Chapter 3

It was dark and still drizzly when Anna made her way down toward the big house.

At the laurel hedge she met Tryon Welles.

"Oh, hello," he said. "Where've you been?"

"At the cottage," said Anna. "There's nothing I could do. How's Christabel?"

"Liz says she is still asleep-thank heaven for that. God, what a day! You oughtn't to be prowling around alone at this time of night. I'll walk to the house with you."

"Have the sheriff and the other men gone?"

"For the time being. They'll be back, I suppose."

"Do they know any more about-who killed him?"

"I don't know. You can't tell much. I don't know of any evidence they have unearthed. They asked me to stay on." He took a quick puff or two of his cigarette and then said irritably: "It puts me in a bad place. It's a business deal where time matters. I'm a broker-I ought to be going back to New York tonight-" He broke off abruptly and said: "Oh, Randy-" as young Randy's pale thin face above a shining mackintosh emerged from the dusk. "Let's just escort Miss Anna to the steps."

"Is she afraid of the famous tramp?" asked Randy and laughed unpleasantly. He'd been drinking, thought Anna, with a flicker of anxiety. Sober, Randy was incalculable enough; drinking, he might be dangerous. Could she do anything with him? No, better leave it to Tryon Welles. "The tramp," Randy was repeating loudly.

"Don't be afraid of a tramp. It wasn't any tramp killed Joe. And everybody knows it. You're safe enough, Anna, unless you've got some evidence. Have you got any evidence, Anna?"

He took her elbow and jostled it urgently.

"She's the quiet kind, Tryon, that sees everything and says nothing. But she's got evidence enough to hang us all. Evidence. That's what we need. Evidence."

"Randy, you're drunk," said Anna crisply. She shook off his clutch on her arm and then, looking at his thin face, which was so white and tight-drawn in the dusk, was suddenly sorry for him. "Go on and take your walk," she said more kindly. "Things will be all right."

"Things will never be the same again," said Randy. "Never the same-do you know why, Anna?" He's very drunk, thought Anna; worse than I thought. "It's because Michela shot him. Yes, sir."

"Randy, shut up!"

"Don't bother me, Tryon, I know what I'm saying. And Michela," asserted Randy with simplicity, "makes me sick."

"Come on, Randy." This time Tryon Welles took Randy's arm. "I'll take care of him, Anna."

Anna watched them leave. It was so like Randy to behave like that. It was in his genes and there was nothing he could do about it. The Frame men were not backward about expressing themselves, Anna thought with a smile. Brash, bold, iconoclastic-they had it all.

But sometimes it was too much. Randy was drunk, and perhaps that had a bit to do with it. Usually he was a little more considerate of those around him.

But not always.

Anna remembered that summer a few years ago when she had taken a walk in the woods, attempting to find a short-cut through the trees and heavy underbrush to the village. She had been warned that many people had been lost in the woods, and that of course merely piqued her interest.

She remembered that it was a beautiful warm day and she had taken off her cardigan as she trudged amidst the pines. She heard something, and stopped. It was a girl's laughter, light as a bell, drifting through the trees.

Anna froze, wondering who it could be. Then she heard the answering harshness of a young man's laugh-boisterous, loud, recognizable. Randy Frame was around.

She walked towards the sounds of laughter and stopped in the trees that gave onto a clearing. There, in the grass, Randy Frame stood, his arms around the waist of Carrie Wade, a neighbor girl with sparkling blue eyes and long golden hair.

He pulled her to him and Carrie came willingly, and Anna sucked in her breath and crouched behind the tree. She felt oddly warm and dizzy and she could not tear her eyes away from the erotic scene that was unfolding.

Randy's hands were busy, and within seconds Carrie stood naked in front of him, her body beautifully warm and slender in the sun. Randy quickly shed his clothing, and his firm muscular body made Anna think of a young stallion, eager for a match.

His erection was gigantic-Anna was startled by the brute size of it. Carrie merely giggled and fondled it warmly with both hands, then dropped to her knees and licked it like a lollipop.

Randy's hands grasped Carrie's head and guided her mouth to his tool, then he grinned as she opened her mouth and he worked half of his length past Carrie's lips.

Anna's breathing seemed very loud to her. She moved her hand between her legs, surprised to find herself wet and ready. She frigged herself, moaning at the delicious moment she was enjoying.

Carrie was standing now, and it was Randy who crouched in the grass. He tucked his head between Carrie's outstretched legs, his mouth on her center, and Carrie's long blonde hair caught the sun as she shook her head in pure pleasure.

Anna wondered how they could do it so openly-it seemed totally unreal to her. She was an observer, a passive spectator to life. The movements and the actions of others intrigued and excited her. But she seldom understood them.

Carrie was lying down and Anna stood so that she could see what was going on. She realized that the knee-high grass was going to obscure her vision, and she quickly studied the tree behind which she had been hiding.

Anna decided to climb it.

She felt foolish as she worked her way about ten feet up into the tree. What if they saw her? She did not have an answer for that. All Anna knew was that she must see the entire act, and she wasn't going to worry about getting caught.

Once in the tree she saw that Randy was atop Carrie, and he had worked his massive member into her. Carrie's legs pointed straight in the air, spread wide apart, and Randy's strong hands were on the blonde's shoulders, holding her in place-though Anna thought that there was little chance of the blonde going anywhere!

Anna's hands were busy. She had worked herself into a sexual lather. Her hands were moist with pleasure. She had worked her fingers past her panties and was busy frigging herself, moaning with pleasure as she watched the young lovers from her vantage point.

Suddenly she saw Carrie's legs go into spasms and then Carrie folded then around Randy's broad back and dug her heels into him. Randy laughed so loudly it seemed that he was standing right next to Anna, and then the two woodland lovers achieved an uproarious orgasm that so excited Anna that she almost fell out of the tree.

But that was a long time ago, Anna thought. Everything was simple then, fun and pure.

The house was deserted and seemed cold. Christabel was still asleep, Michela nowhere to be seen, and Anna finally told Mars to send her dinner on a tray to the cottage and returned quickly like a small brown wraith through the moist twilight.

She was alone on the silent terrace, alone on the dark path. Strange that she felt as if someone else was there. Was the bare fact of murder like a presence hovering, beating dark wings, waiting to sweep downward again?

"Nonsense," said Anna aloud. "Nonsense-" and she ran the rest of the way. She was not, however, to be alone in the cottage, for Michela sat there, composedly awaiting her.