Chapter 11
Mike awoke slowly. He fought his way up through a thickness of heavy cotton. Finally awake, he lay with his eyes closed for several minutes. He tried to get oriented, and when finally he opened his eyes, he was surprised and it took him several more minutes to remember where he was and why he was there. As he remembered he sat up swiftly in the bed. The room felt hot. Mike dripped with perspiration.
He turned to look at Elly and was startled to see that the girl was not in the bed beside him. Nervously he looked around the room. The bathroom door caught his eye and he saw that it was wide open. She wasn't in there and there was nowhere else in the small room to hide. The little kitchenette was on the other side of a small room divider, but he saw no indication of her in the kitchen. Curiosity mixed with apprehension inside of him. He swung out of bed and got to his feet. Unaccountably, his head pounded and he winced, bringing his hand up to rub at his forehead. He noted his watch as it rested on the beside table. It was nearly ten o'clock. His lips pursed in a soundless whistle. He seldom slept that late in his entire life and he was faintly surprised that he could sleep that well with the actions of the past evening behind him. He wiped beads of moisture from his forehead and crossed the room to open the window.
But where the hell was Elly? Ignoring the pain in his head he quickly pulled on his clothes and trudged to the open door of the cottage. He peered out into the bright sunlight and had to squint against the strong morning light. The shock of the sunlight increased the pounding in his head. Shielding his eyes with his hand, Mike looked down the long driveway toward the road and was relieved to see Elly coming toward him with a large bag in her arms. He felt the mad trip hammer in his head lessen its beat somewhat. When she got closer and could see the doorway Elly raised one arm to wave and the bag she carried tumbled from her grasp. Mike relaxed a little. As he ran forward to help, he saw that she had a large quantity of food in the bag.
"I thought I'd get some groceries while you slept," she said.
Mike bent down to help her with the spilled contents of the sack. He was pleased to note that her voice was pleasant. Friction between them now could be dangerous.
"I wondered what had happened to you," Mike admitted.
He gathered together the items that had spilled and bundled them in his arms. Elly managed the rest and they returned to the cottage.
They deposited the groceries in the small kitchen.
"I'm surprised that you thought of food so soon," Mike told her.
"No need to go hungry after all," Elly said brightly. She busied herself with the preparation of something to eat.
"I'm not really hungry."
"I should think you would be. When was the last time you ate?"
"I'm sure I should be," Mike said tolerating Elly's seeming innocence, "but after last night it's hard to get excited about food. Besides, I have a rotten headache."
"You'll feel better after you eat something."
Mike chose not to reply. There was no sense in creating anything to argue about now. He watched in amazement as Elly worked in the kitchen. They were both running from the police because he had killed her husband the night before and she was now preparing his breakfast as if this were the first morning of their honeymoon. But he felt better now, only a faint trace of the headache remained. It would be over soon.
They would make their plans this morning and head back for the city as soon as they could. He continued to watch as Elly broke several eggs into a frying pan that the management had provided. He wished that he had a newspaper to read. He glanced around the cabin, but could not locate a radio. He was anxious to hear about what was going on back in the city. Farris's murder would have raised a big stir. The thought occurred to him that Farris might not even be dead. Perhaps their flight had been premature. He jumped at the thought. Could Elly and Underwood have been mistaken? The momentary elation faded. Hardly. The police had been there. They would have made sure.
"Once over?" Elly asked.
"Huh?" Mike was lost in his own thoughts.
"Your eggs, silly."
"Oh. Right," Mike replied. "You know we can't sit around here all day like this as if nothing has happened."
"But what can we do?"
She set a plate of eggs in front of him.
Mike ignored his breakfast.
"All we really need is a good story for the police. Then we go back to town. We don't have to worry about being together. I don't mind being known as your lover as long as no one thinks I also killed your husband. If we can provide each other with an alibi and if no one can directly tie me to the hotel when Allan was killed all we have to do is wait it out. It won't be fun. They will come down on us hard. We will be prime suspects. But they won't be able to prove anything. And when it dies down we have the money. And..." Mike stopped. Suddenly it occurred to him that the half million was now nearly ten million dollars. Elly would get it all. If, he reminded himself, she was not tied to the murder..
