Chapter 12
AS THEY WALKED TOWARD THE DOOR PETE happened to glance at one of the
windows on the side of the building. He wasn't positive, but he thought he saw a curtain move just a little. He nearly stopped in his tracks, but she stiU had him by the arm, so he continued on, glancing at her quickly to ascertain if she had seen the slight movement. Apparently, she hadn't, for she didn't mention it, nor did she act any differently.
Inside the lodge, he made an excuse to leave the big room and went through a doorway leading to that part of the building he had seen from outside. He found another door, but it was locked.
He rapped on it softly and thought he heard a muffled cry from within. He again tried the knob but knew it was no use. He returned to the front room and looked at the woman standing by the fireplace.
"Who else is here?" he asked abruptly. She turned, her lips parting "W-what?"
"You heard me, Emily. Who else is here? Someone is in the other room. I heard a cry."
"Nonsense. No one is here but us."
"Come off it. I know there is. Got a key to the room?"
She moistened her lips. "AU right, you found out. I was going to tell you later, after we had made love. Sandra is in the room. I locked her in." She paused. "She was getting hysterical. I had to do it."
"Let her out," he said firmly. "Right now."
"But I can't. She's very ill. No telling what she might do if I let her out. She's my kid. I don't want her throwing herself off the cliff."
"She won't do that. Let her out."
"No. It's too dangerous for her."
"I'll keep an eye on her. Let her out."
"Pete," she said passionately. "I want you. If I let her out we won't be able to make love my way."
"That can wait until she goes to sleep." Emily smiled thinly. "Is that a promise."
"That's a promise. Unlock the door and let her out."
"All right."
She picked up her purse and unsnapped it. Taking a key out of it, she stared at it, bit her lips and reached into the purse and took out a small bottle.
"What's that?"
"She needs tranquilizers. I'll have to give her a couple before I let her out."
"Okay, give them to her." A sudden thought occurred to him. "You sure they aren't sleeping pills to knock her out so you won't have to wait so long?"
"Tranquilizers, sleeping pills-what's the difference? She has to take them frequently."
"Get on with it,". he told her. "I thought I heard her cry out again."
"You're hearing things," she said. "I heard nothing." Emily walked from the room and was gone for several minutes. She returned and Pete saw Sandra with her.
"Hey," he called to her across the room. "Come here."
Sandra gave a little cry and rushed headlong over to him, throwing her arms about him and crying. He had to tell her to stop it several times before she ceased crying. She clung to him as though she was afraid he would get away from her. He glanced at Emily and saw the annoyed look on her face.
"You tell me," he said to Sandra. "Is it true we were brought here by helicopter?"
"What's the matter?" Emily shouted. "Did you think I was lying?"
"It's true, Pete," Sandra said. "That's how we got here."
"Where are the others?" he asked, meaning Harry and Helen and Jeanie. "They-"
"Shut up!" Emily yelled at Sandra. "I warned you in the room. I meant it. Shut up and stay that way."
Sandra moved away from Pete rapidly and what happened took place so fast he couldn't prevent it. The two women began fighting, Sandra pulling her mother to the floor, and the two of them pulling hair, scratching and kicking at one another. Pete swore and jumped between them, yanking them apart and shoving them aside.
"Cut that out, you two," he barked. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I hate her," Sandra cried. "Always telling me to shut up and get lost. I hate her."
"Damned little brat," Emily mouthed angrily. "You nearly pulled my hair out. I knew I should never have let you out of that room."
"She's just mad because I wouldn't let her force sleeping pills down me, Pete."
"Be quiet, both of you. Mother and daughter. You both make me sick."
Both women walked away from him going in opposite directions. Neither said anything back to him. He got the bottle and took a drink directly from it. Gong to the sofa, he sat down and had another drink. "The three of us are here. We might as well get along," he told them. "I'm damned if I'm going to listen to a couple of females scrapping, so don't start it up again." He took a third drink. "If you have any sense you'll come over and sit down and have a nice quiet drink...and stop looking like that, both of you."
It was several minutes before they came-one at a time-closer to him and sat on chairs. "Pete," Sandra said at length. "I'm sorry. I promise not to fight with her."
Emily frowned. "Don't pay any attention to her. She'll say anything to show me up."
"Don't talk like that," he snapped at her. "She's willing to get along with you. Why can't you be the same way?"
Emily shrugged. "Okay. Who wants to fight. I don't."
"Here," Pete said to Sandra. "You start it off. Have a drink. We'll call it a peace drink. Okay?"
She took the bottle from him, giggled, and drank from .it. She started to hand it back, but he told her to give it to her mother,-which she did. Emily also drank and put the bottle down. A half-hour later they had all had several more drinks and the tension in the room abated.
"Now then," Pete said. "This is a lot better." He lay down flat on the sofa, keeping his eyes on both women.
Sandra came over and sat beside him and he saw the flash of jealousy in Emily's eyes. She got to her feet and came to the sofa, also. Both women sat beside him now and he wondered what was going to happen, if anything.
