They All Ran Away. Edward Ronns
something. I think you’re sheltering Malcolm Hunter, because he owns you, body and soul, like he seems to own everybody up here.”
“And he owns you,” Straehle sneered. “You’re working for him, aren’t you?”
“Up to a point.”
“With Mal Hunter, you go all the way with him, or you go down the drain. Which is exactly why you ought to be making tracks for the railroad station, Forbes. Go back to town and tell that soft-headed Jan Hunter that Mal won’t thank him for interfering.”
“Then I get no help from you?” Barney asked.
“You get the boot, snooper.”
“Well, thanks for your courtesy,” Barney said.
He went out.
The door slammed violently behind him.
Barney walked thoughtfully across the square, with its bench-warmers and pigeons and squirrels. The fat man and the nervous man appeared behind him. They looked unhappy about their job. He was angry enough to double back and confront them, but it would be interesting to give them rope. He walked on with his thoughts, frowning in the hot sun.
It was ten o’clock in the morning. He found a garage and was sent from there to a Chevrolet agency and rented a small tan coupe, two years old. He took his time inspecting it. The fat man stood wearily in the shade of an awning across the road; the young, nervous one disappeared. When Barney thought he had given them enough time, he closed the deal and drove north out of Omega.
He followed the shore of the lake. The asphalt road became gravel, then a simple dirt trail that wound along the pine-clad peninsulas that thrust green fingers into the aching blue water. Now and then he glimpsed a panoramic view down the length of the lake, south to the hotel. There were rustic cottages along the waterfront, with here and there a more pretentious summer home. The air seemed kissed with wine.
Behind him, in the dust of his rented car, a green sedan clung doggedly to his trail. In it were the fat man and the nervous man.
Lily would have liked Omega, Barney thought. He remembered how she had looked in a sharkskin bathing suit, golden skin glowing with health, her red mouth laughing, her gray eyes soft and gentle. The twist of pain in him was as sharp as it had ever been. It had been a dream, a fantasy, that house on the Sound, everything new and crisp, even the shining new car, that damned new car....
Stop it, he told himself.
He came at last to where the sign said Arrow Cove and turned into a rutted road that led directly to the lake shore. The other car followed, then dropped out of sight.
Alex Kane’s place was a rustic lodge, with a screened porch overlooking the lake, a small dock, and another shed building down on the rocks with a luncheonette sign on it. Barney tried to remember what he had been told about Kane—a Korean war veteran, a native of Omega, who had saved his pay, received the Bronze Star and a cluster for gallantry, came home, married the town tart, and set himself up in business, catering to the boaters on the lake in summer and hunters in the fall.
The luncheonette was closed now. No vacationers in canoes or outboards crowded the dock for a coke and hamburger. Barney got out of the car, careful not to slam the door. He heard the swift trickle of water from a stream that fell white over the rock ledge behind the house and foamed into the lake. A bluebird made a flash of color against green cedars. The sky was like a crystal bubble. A squirrel scolded him as he walked to the house.
A radio crooned from beyond the screened door. Barney let himself silently into a pine-paneled kitchen where the unwashed dishes were piled high in the sink. Ashtrays overflowed with carmine-tipped cigarettes. Field mice had nibbled at a flour bag and caused a small stream of white to spill over the counter. The radio played on. He held his hand out to stop the screened door from slamming, then crossed the tiled floor.
The living room was comfortable, with large windows facing the lake for most of the wall, then yielding to a screened porch. The mountains looked unreal, far out there. On the paneled wall was a crude oil painting hung over the fieldstone fireplace. The hearth overflowed with ashes that nobody had bothered to clean up. There were bright Indian blankets over the couch. A lamp lay toppled that also had proved too much bother for someone to straighten. The empty liquor bottle beside it had been picked up once too often.
The music came from the screened porch. Barney crossed the braided rugs toward it. He heard a clicking sound and did not recognize it and then he stepped out onto the high porch and saw that the girl there was snapping her fingers in time to the music.
She wore white shorts and a bra of toweling and she lay on her back on a cot, her long, tanned legs propped up against the wall, her head hanging over the edge of the cot. Her blonde hair reached to the floor. Bracelets jangled on her wrists. Her eyes were closed and her orange mouth smiled dreamily.
“Mrs. Kane,” Barney said.
Her eyes popped open, the smile jolted into a dark circle of shock, the long legs came down and around in a flashing arc and she was on her feet, facing him.
“Cripes, you scared me!”
“I’m sorry. Perhaps I should have knocked.”
“You’re damned right you should have knocked! Look, we’re closed. No more business. Take your boat and get your beer someplace else, huh?”
“I didn’t come for beer. I want to talk to you, Mrs. Kane.”
She breathed deeply. She trembled for a moment, then reached down behind the cot and picked up a bottle, shook it, heard it tinkle to her satisfaction. Then she took a long drink from it. Then she stopped for breath and lowered her head; her pale green eyes were angry slits, and her mouth curved sullenly.
“Are you a cop?”
“I’m a lawyer, Mrs. Kane.”
“I don’t need a cop and I got less need for a lawyer. Beat it.”
“I’m looking for your husband,” Barney said.
The slitted eyes popped wide, narrowed again. “Why?”
“I heard Alex got himself killed.”
“Then you heard it right.”
“Where is he?”
“How would I know? In the woods. Up in the mountains. In the lake. I don’t know.”
“Sit down, Mrs. Kane. You’re going to talk to me.”
“To hell with you.”
“There’s no reason why we can’t be friends,” Barney said.
She studied him carefully, slowly, from head to foot. She thought about him, frowning. She looked at him again. Her laughter was sudden, thin and wiry, surprising because he expected a softer, deeper sound from her magnificent body. She shook her long blonde hair into place. Slowly, as she made up her mind, her body relaxed. She sat down deliberately, emphasizing the curve of her hip. She took a deep breath and touched her chin with the point of her finger. A smile curved the orange lips.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Barney Forbes.”
“You’ve never been here before, have you?”
“No. I’m from New York.”
“Some day I’m going to New York,” she said. “I could’ve gone before I married Alex, but I always figured that when I go it will be in real style, y’know? With money in the bank and clothes on my back to make ’em sit up and take notice of Ferne. It won’t be long now, either. I’m so sick of this place, I could spit.”
“It’s a nice place,” Barney said.
“You think so? That’s what Alex always said. He built it himself.” She forgot her provocative smile and sneered. “A regular little home-maker, that was Alex.”
“What