Elly nodded as if she was able to read his thoughts.
"That's right darling," she said. "Now I get it all." Her voice was strange. It was distant, vaguely taunting.
Suddenly Mike was wary of the look in her eyes.
"If I'm not tied to you darling. If they never think that I had anything to do with Allan's death all of that lovely ten million dollars is mine." She smiled at Mike, but there was no warmth in her smile. Her face was a death mask.
The headache that had lessened was back now in full force pounding at the inside of his head. He had no appetite for the eggs and pushed them away from in front of him.
He rose to his feet.
"I'm going out for a paper," he said.
Elly's voice was oddly soft when she responded.
"That's not necessary, darling. I already got one. It's on the bottom of the grocery bag."
Mike threw her a look of surprise.
"Damn," he muttered. "Why the hell didn't you say so."
Hastily he grabbed the bag. The paper tore as he pulled it from beneath the pile of cans that were piled on top of it. His fingers shook. Elly got up from the table and busied herself with the contents of her suitcase.
Mike spread the torn paper on the table before him. The morning edition had nothing about Farris on the front page and he turned to the second main page.
The bold headline jumped out at him and it seemed as if his heart stopped beating for a moment. He had difficulty catching his breath. For a long moment he could not think. His brain just refused to function. Dimly he was aware of the sweat as it broke out on his body even though the room was now cool.
Finally, he was able to read the headline again, scarcely allowing himself to believe what he read.
It read: MILLIONAIRE ALLAN FARRIS FOUND SHOT TO DEATH IN DOWNTOWN HOTEL
It took several more minutes for the full significance to sink in. For a moment Mike felt elated. One word captured his attention. Farris had been shot. All that Mike had done to the man was to strike him on the head with the barrel of the pistol. But as quickly as the elation came it vanished and in its place came the icy finger of fear. Someone else had killed Farris. And whoever it was was going to be very happy to let Mike take the full credit for the murder. And in a painful moment Mike now knew that there was much more going on than he was aware of. This was not a spur of the moment thing that he had stumbled on. He had been set up.
A flash of anger and excitement struck him as he suddenly had vivid memory of the car with the short wave antenna jutting out from under the hood. Wes Underwood.
Mike looked up at Elly. She had turned from her suitcase and facing him. His headache was causing a faint buzzing in his head and his. eyes would not focus correctly. He shook his head and his eyes cleared, but his head still pounded.
"Elly," he said, his voice weak and trembling as he got a better grip on himself. "Elly, read the paper."
He held it out to her, but she made no move to take it.
"I've read it. I read it while I had coffee in a little shop down the road."
"But why didn't you tell me. It says that Allan was shot. I didn't shoot my pistol."
"I know that," Elly said flatly. "But the police don't, do they?"
Mike gagged. A wave of nausea passed through his body. The goddamn headache. His senses were muddled.
His thinking was slow and confused. This made no sense.
"I didn't kill Allan," Mike said, his voice shrill.
"Of course not, darling." Elly smiled. "Can you guess who did?"
"Elly..." Mike gasped and started to his feet.
"Sit still," Elly commanded sharply and for the first time Mike was suddenly and painfully aware of the small pistol that she held clenched in her small fist.
"Sit down," she said again.
Mike returned to his chair unsteadily. He stared at her for a moment and slowly nodded his head. She just sat there with the pistol trained on his chest. She held it steady with small barrel opening never wavering for an instant.
And finally it all became clear to Mike. Too late, much too late. But somehow now that things were out in the open he began to feel better. The newspaper headline had unnerved him. It was the final shot that had brought him to his knees. For a moment his will had crumbled. His nervous system had ceased to function until he could get back to a more familiar orientation. Now as Mike sat opposite Elly and they stared at each other he struggled to keep the same bewildered look on his face so that she would feel more at ease while his mind raced with a thousand possibilities.