Emily's sweater had come unbuttoned and Sandra not to be outdone, apparently, unbuttoned her blouse. Pete could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Rivalry between mother and daughter was a common thing, he knew, but to see it actually happening and in this manner was astonishing.
He smiled. "Shall we have a session, the three of us?"
They both smiled back at him and Sandra ran her hand up his leg. Emily took off her sweater. "There," she said. "I feel better with that scratchy thing off me."
He wanted to laugh at her-that wasn't the reason she had removed the sweater, but he knew she had to say something, perhaps for Sandra's benefit.
Sandra giggled and looked at her mother. "He's enough man for both of us, mother."
A look of fury came into Emily's eyes. "Damn you. I told you to shut up."
Pete sat up quickly. "Put your sweater on, Emily. We aren't having any session till you two can get along."
"I won't do it."
"Put it on," he said firmly, "or I'll put it on for i you.-'
She swore, but put the sweater back on and, getting to her feet, walked across the room and glanced out one of the front windows. "I shouldn't have let her out of the room. What I should have done is let her go back on the helicopter with the others."
"Sure," Sandra shouted at her mother. "Then I'd be dead, too." She turned to Pete, her brown eyes flashing. "Let me tell you what my mother did. When Harry got the helicopter in the air and over the cliff she shot him with that rifle over there. She's a good shot, must have hit him in the head. No one else could operate the copter and she knew it. It crashed down in the valley below. They're dead, all of them. My mother killed them."
Emily had turned around and was watching her daughter. "Is that true, Emily?" Pete asked.
"You want to believe her, you believe her," Emily retorted. "But you ought to know by now that you can't ever believe her about anything."
"What I said is true, Pete," Sandra said. "Please believe me. She'll end up killing both of us, too. How else is she going to getaway with her scheme to take all the money?"
"That's just nonsense and you know it, Sandra," Emily shouted.
"Shut up, both of you!" he yelled at them. "I'm getting sick of you again. Both of you."
They ceased shouting and a few moments later he said to Sandra. "If your mother shot Harry to get his money..." He stopped and rephrased it. "I mean, how could she get his money? She wasn't his wife. You are."
"I'd get the money, but she'd have control over it," Sandra said. "As my guardian, now that Harry is dead."
"I see," Pete said, and walked out the door to the outside. Apparently, Emily figured Harry would receive his share of George's stock and that she would now have it, as well as Harry's money, under her control. He wondered if Sandra's whole story was true. It was difficult to know which of them was the liar. "The hell with it," he muttered. "I couldn't care less. What I need to do is figure a way down off this damned mountain."
He stepped to the edge of the precipice and looked down. It was a long way to the bottom and he could barely see it. The trees in the valley looked as small as blades of grass. He moved about the ground looking in every direction and estimating the summit level to be about the size of a football field. At the opposite end he also looked down and saw that the valley below was just as far down. The mountain was one of several peaks and it appeared there was nothing unusual or outstanding about it to attract attention from a plane flying overhead. He knew now, if he hadn't before, that he had a real problem on his hands. A problem, that is, if what either or both of the women had said was true, and this, of course, was debatable. Obviously, the two of them took turns lying.
He had picked up Emily's cigarettes and now he took one out and lighted it. It occurred to him that if worse came to worse he could set fire to one of the several outbuildings and perhaps attract attention from forest rangers. There must be rangers around somewhere, he reasoned.
One of the outbuildings was larger than the others. He approached it, opened the door, looked inside and almost cried out in relief. There was a small helicopter in the shed and it. looked almost new. He inspected the thing for more than an hour inside and out,
wishing he knew how to operate it. The important question was, who had flown it in? Had Emily done so? It was then that he saw the two-way radio equipment. Leaving the shed, he ran back to the lodge, but when he entered he saw no one. The women must have gone to their rooms.
"Hey," he called. "Where are you?"
He repeated his call, but neither woman answered. He went from one room to the next before he happened to see the small bottle Emily had taken from her purse on a table. He picked it up and noted it was empty. Reading the label, he saw it had contained sleeping tablets.
He went to where he had regained consciousness in and opened the door. He let out a yell when he saw Sandra lying on the bed. He went to her, raised her head, slapped her face, and finally felt her pulse. There was little question about it.
She appeared to be dead.
He lowered her back to the bed and moved away from her, keeping his eyes on her bosom, hoping he would see signs of breathing. Her bosom didn't move. He found a small mirror and held it .in front of her nose and lips. He put the mirror down after a time. There was no use. He had been right in the first place-she was dead.
He straightened up, sighed deeply. Now why had she done this to herself? Committing suicide was a fool thing to do.
"Pete," he heard Emily calling. "Where are you?"
"I'm in the bedroom," he called. "Come in here. It's Sandra."
A moment later Emily appeared in the doorway. She screamed, ran to the bed and began chafing her daughter's wrists. She kept this up for several minutes, moaning and half-crying. Finally, she stopped.
She looked up at Pete. "She's been threatening to kill herself for several years. Now she's accomplished it. Poor kid."
Pete walked out of the room and headed for the bottle of whiskey. He was shaken more than he cared to admit to himself. Death was always a horrible affair and especially when it came to a young and lovely woman.
