Wherever Lynn Goes (19 page)

“You mustn't worry,” I told her. “Everything will be all right. The police will find him.”

“If he saw me that night he'll try to—”

“He didn't see you,” I interrupted. “If he had …”

“If he had he'd already have tried to kill me. That's what you were goin' to say, isn't it? Maybe he's just bidin' his time. He must have known I didn't tell the police anything, but now—”

She broke off, suddenly wary.

“I shouldn't have come,” she said. “I shouldn't have told anyone. I'd better go back home now, Miss Morgan.”

“I'll go with you,” I replied.

“No. I—I wouldn't want anyone to see us together.”

“I could stay with you, or you could come back to the house with me.”

“I'll be all right,” she assured me. “Ralph Burton's coming over to the cottage. I—imagine he'll spend the night.” She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “He should be arriving any time now. You go on, Miss Morgan. Do …” She hesitated. “Do what you think is best. I'll talk to the police if I have to.”

“Cassie, I wish you'd—”

“Ralph'll be with me, Miss Morgan.”

I knew that the girl was frightened, and I was reluctant to leave her, but she insisted I go. Crossing the bridge, I looked back and saw her still standing there in front of the ruined mill. She lifted her hand in a weary, defeated little gesture and, turning, vanished into the woods behind the mill. I went on down the riverbank to the path that would take me back to the house.

It was growing late now. The shadows were thicker than ever, spreading darkly over the path. I don't know why I wasn't afraid. I walked quickly, but not once did I look behind me, not once did I feel the least twinge of alarm. Some of the numbness was still there, and I felt calm, incredibly calm. It took me only a few minutes to reach the garden wall. I climbed over and hurried toward the house, intending to call the police immediately.

The phone rang just as I opened the front door. I noticed that my hand shook as I picked up the receiver. My voice sounded strangely distant when I spoke. Perhaps I wasn't so calm after all.

“Lynn? Is that you? You sound—”

“Lloyd,” I whispered. “Thank God.”

“What is it? What's wrong?”

“I—I was just going to phone the police.”

“The police! Lynn, what's happened?”

I suppose it was delayed reaction. My hand was shaking violently now, and nervous tremors seemed to shoot through my body. I sat down on the old Jacobean chair beside the phone, gripping the receiver tightly. I took a deep breath. I tried to summon control and finally succeeded, but there was still a nervous tremor in my voice as I repeated what Cassie had told me at the mill.

There was a long silence at the other end of the line.

“Christ,” he said finally. “I knew something was wrong. Right from the start.”

“I have to phone the police. They'll know what to—”

“No,” he said firmly. “I'll handle everything.” His voice was sober, deliberate. “Those local cops can't be worth a damn, Lynn. They made a muddle of it the first time, they're bound to again. I know a couple of very efficient men at Scotland Yard—”

“You don't understand. Cassie might be—”

“Don't interrupt me. Listen. I'll contact Scotland Yard as soon as I hang up. Hunter and Jamison will know exactly what to do. This thing is too big, too important to leave to the locals.”

“Lloyd, I feel I should—”

“Trust me, Lynn.”

“I do. You know I do, but—”

“You're upset. It's perfectly understandable—Christ! If only I were
there!
”

I wished fervently that he was. At the moment there was nothing in the world I wanted more than to see his handsome, solid face. I wanted to lean on him and feel his strong arms holding me tightly.

“I'll be there,” he told me. “I'll leave first thing in the morning. I'm due in court, but I'll have Stevenson take over for me. I should be arriving sometime tomorrow afternoon, latish.”

“I'll be so glad to see you—so glad.”

“In the meantime, I don't want you to say a word about this to anyone. Not a word. I'll phone Scotland Yard immediately, as soon as I hang up. They'll get on it right away.”

“Sergeant Duncan may be coming to see Mandy tonight. I—I'll have to tell him. I couldn't—”

“I don't want
anyone
to know.” His voice was sharp. “I want Hunter and Jamison to have a clear field, without any interference. They can contact the local police themselves “

“I—all right, Lloyd.”