Gone now was the biggest mystery of all. Gone was the wonderment at why Elly had chosen him to share the money. She had chosen him, not to share, but because he would make a good patsy. Silently he cursed himself for his foolishness, foolishness that now might cost him his life.
He needed time desperately.
"Are you going to shoot me?" he asked.
The cold smile never wavered from Elly's lips.
"Of course," she said, "but not now. We have to wait for someone else first."
"Wes Underwood," Mike said flatly.
"My but you're bright this morning, darling."
"And my headache. What did you slip me? I never slept that late in my life no matter what time I went to bed."
"Don't worry about what it was. Just remember that if I had used a larger dose you never would have awakened at all."
Mike hesitated. What Elly said was true. She could have killed him easily that way. It meant that they wanted him alive for a while yet. He still had some time.
"Christ," Mike said. "What you did to me last night. And you knew all along that you would kill me today."
Elly smiled.
"Don't be surprised. I told you a lot of lies, but I never lied about one thing. I always loved that big cock of yours. I'd let you stick it in me right now if I thought I could let you get that close to me."
"Bitch."
"You can do better than that."
Mike saw that Elly was enjoying his misery and refused to let her have any more of it. He changed the subject. "Who actually shot Allan?"
"I can't see that it will hurt to tell you. Wes did it. But I would have shot that bastard if I could have arranged it. So don't get any ideas. Your value as a stud is zero at this point and if you move at all I'll shoot you."
Mike knew that she told the truth. Even if he had not come to know her well over the past few months, the cold hard smile let him know that she was very capable of shooting him. She was cunning, cruel and self reliant.
"Don't forget," she said, "you're an escaped killer."
For several minutes they were silent. Mike tried to think. He had to get her to talk. It was the only way he would be able to find a weak spot that he could play on.
"Naturally, you had it all planned from the start," he said.
"Did you really think that I would be satisfied with a lousy quarter of a million dollars when I could get it all?" Elly asked.
"Not you."
"Oh, you were such a fool. What did you want the money for? To impress that little cunt that lives next door to you. Don't be so surprised. I know all about you. You should have been half so careful."
"How will Underwood know where we are?"
"I called him when I went out for the groceries. All of the rest of it was just to kill time. He'll be here soon. It's really the simplest thing. You killed poor dear Allan. The pictures and tape will be found and there are several people who will identify you as the man who had the room next to Allan's. Wes saw to that. Your friend will have to talk about you using his dark room. He can't protect you if he thinks you have killed someone." She paused and shrugged her shoulders. "It will look like blackmail and then murder when something went wrong. Which it was in a way, wasn't it?"
"Why did you come with me?"
Elly made a mock show of surprise.
"Don't you remember? You forced me to go with you. I'm your hostage. Oh, darling. You are naive, aren't you?"
Her mocking laughter chilled Mike.
Elly regarded him quizzically for a moment.
"You know," she said, "I could probably get a reward just for killing you now." She laughed a high shrill false laugh and Mike was reminded of the tramp that had been with Farris the night before.
"Someone could have seen Underwood."
Elly shook her head and her blonde curls swung freely in the air.
"Don't worry about that. It's our problem."
For a moment there was silence. It stretched out for several minutes.
"Don't you want to hear the rest?" Elly asked.
"If you want to tell me."
"It's your life, darling."
"I'm listening."
"This is what I will tell the police. I broke away from you and called Wes. I was so nervous I couldn't think straight. Wes, of course, started right down here, and on the way called the police. But the police will be just a little bit too late. Wes will get here before they do. And this gun," she hefted the gun in her hand, "is really yours. Well, not yours, but it is the one that killed Allan. I took it from you and shot you. It really is too bad."
Her laugh filled him with fear.
Suddenly she stopped laughing and turned her head slightly, but still kept her eyes on Mike. Mike held his breath. He heard the sound of a car on the driveway outside and knew that as soon as Underwood walked in through the cabin door he was as good as dead. Mike's mind raced furiously looking for an opening, any opening, he could use.
