The Hour of the Oxrun Dead (Necon Classic Horror) Page 8

  “Dederson’s decided he owes me after that debacle last night,” he said. “Seems there’s a big-deal financial meeting in the city this week, and he doesn’t trust the wire services. What with all the money that floats around the Station, he wants his man on the scene at all times to give us the straight scoop.” He grinned and shook his head. “Straight scoop. Another memorable quote from our with-it publisher.”

  She’d folded the paper carefully and slipped it into her bathrobe pocket.

  “In case you need a little help in your pursuits,” he’d said, and she’d been surprised at the disappointment in his face when she explained the conclusions she’d come to in bed. “Oh, well, I was kind of hoping we’d have a little mystery ...” He waved his hand and had turned to the door. “Never mind. Just keep the number anyway. Just in case.”

  When he’d left, the house became discouragingly larger, and the room in each of its corners too large for her to enjoy. She’d read chapters from several books, leafed uninterestedly through the Sunday paper, and when the television programs began to put her to sleep, she’d surrendered and blackened the house.

  What a waste, she thought as she lay stiffly in the darkness.

  The rain, having drummed steadily throughout the day, was virtually silent, and still there was no wind to shatter it against the windows. The rain, the day, the books, even her thoughts were all dull. And the disappointment that she felt in no longer being threatened by something she’d been trying to find — something that obviously wasn’t there was a tangible weight on her chest, and kept her awake long after midnight.

  “I know what day it is,” she said sharply, tapping a finger angrily against the Wednesday sheet on her desk calendar. “I am not a cretin, you know.”

  The middle-aged woman sitting primly opposite her desk drew her thick lips taut and puffed her overweight frame. She was wearing a worn cloth overcoat that hung unflatteringly to the tops of her tie shoes, shoes so small her feet were forced to swell and bulge over the sides. In every respect porcine, Natalie thought uncharitably, even to the thin dark moustache like bristles on her upper lip.

  “Well, you could have at least called, Nattie. I’ve been so worried about you, and you insist on not answering your telephone.”

  Natalie sighed the cry of a martyr. “Elaine, I have been busy, and tired, and I really don’t know why I should have to check in with you every other day.”

  Elaine Windsor smiled tolerantly. “It’s not checking in, dear. Sam and I just care about you, that’s all. And besides, you weren’t too tired to go to the Inn last night.”

  Last night. The house had become too small, too cramped, and without knowing why, she’d driven to the Chancellor Inn and sat alone in an upstairs booth. She’d had a Comfort sour, a few minutes of polite banter with Artemus Hall, and a careful ride home feeling oddly incomplete.

  “I ... “ And she decided again there had to be parts of her life, and preferably all of it, that Elaine was not privy to. “What can I do for you, Elaine?” she said stiffly, making a rude show of checking her watch. “I have a meeting with Mrs. Hall in a few minutes, and I don’t want to be late.”

  Elaine fussed with a tissue in her pocketbook, sniffed once and rose. “I just wanted you to know that if you need any help, we are always around. We are your friends, Nattie,” she said, suddenly leaning over the desk, her eyes dark extensions of the puffiness beneath them. “We want to help you.”

  She hesitated then, and Natalie frowned, curious in spite of her revulsion for the woman’s prying. She managed a quick encouraging smile, and Elaine beamed as though delivered a victory. “I heard you were mixing it up with the biggies last weekend.” Her expression was conspiratorial, and for a moment Natalie thought all she wanted was gossip for her friends. “You were there with that reporter fellow from the Herald, right?”

  “My heavens,” Natalie said, just barely keeping the bitterness out of her voice, “it seems like I’m the subject for a documentary or something. Don’t tell me you were following me around all that time, dear?”

  Elaine laughed, and Natalie turned to look out the side window.

  “Oh, my heavens, no. But I do have my sources, you know.” She paused. “I surely do.” Another moment, and Natalie bit her lips to keep from smiling. “I just wondered if there might be a little something going on between you two. You know what I mean.”

