The Rip-Off (16 page)

"What for?" I said. "I was willing to get out of their lives. I still am. Why should they risk a murder rap just because they hated me?"

"Well. Hatred has been the motive for a lot of murders."

"Not with people like them," I said. "Not unless it would make them something. I'll tell you, Jeff. I don't see them risking a nickel to see the Holy Ghost do a skirt dance."

He grinned. Then, again becoming thoughtful, he raised another question.

"Why is your wife so opposed to divorce, d'you suppose? I know you'll give her money as long as you have it to give, but-"

"Money doesn't seem to have anything to do with it," I said. "She was that way right from the beginning, when I didn't have a cent and it didn't look like I ever would have. I just don't know." I shook my head. "There was a little physical attraction between us at one time, very little. But that didn't last, and we never had any other interests in common."

"Well," Claggett shrugged, "Bannerman was right about one thing. A woman doesn't have to give a reason for
not
wanting a divorce."

We talked about other matters for a few minutes, i.e., Mrs. Olmstead, my work for PXA, and the prospects for suing over the condemnation of my land. Then, he went back to Bannerman again, wondering why the latter had caved in so quickly when he, Claggett, had threatened to call the Underwriters' Bureau.

"Why didn't he try to bluff it out, Britt? Just tell me to go ahead and check? He had nothing to lose by it, and I might have backed down."

"I don't know," I said. "Is it important?"

"We-ell…" He hesitated, frowning. "Yes, I think it might be. And I think it bears on the reason for your wife's not giving you a divorce. Don't ask me why. It's just a hunch. But…"

His voice died away. I looked at his troubled face, and again I felt that icy tingling at my spine… a warning of impending doom. And even as he was rising to leave, a pall seemed to descend on the decaying elegance of the ancient Rainstar mansion.

While she prepared dinner for the two of us, I cleaned up the mess Luther Bannerman had left and carried the dishes out to the kitchen. She glanced at me as I took clean silver and plates from the cupboard; asked if I was still mad at her. I said I never had been-I'd simply tried to set her straight on where we stood. Moreover, I said, I was grateful to her for the several jolts she had given my fatherin -law.

She said
that
had been a pleasure. "But if you're not mad, why do you look so funny, Britt? So kind of down in the mouth?"

"Maybe it's because of seeing him," I said. "He always did depress me. On the other hand…"

I left the sentence hanging, unable to explain why I felt as I did. The all-pervading gloom that had settled over me. Kay said she was sort of down in the dumps herself, for some reason.

"Maybe it's this darn old house," she said. "Just staying inside here day after day. The ceilings are so high that you can hardly see them. The staircase goes up and up and it's always dark and shadowy. You feel like you're climbing one of those mountains that are always covered with clouds. There are always a lot of funny noises, like someone was sneaking up behind you. And…"

I laughed, cutting her off. The house was home to me, and it had never struck me as being gloomy or depressing.

"We both need a good stiff drink," I said. "Hold the dinner a few minutes, and I'll do the honors."

I couldn't find any booze; Mrs. Olmstead apparently had finished it all off. But I dug up a bottle of pretty fair wine, and we had some before dinner and with it.

We ate and drank, and Kay asked how much Mrs. Olmstead had stolen from me. I said I would have to wait until tomorrow morning to find out.

"It really doesn't bother me a hell of a lot," I added. "If she hadn't gotten it my wife would have."

"Oh, yes. She tore up the checks you sent your wife, didn't she?"

"That's right," I said.

"Well, uh, look, Britt…" She paused delicately. "I've got some money saved. Quite a bit, actually. So if you'd like to-"

I said, "Thanks, I appreciate the offer. But I can get by all right."

"Well, uh, yes. I suppose. But"-another delicate pause. "How about your wife, Britt? How much do you think she'd want to give you a divorce?"

I told her to forget it. Connie had apparently made up her mind not to give me a divorce on any terms, and there was no use discussing it.

"I don't know why. Perhaps she has a reason, and I'm too stupid to see it. But"-I laughed suddenly, then quickly apologized. "I'm sorry, Kay. I just thought of a story my great-grandfather used to tell me. Would you care to hear it?"

"I'd love to," she said, in a tone that gave the lie to her statement. But I told it to her, anyway:

There was once a handsome young Indian chief, who married a maiden from a neighboring tribe.

She was neither fair of figure or face, and her disposition was truly ugly. Never did she have a kind word to say to her husband. Never was he able to do anything that pleased her. She was simply a homely shrew, through and through. And the tribe's other squaws and braves wondered why they remained together as husband and wife.

The days passed, and the months, and the years. Finally, when the chief was a very old man, he died. His wife laughed joyously at his funeral, having inherited his many ponies and buffalo hides, and other such wealth. And this, his wealth, was her reason, of course, for marrying him and remaining with him for so many years.

Kay stared at me, frowning. I looked at her deadpan, and she shook her head bewilderedly.