He had a few drinks and waited for Emily to come out of the room. It was perhaps twenty minutes before she did so and when she did she seemed like another person. She was quiet and moved slowly. She looked tired and Pete wondered if she had been crying-she looked as if she had.
"I'm sorry," he said gravely.
She lifted her shoulders slightly and let them drop. "I've been expecting something like this."
He waited for a few minutes and decided to tell her. "There's a smaU helicopter in the large shed. Can you fly it?"
Her eyes grew large. "What?"
He repeated his previous statement.
"Pete," she said slowly and seemingly ignoring his remark, "This leaves only you and me, doesn't it?"
"Looks that way. Can you fly the copter."
"I have flown them, not recently, however."
"Think you could?"
"I don't know. Right now I'm too upset to think. I can't believe it. Sandra is gone." Emily began to cry.
Pete turned away, not wanting to witness the scene. It seemed to him that she was sorry for her daughter a trifle too late, but he knew that this was often the way it is. No one is perfect. No one does the right thing always and at the right time.
She didn't speak to him again, so he left the room quickly and stepped outside once more. He stood there thinking and it occurred to him that he might be able to get the two-way radio to working. He could send out a call for help and it would be picked up by one of the ranger fire-tracking stations. He started toward the shed when she called to him from the doorway. He turned and went back.
"Pete," she said. "I'm willing to have a go at trying to fly the copter."
"Good girl," he said, smiling. "Do you think you can do it?"
She sighed. "As I said, I have flown them but not recently. I think I can figure it out okay."
"Good. I'll go with you."
She smiled wanly. "All right."
They started to walk to the shed together, but she stopped.
"What is it?" he said, seeing the odd look on her face.
"You'll probably think I'm crazy," she said softly, "but I can't stand leaving Sandra alone. Please go and stay with her until I see if I can manage the copter. If I get it going and think I can fly it I'll come back and get you. You see, Pete, I loved my daughter regardless of the way we fought one another."
"Sure. I understand. You go to the shed and I'll stay with her. I'll carry her to the copter if you get it going. You want me to do that, don't you?" He watched her carefully.
A tear ran down her face and she didn't reply.
"You have to stop crying," he told her firmly, "and pull yourself together. This may be the toughest thing you've ever had to do."
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and nodded much in the manner of a small child. "All right. I'm sorry, Pete. It's just that..."
"Sure. I know how it is."
"Say a prayer for me, Pete-for us, I mean. If I can't fly that thing we're in a bad spot."
"Don't I know it. All right, go ahead now. Do your best. Stay calm, whatever you do. Take your time and figure it out, if you have to."
"You'll stay with her, in the room, I mean?"
He nodded.
"Promise?"
"I promise. I understand how you must feel."
"You're a nice guy, Pete."
"If you can fly that thing I promise to ve a very nice guy-to you, Emily."
She smiled wanly again. "Thank you for saying that."
"You'd better go now. Do you feel okay, do you feel up to it, I mean?"
"As much as I ever will, Pete."
"All right."
She started to move away, stopped and turned around. "Kiss me for luck, Pete."
He went to her and put his arms about her. Her body was trembling as he kissed her. "Oh, Pete," she sighed, "maybe something good will come out of all this mess yet."
"Maybe," he said soberly. "We can try, can't we?"
"Yes," she said. "We can try, Pete." He kissed her again. "Go now," he said. "Be careful."
"I will. I'll do my best. I have to do my best," she added fiercely. "I hope I'm equal to it."
"You will be. Just think about-us."
She kissed him and ran toward the shed.
He reentered the house and went directly to the room where Sandra lay. He saw that her mother had pulled a sheet over her body, covering her completely. He was glad of this. He didn't want to sit and stare at a dead girl's face.
It seemed a long time before he heard the first sputter of the copter. It seemed even longer before he heard the motor roar to life. He listened intently for several moments, then gingerly picked up the dead girl and carried her out of the lodge. The roar of the copter's motor was much louder now. He saw she had gotten it out of the shed. He felt a wave of exultation flow through him as he stood holding the body of Sandra and watching Emily's attempt to get the copter off the ground.
The copter lifted evenly. It was now ten or fifteen feet off the ground and hovering in that spot.
"She did it!" he almost screamed. "She can fly the thing!"
He broke into a half-run.
The noise of the copter motor increased in volume. The machine lifted higher.
"Hey," he yelled at Emily. "That's enough of a trial run. Bring it back to the ground, baby." Pete felt like a million dollars at seeing the machine actually in the air.
That is, he did for a minute or two.
Three minutes later he didn't feel like a million dollars. He felt like a man condemned to a slow, agonizing death.
The copter rose higher and higher and" then forward until finally it disappeared from view.
Pete ground his teeth, put the dead girl on the ground, strode angrily to the shed and proceeded to set fire to it. In ten minutes the shed was a roaring inferno, flames and smoke shooting high into the sky.
"That should bring someone looking for me," he said quietly, and somehow he knew it would. That murdering female needed to be taken care of and Pete Drake was just the guy who could do it.