He said good-bye, and I hung up, feeling much better, certain he would take care of everything. I looked up, startled to see Mandy standing on the stairs, a worried expression on her face.

“I've been eavesdropping, luv. When the phone rang, I started downstairs to answer it and saw you coming in. I heard everything, Lynn.”

“Mandy—”

“Let's don't talk about it right now. While you were gone I made sandwiches and brewed a pot of coffee without a single mishap. Let's eat. I'm famished. Incidentally, the electricity is working again. They must have repaired the lines sometime this morning.”

I didn't think I would be able to eat, and was surprised to find myself with such a hearty appetite. The sandwiches were delicious, the coffee rich and strong. Outside a blue haze was thickening into night, but the kitchen was cozy with the light pouring over the cracked brown linoleum and scarred wooden table. The copper pans gleamed. Mandy chattered away, trying to take my mind off things. Sergeant Duncan had come by while I was gone, earlier than expected because he had to attend a rehearsal tonight. I was rather relieved, for I couldn't be sure Mandy wouldn't say anything to him, even though I had explained about Scotland Yard. I found myself listening for a key in the back door, half expecting Bart to barge in on us as he had the night before.

“Not a sound from him,” Mandy said, reading my mind. “I suppose he's in his room.”

“That was quite a scene this afternoon. I was—horrible to him. He had a right to explode like that.”

“I shouldn't worry about it, luv.”

“So much has happened. There's so much to discuss—”

“I know, but not tonight. It's been a very long day. You look absolutely exhausted, and I feel totally done in. I think we should both get to bed early.”

I agreed with her, although I doubted that I would be able to sleep. After clearing up in the kitchen, we made a tour of the house, checking to see that the doors and windows were locked. The new latches Bart had put on looked strong and secure. We left a light burning in the hall downstairs, as well as one upstairs. Mandy said she was going to read for a while, so I took my bath first, reveling in the hot, sudsy water. It wasn't quite nine o'clock when I climbed into bed and turned off the lamp. I expected to stay awake for hours, reliving the events of the day in my mind. It seemed incredible that we had been here for little more than twenty-four hours. Was it only yesterday morning that we had set off in Brent's ancient, battered Rolls?

I must have gone to sleep almost immediately. The room was beginning to fill with light and the clock showed five when I awoke abruptly. Something had awakened me with a start. There was a sharp, piercing clamor. I realized it was the telephone ringing.

I hurried into the hall. Mandy was just stepping out of her room.

“Who in the world—”

“I have no idea. We'd better hurry.”

I moved quickly downstairs, Mandy right behind me. The telephone continued to ring, shrill, insistent. I picked up the receiver, rather breathless from the race downstairs.

“Hello.”

There was no answer, only heavy silence.

“Hello?” I repeated.

“Lynn—” It was a low, hoarse whisper. “Baby, this is Daddy—”

The shock must have registered on my face. Mandy grew suddenly tense, knowing who it was without my saying a word.

“You've come home, Baby.”

“How—how did you—” I began.

“Wherever you go, I'll be there. You've come home, Baby. At last you've come home—”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Our positions were curiously reversed. In London, I had been unconcerned about the phone calls, convinced they were made by a prankster, while Mandy had been vastly upset. Now I was alarmed and Mandy was almost nonchalant, telling me there was nothing to worry about. Someone was obviously playing a rather nasty joke, she assured me, and it would be foolish to dwell on it.

“I mean, everyone knew where we were going,” she said, “all of our crowd. It would have been easy enough for any one of them to get the number.”

“No one we know would do such a thing.”

“You think not? You don't really know some of those people. It's probably one of your rejected suitors—you turned down so many invitations, pet. I could name ten men you refused to dine with. One of them just decided to get back at you. Wounded ego, that sort of thing. Don't worry about it, Lynn.”

“It—I was so shocked.”

“Naturally. That's what he wanted. Lynn, let's get dressed and cook breakfast. Between the two of us, we should be able to manage. I couldn't possibly go back to sleep now. Neither could you.”