  It was then that she found the key to a portion of the restlessness that had dogged her over the past few months: No, she thought, there was nothing definite between her and Marc, and that, she scowled, was the trouble!

  “Elaine,” she said as she came round the desk and ushered her to the door, “I really do have a meeting, and I wish you wouldn’t worry so much. If anything comes up in the romance line, you’ll be the first to know.”

  They stood at the gallery railing and looked down at the main floor. Elaine nodded, then squeezed Natalie’s hand and left. Miriam, looking up from the desk, puffed her cheeks and tapped a finger to her temple. Natalie laughed, waved and turned as the Director’s door swung open.

  “Your company gone, Natalie?”

  Adriana Hall was virtually the same size with the same figure as Natalie, yet her bearing and conscious cultivation of her position made her seem tall, slender, and in every way the matriarch of a going concern.

  “My late husband’s sister-in-law,” she said. “She worries about me even though I’m not in the family anymore.”

  “As do we all, dear, as do we all.” She pulled a small watch from her tightly restrained bosom and glanced pointedly at it. “I think it’s time for our meeting. Shall we?” And she stepped aside to allow Natalie first entrance.

  The office was a direct and overpowering contrast to her own, and Natalie instantly felt like a girl quivering in front of the principal’s desk. Walnut and silver plaques dotted the pale green walls, a scroll from Harvard prominently centered; a thickly upholstered chair and matching divan, oval ebony desk studiously littered with letterheads and envelopes, a cabinet on top of which was a silver service, decanter and siphon. The window overlooked the small park beyond the parking lot, and the light was diffused a gentle autumn yellow.

  Adriana moved slowly to her chair and waved Natalie to the divan. “The others,” she said to Natalie’s glance at the closed door, “won’t be here. I felt a short upper level conference was in order, if you don’t mind.”

  Natalie immediately shook her head and forced her hands to remain resting on her knees rather than cringing in her lap.

  “I didn’t bring this up Monday, Natalie, because I thought the timing would be inappropriate. But I have a report from the police that you and ... and ... “

  “Clayton. Marcus Clayton.”

  “Yes, Marcus Clayton. Well, I understand that you and this Mr. Clayton were here rather late this past Saturday evening.”

  The decision to lie was made without thought. “Yes,” she said. “We were going for a drive. We passed the library and I saw a light on and I was sure I’d turned them all off when I left. I went in with my passkey and turned it off.”

  Adriana picked up a fountain pen from a stand at the front of the desk and rolled it slowly between her fingers. “The patrolman who interrupted you-”

  “There was nothing to interrupt.”

  “ — said the light had been on for some time.”

  “So? We went in the side door. He couldn’t see us through the dark glass, probably. I’d had a little too much to drink, you see, and felt a bit dizzy. I sat at the front desk for a minute.” She shrugged, smiling as innocently as she could. “There was, as I said, nothing to interrupt. Surely you know me better than that, Mrs. Hall.”

  The Director’s hesitation was just long enough to be infuriating. ‘‘I’m sure, Natalie. But I must have your word that you’ll not return to the library after hours without calling me first. The police are nervous lately, as you can well understand.”

  “Sure thing, Mrs. Hall. I’m sorry i
f I caused you any trouble.” My God, she thought, do you hear me talking, Natalie? Do you really hear this?

  “No trouble. None at all.” She reached into a drawer and pulled out a red-tagged folder. “This is the purchase order for December. Please take care of it, will you? I still have a dreadful head cold, and my brain refuses to function for more than five minutes at a time.”

  Natalie rose, took the papers and backed toward the door.

  “Oh, and one other thing. There’s been a foul-up at the college again, I’m afraid. It looks like we’ll have to do without the services of our computer time for the next few days. Would you remember to give a call to whatshisname long about Friday and see when he can get us back in?”

  ‘‘I’ll make a note of it, Mrs. Hall. And why don’t you go home and lie down?” She hoped her smile was solicitous. “The air around here isn’t exactly fresh, you know.”