"Maybe the police beat him here" he said. "Then what will you do?"
Mike saw that he had given Elly an idea. Her tongue licked nervously at her red lips. Slowly she got up from the chair and backed toward the door. She paused near the curtained window.
"Don't move," she said. Her hand shook slightly. It was the first sign Mike had seen that the tension was getting to her too. It wouldn't take much to get her to pull the trigger.
The gun remained pointed at him. Elly edged closer to the window. For a split second she had to turn to look out of the window. Her eyes left him for an instant and in that instant Mike was on his feet. He gripped the heavy plate that held his uneaten eggs and whipped it at her face. Mike saw the shadow of panic in her eyes as she turned back to face him. Her free hand came up to protect her face and Mike crouched low and dove at her feet. She fired, but the shot went over his head.
Mike's shoulder hit Elly across the legs and she fell to the floor. He heard her groan as he hit her. The gun tumbled from her hand.
Mike heard the sound of footsteps on the path outside the door. He had to assume it would be Underwood. The man would have a gun of his own and Mike knew he had to be free by the time the other man opened the door.
Elly beat at Mike's head and shoulders with her closed fists, but the blows fell almost painlessly. His rage gave Mike a towering strength. He drew back his hand and brought his fist down firmly on the back of the woman's head. She fell softly, with a sigh, back onto the floor.
Mike dove for the gun on the floor just as the cabin door opened and Wes Underwood looked in. The shot that Elly had fired had alerted him. He held a large revolver in his right hand and began to bring it up when he saw Mike lying on the floor. The gun in Underwood's hand barked loudly in the closed room and Mike felt a stitch of pain and fire along his left side. The warm blood trickled down his ribs.
In his hand he grasped the gun that Elly had dropped, and without aiming, fired. The shot went wild, but Underwood had been surprised, too. He had not expected to see Mike with a gun of his own. His hesitation gave Mike a second chance. Before Underwood could collect his wits to fire again, Mike had time to take aim at the bulk of the man in the doorway and fire two more shots.
The first slug struck Underwood in the chest and the second opened a bloody hole in his throat. For an instant there was a look of incredible disbelief on his face and then his eyes went blank, the gun clattered to the floor and Underwood fell on his face over the unconscious Elly.
The pain began to build fiercely in his side as Mike struggled to his feet. He looked at the two bodies on the floor. He knelt over Elly and felt for her pulse. She was only out cold. Underwood was dead. There was no reason to doubt that. Pain spread throughout Mike's body. He made his way to the bed and sank down.
Someone would have heard the shots and the police were already on their way if what Elly had said was true. His side hurt like hell, but Mike knew that he could get away if he tried. The wound was painful, but did not seem to be too deep. He debated running. He thought about all the evidence against him and what kind of chance he had for making the police believe him.
Elly was alive and would certainly try to convince them that Mike was the killer. Her life depended on that.
But ... and there was a big, but. They had counted on Mike being dead. There had to be a loophole in their plans now that he was alive and could talk, now that he could defend himself. What about Underwood? Were there enough holes in Elly's story so that as long as Mike was alive he could tear it apart?
Damn. They had counted on his death. Mike had to chance it. Elly couldn't pull it off with him alive. Could she?
He pulled the sheet against the wound in his side. In the distance he could hear the sound of police sirens. They would be here soon.
On the floor Elly moaned. Mike knew that she would fight it to the end. She would never give up.
He had only brief moments left to decide what to do. He thought about what he would have to give up if he ran. About Sandy.
And he knew that he would stay and rely on the truth. It would be rough and if he lost he stood a damn good chance of losing his life. The sirens were louder now. Mike wondered how Sandy would feel. Would she give a damn about him. Of that he was the most sure.
He could hear the cars enter the parking lot outside the cabin. If he ran he would have nothing and someday they would find him. If he stayed he stood a chance of winning and when it was over there was Sandy and that would make everything all right again.
He lay back on the bed and waited. There were muffled shouts outside the cabin. Mike let the gun fall to the floor and lay waiting for the police to enter and find him.