"That's the end of the story? What's the point?"

"I just told you," I said. "She married him and stuck with him for his dough. Or the Indian equivalent thereof."

"But-but, darn it! Why did he marry her?"

"Because he was stupid," I said. "His whole tribe was stupid."

"
Wha-aat?"

"Why sure," I said. "A lot of Indians are stupid. That's why we wound up in the shape we're in today."

Kay jumped up and left the table.

We all overlook the obvious.

Danger is so commonplace that we have become atrophied to it.

We wring the hand of Evil, and are shocked at the loss of fingers.

I left the dining room, pausing in the hallway to glance into the kitchen. Kay was aware of me, I am sure, but she did not look up. So I went on down the hall to the vast reception area, crossed its gleaming parquet expanse and started up the stairs.

It hadn't occurred to me before, but what Kay had said was true. The upward climb was seemingly interminable, and as shadowed as it was long. There were those strange sounds, also, like stealthy footsteps in pursuit. Sounds where there should have been none. And, due to a trick of acoustics, no sounds where sounds should have been.

I reached the landing, breathing hard, almost leaping up the last several steps. I whirled around, tensed, heart pounding. But there was no one behind me. Nothing but shadows. Cautiously, I looked down over the brief balustrade, which joined the top of the staircase to the wall of the landing.

The parquet floor below me was so distant that I would not have known that it was there had I not known that it was. So distant, and so cloaked in darkness. I backed away hastily, feeling more than a little dizzy.

I went on to my room, cursing my runaway imagination. Calling down curses upon Kay for her unwitting planting of fear in my mind. Cops should know better than that, I thought. It didn't bother cops to talk about darkness and shadows and funny noises, and people sneaking up behind other people. Cops were brave-which was not an adjective that could be applied to Britton Rainstar.

I was, at least figuratively, a very yellow red man.

I had a streak of snowy gray right down the middle of my raven locks. And I had a streak of another color right down the middle of my tawny back.

I got out of my clothes, and took a shower.

I put on pajamas and a robe and carpet slippers.

My pulse was acting up, and there was a kind of jumpiness to my toes. They kept jerking and squirming of their own volition: my toes always do that when I am very nervous. I almost called out to Kay, when she came up the stairs. Because she was a nurse, wasn't she, and I certainly needed something to soothe my nerves.

But she was miffed at me, or she would have come to me without being summoned. And if I managed to un-miff her, I was sure, what I would get to soothe me was Kay herself. One of the best little soothers in the world, but one which I simply could not partake of.

I had screwed the lid on that jar, you should excuse the expression. She was forever forbidden fruit, even though I should become one, God forbid.

I tried to concentrate on non-scary things. To think of something nice. And the nicest thing I could think of was something I had just determined not to think of. And while I was doing my damnedest not to think of her, simultaneously doing my damnedest to think of something else, she came into my room.

Fully dressed, even to her blue cape. Carrying her small nurse's kit in one hand, her suitcase in the other.

"All right, Britt," she said. "I'm moving in here with you, or I'm moving out.
Leaving!
Right this minute."

"Oh, come off of it," I laughed. "You'd get a permanent black eye with the department. As big as your butt, baby! You'd never get a decent job anywhere."

"But you won't know about it, will you, Britt?" She gave me a spiteful grin. "After I leave, and you're all alone here in this big ol' house…"

She set her bags down, and did a pantomime of what would happen to me; clawing her hands and walking like a zombie. And it was ridiculous as hell, of course, but it was pretty darned scary, too.

"… then the big Black Thing will come out of the darkness," she intoned, in ghostly tones, "and poor little Britt won't see it until it's too late. He'll hear it, but he'll think it's just one of those noises he's always hearing. So he won't look around, and-"

"Now, knock it off, dammit!" I said. "You stop that, right now!"

"… and the big Black Thing will come closer and closer." (
She came closer and closer
.) "And closer and closer, and closer- GOTCHA!"

"Yeow!" I yelled, my hair standing on end. "Get away from me, you crazy broad!"

"Fraidy cat, fraidy cat!" she chanted. "B.R. has a yellow streak, running down his spine!"

I said I'd rather have a yellow streak running down it than pimples. She said angrily that she didn't have pimples running down hers. And I said she would have when my hex went to work.

"A pretty sight you'll be when you start blushing. Your back will look like peaches flambй in eruption. Ah, Kay, baby," I said, "enough of this clowning around. Just give me something to make me sleep, and then go back to your room and-"

"I
won't
go back to my room! But I'll give you a hypo if you really want it."

"If I want it?" I said. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, I won't be here. You'll be aww-ll all-alone, with the big Black Thing. I thought you might be afraid to go to sleep aww-ll all- alone in this big ol' house, but-"

"All right," I said grimly. "We wound up our little affair, and it's going to stay wound up. You know it's best for both of us. Why, goddammit"-I waved my arms wildly. "What kind of cop are you anyway? A cop is supposed to be something pretty special!"