  Adriana placed her long fingers to her brow and nodded. “I think you have struck upon the proper formula, Natalie. Just a little more here and then I’ll go. Will you be locking up tonight?”

  “Of course. No problem at all.” She opened the door, paused at the threshold. “And Mrs. Hall, I really am sorry about Saturday night. I’ll be more careful about the lights in the future.”

  The door closed as the Director swiveled her chair around to face out the window, and the quiet murmuring of the library floor intruded as harshly as a siren. Pressing the folder against her chest, Natalie leaned against the wall and stared at the bronze chain supporting the chandelier. No computer. No chance to double-check to see if she was in fact wondering about nothing at all. The idea that this might be a coincidence lodged weakly and grew until she was calmed: This wasn’t the first time the computer link had been disrupted. But there was still the interference in her private life. First Elaine, and now the Director. She thought it finally time she stopped venting her anger over the telephone.

  The police station/jail took up most of the Chancellor Avenue frontage between Fox Road and Centre Street. It was a dull marble monument to a long-dead architect who had envisioned law enforcement encased in a pseudo-Grecian temple. The front desk was manned by a sergeant Natalie had never seen, but immediately she entered he reached for an intercom and a moment later Sam Windsor came hurrying down a hall that angled off to the left. He could have been Ben’s twin except for the baldness, the ruddy jowls, and the excess weight that pressed tightly against his broad black leather belt.

  “Sam, I want to talk to you,” Natalie said, her anger stronger, fed by the deliberately slow walk from the library. “Now, if you have the time.”

  A massive hand hesitated, then clamped loosely onto her arm. “My office, then,” he said, and led her back to the hall. He made no attempts at conversation, and she noted instead the people sitting on the wooden benches that lined the freshly painted walls in the corridor. Youngsters, for the most part, sullen and trapped between parents glaring at the portraits of the Presidents spaced between office doors. As they reached Sam’s, however, she saw one old man sitting alone. His coat was shredded at the hem, his face unshaven, and a battered and filthy hat twisted endlessly in his trembling hands. He glanced up as they passed and reached out, drew the hand back when Sam glowered. Another drifter, Natalie thought sadly and wondered why they thought Oxrun Station would be any more charitable than the other towns along the highway. This one would be locked up for the night to teach him a lesson, then driven in a patrol car ten miles north or south and released with a warning. It was a distasteful job Ben had done several times, and after each one had threatened to quit.

  A man called then, and Sam, muttering apologies, returned to the front to meet a uniformed patrolman carrying a motorcycle helmet under his arm. Natalie took a short step toward Sam’s office, stopped and looked back at the drifter. A small smile, and suddenly he was on his feet.]

  “Miss?”

  The voice was low, edged with gravel.

  Natalie stepped away from the hand that stretched toward her coat. ‘‘I’m sorry,” she said with a nervous wave, “but I really don’t have any — ”

  The man flushed a yellow grin and shook his head. “Money? I don’t need it, honest. I just want to know what they’re going to do with me. I didn’t do nothing, you know. Sleeping in that there park is all.” The bristled chin dropped toward his chest. “They said I was drunk. Seeing things. Sparkles.” He looked up again and she saw the faint yellow tinge behind his red-rimmed eyes. “Don’t want to go to jail.” He jerked his head toward the others. “Not like them. Don’t like jail, you know. Can’t get away in jail. Can’t be done.”

  Natalie felt ashamedly helpless, wanting to call out to Sam and at the same time find a word that would comfort the old man’s fears. Instead, she groped behind her, turned the knob on Sam’s office door and slipped quickly inside.

  The office was stark compared to Mrs. Hall’s and the clutter here spoke more of Windsor’s work habits than the case load. When he returned a second later, she sat in a stiff-backed chair as he perched on the edge of the desk, one booted foot swinging aimlessly.

  “Don’t worry about that old tramp,” he said into the silence. “I heard him shilling you.”

  “He wasn’t asking for money, Sam.”

  “They never do. They give you the story of their lives and hope it’s worth more to you than to them.”

  “He said something about seeing things in the park.”

