, shooting the pilot – we can't have Uncle No'ccount missing, too. We can sort these difficulties out later.' He appealed to Bart desperately. ‘The Show Must Go On.'