She said she was something pretty special, wasn't she?– managing a demure blush. I said she could stay or get out, just as she damned pleased.

"It's strictly up to you, Miss Misbegotten! My car keys are there in the top dresser drawer!"

"Thank you but I'll walk, Mr. Mangy Mane. I'm a strong girl, and I'm not afraid of the dark."

She picked up her bags, and left.

I heard the prolonged creaking of the stairs as she descended them. A couple of moments later, I heard the loud slamming of the front door.

I settled back on the pillows, smugly grinning to myself. Dismissing the notion of going downstairs, and setting the bolts on the door. It would be a lot of bother for nothing. I would just have to go down and unbolt it, when Kay came back. As, of course, she would in a very few minutes. Probably she had never left the porch.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to relax, ignoring the sibilant scratchings, the all-but-inaudible creakings and poppings, peculiar to very old houses.

I thought of the stupid Indian and his blindness to the obvious. I thought of Connie's senseless refusal to give me a divorce. I thought of Luther Bannerman, his quick admission that Connie had no insurance policy when he thought Claggett was going to check on it.

Why didn't Connie want a divorce? Why the fear of Claggett checking with the insurance company? What-

Oh, my God!

I sat up abruptly, slapping a hand to my forehead. Wondering how I could have missed something that an idiot child should have seen.

I was insured. That was what Claggett would have discovered. Bannerman had lied in saying that the insurance company had rejected me.

Why had he lied? Why else but to keep me from becoming wary, to allay any nasty suspicions I might entertain about his and Connie's plans for me.

Of course, the existence of the policy would have to be revealed in order to collect the death benefit. The double indemnity payoff of $200,000. But there was absolutely nothing to indicate that fraud and deception had been practiced to obtain the policy. Quite the contrary, in fact.

I myself had applied for it, and named Connie as my beneficiary. She had what is legally known as an insurable interest in me. And if I was the kind of guy-as I probably was-who might neglect or forget to keep up my premium payments, she had the right to make them for me. Moreover, she definitely was not obligated to make the fact known that I had the policy, an asset which could be cashed in or encumbered to her disadvantage.

If her marital status should change, if, for example, we should be divorced, I would have to certify to the change. And, inevitably, I would actually know what I had only been assumed to know-that I
was
insured. So there could be no divorce.

Connie and her father couldn't risk another automobile accident by way of killing me. Two such accidents might make my insurers suspicious. An accident of any kind there on their home grounds might arouse suspicion, and so I had been allowed to clear out.

I returned to my home. After a time, I began remitting sizable sums of money to Connie, and as long as I did I was left alone. They could wait. Time enough to kill me when the flow of money to Connie stopped.

Now, it had stopped. So now-

A blast of cold air swept over me. The front door had opened. I sat up abruptly, the short hairs on my neck rising. I waited and listened. Nerves tensing. Face contorted into a stiffening mask of fear.

And then I grinned and relaxed. Lay back down again.

It would be Kay, of course, I hadn't expected her to stay away this long. To say that I was damned glad she had returned was a gross understatement. But I must be very careful not to show it. Now, more than ever, Kay had to be kept at a distance.

After all, I had promised to marry her-when and if I was free. And Connie's attempt to murder me was a felony, incontestable grounds for divorce.

Kay would undoubtedly hold me to my promise. Kay was a very stubborn and determined young woman. Once Kay got an idea in her head, she would not let go of it, even when it was in her own interests to do so. Maybe it was a characteristic of all blushing redheads. Maybe that was why they blushed.

At any rate, there must be no gladsome welcomes between us. Noting that might develop into intimacy.

Perhaps I should pretend to be asleep, yes? But, yes. Definitely. It would show how little I was disturbed by her absence. It would throw figurative cold water on the hottest of hot-pantsed redheaded blushers.

I closed my eyes and composed myself. I folded my hands on my chest, began to breathe in even measured breaths.
This should convince her, I thought. Lo, the Poor Indian, at rest after the day's travail. Poor Lo, sleeping the sleep of the just
.

Kay finished her ascent of the stairs.

She came to the door of my room, and looked in at me.

I wondered how I looked. Whether my hair was combed properly, and whether any hair was sticking out of my nose. Nothing looks cruddier than protruding nose hairs. I didn't think I had any, but sometimes it shows when you are lying down when it would not show otherwise.

Kay crossed to my bed. Stood looking down at me. My nose twitched involuntarily.

She had apparently been running in her haste to get back to me. She had gotten herself all sweaty, anyway, and she stank like hell.

I am very sensitive about such things. I can endure the direst hardships; my Indian heritage I suppose. But I can't stand a stinky squaw.

I opened my eyes, and frowned up at her.

"Look, baby," I said. "I don't want to hurt your feelings, but-b-bbbbbbb-uht-"

It wasn't Kay.

It wasn't anyone I had ever seen before.