  The foot paused, swung again. “Pink elephants. We found him hiding behind a tree with a stick he was using for a club.” He laughed quietly and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. ‘‘I’d just like to know how they get in here.”

  “Walk, obviously,” she said, clipping the words to rebuke his lack of compassion.

  A silence, then, and the sounds of the station drifting. A brief scuffling in the corridor. Natalie hoped it wasn’t the old man.

  “So,” Sam said. “You’re mad again.”

  “And you’re right again, Sam,” she said, one hand at her throat to keep from shouting. “What’s the idea of broadcasting my daily schedule all over town?”

  “Now, wait a minute — ”

  “Shut up,” she snapped, pleased to see shock fighting the fury in his reddened face. “I am thoroughly sick and tired of all this. What I do with my evenings, mornings, and in my own bed is none of your business, Sam Windsor, and I want you to stop it right now! Today! This minute! You promised me you’d get that patrol off my back — ”

  “But I did,” he protested weakly.

  “Maybe so, but your boys on regular duty don’t know that. Jesus Christ, Sam — ”

  “Natalie!” It was more than a shout. It was a parade ground command, and she couldn’t help leaning away from its vehemence. “Natalie, you know perfectly well I can’t stand that sort of language.”

  Puzzled, she shook her head. “Since when? The last time we had a fight, you outswore the best of them, if I recall.”

  “That,” he said with a piousness that made her blink, “was swearing. Which is not, I shouldn’t have to remind you, the same as blasphemy.”

  Oh, my God, she thought, the idiot’s gotten religion.

  “Listen,” she said, keeping her voice low to make him lean closer, “all I want is to be left alone. No cops, no cars, nothing special at all. you treat me like you treat everyone else.

  “But you’re not like everyone else, Nat.”

  “What? You’re nuts, Sam. You’re really nuts. Of course I’m just like everyone else. I have no privileges in this town, and I don’t want any. And I don’t know how I can make it any clearer to you.”

  “You don’t have to.” He eased off the desk and straightened his black tie. A sudden glint of gold on his finger made her stare.

  “And since when do you belong to a lodge? I thought Elaine was death on that sort of thing.”

  He blinked uncomprehending until she pointed at his hand. Then he grinned and held the ring out for her inspection. She recognized
it instantly. It was an exact copy of the one in the shoe box-a simple gold band with a pair of ruby chips in the center; between them was an almost invisible cut of silver.

  “No lodge, see?” He withdrew the hand when she reached out for it. “I remembered Ben’s, see, and the other day I just decided I needed a little class. Cops don’t ordinarily wear this kind of thing on duty, you know.”

  “No kidding. But you must take a lot of ribbing.”

  He grinned and polished the ring against his shirt. “A little, but it helps being the Chief.”

  ‘‘I’ll bet,” she muttered just loud enough for him to hear. “But what about it, Sam? Will you please let me go?”

  He spread his hands wide. “Let you go? Since when have I made you a prisoner?”

  She stood, but resisted poking a finger at his chest. “You know what I mean, Sam. Just let me go, okay? I want your word. Now. Please.”

  “But Natalie — ”

  Exasperation closed her eyes, and there was a pounding behind them that made her grimace. “Sam, because of your so-called guardian angel act, I am in big trouble with my boss. I don’t have to tell you that I need the money to keep up the house. If I lose this job, I’ll have to move elsewhere.” She lifted her head and stared up at him. “I don’t want to leave, Sam.”

  “All right,” he said finally, and moved behind the desk as though in need of a barrier. “All right. Just don’t go and do anything foolish.”

  “Now what in God’s name — ”

  “Natalie!”

  The flush of his cheeks, the narrowing of his eyes forced her back a step. She mumbled an insincere apology and practically ran out of the office. This is insane, she thought, leaning against the wall. I never thought I’d see the day when Sam Windsor would explode at a little cussing.

  The old man on the bench was gone. She looked to where he’d been sitting and saw a smudge of dirt on the floor. Your monument, you poor slob, she thought.