Listlessly I slipped into a full-gathered brown skirt and white knit sweater, putting a pair of sandals on my feet. I stood in front of the mirror, brushing my hair, and I saw the faint shadows about my eyes. The skin seemed to be stretched tautly over my high cheekbones, and I was extremely pale. I went downstairs, to find Mandy already in the kitchen, looking radiant in dark gold slacks with matching sleeveless tunic. Cheeks flushed, velvety brown eyes determined, she was surrounded by pots and pans, dark blue bowls, a dish of unbroken eggs, a hunk of raw sausage, various jams and jellies, bread. A skillet of grease was popping fiercely on the stove.

“I feel terribly ambitious,” she said brightly. “You break the eggs, I'll slice the sausage. Does that toaster work?”

“It must. We had toast yesterday.”

“Right. That grease is awfully hot. Should I just drop the sausage in or do I do something else first?”

Needless to say, breakfast was a total disaster. The sausage was the consistency of charred leather. The eggs were inedible. We ended up drinking several cups of coffee apiece and spreading strawberry preserves over toast only slightly burned. Mandy made it all seem rather festive, and I felt much better as we lingered at the table, early-morning sunlight streaming through the windows.

“Lynn.” Mandy's voice was thoughtful, rather hesitant.

“Hmmm?”

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

“Only vaguely,” I replied. “I was so young when he left for Australia, barely six years old.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

“He was large—he seemed frightfully large to me, but I guess that's because I was so small myself. He had a big face, rather gruff-looking, and dark black hair. He—he used to toss me up in the air and catch me in his arms, laughing, and then he'd hug me tightly and call me his little girl. I—I think he loved me very much.”

“Does it bother you to talk about it?”

“Not in the least. You're not going to suggest—”

“That he might still be alive and handy with the telephone? Not at all. The idea's absurd. I was just curious. It seems so strange, his going off like that, leaving you with your aunt.”

“I was heartbroken,” I said, remembering quite sharply the pain I had felt when Daphne told me he was gone. “He never said good-bye. I—I suppose he wanted to avoid an emotional scene.”

“It must have been quite traumatic for you.”

“It was. I cried for weeks. I never could understand exactly why he left, but I think it must have had something to do with some sort of business venture. He wasn't a successful man—that's why we came to live with Aunt Daphne in the first place, because there wasn't any money. I think he must have gone to Australia in hopes of making a new start. I suppose he planned to come back for me.”

“Did your aunt ever talk about him much?”

“Never. She tore up his photographs, too. I remember that distinctly. I think she was angry with him for going off like that, leaving her with the responsibility for me. She resented me, all the years I was here. She made that quite obvious.”

“Didn't your father write?”

“Oh yes. Once a month, regular as clockwork. At least she let me have the letters—most of them. Of course, she opened them and read them before giving them to me. I could read quite well by that time.”

“I know, luv, you were a regular little prodigy, whipping through the complete works of Balzac at ten. Staggering.”

“Sometimes he sent presents,” I continued, finding it strangely comforting to be talking about him. “I remember a doll, obviously handmade, with a stuffed rag body and brightly painted face. I loved that doll, kept it for years—Lord knows what eventually became of it. I seem to remember a little red box, too, quite pretty. I kept trinkets in it. I suppose Aunt Daphne threw it out years ago.”

I sighed, looking down at the empty blue coffee cup. “He died when I was thirteen. My mother, of course, had died before we ever came to Devon. It—it wasn't a bad childhood, really. I had all the books I wanted to read, a whole library full of them, and I had the woods to roam in. Aunt Daphne let me do pretty much as I pleased so long as I kept out of her way and didn't associate with any of the village children. I was lonely, but I had never known anything else.”

Mandy stood up. “You're depressing me, luv. I wish I'd never brought it up. Look at this mess! Did
we
do that? I've never seen so many pots and pans in my life. They must have multiplied while our backs were turned.”