The Last Good Kiss (50 page)

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As SOON AS WE GOT BACK TO THE HOUSE, BETIY SUE

tumbled out of the pickup and raced up the stairs

toward the front door. Fireball and I followed slowly

! was trying to be polite and he was practicing his

aim-but she met us at the doorway, her finger lifted to

her soft lips.

"He's working," she whispered.

"Listen," I said as I set her bags down, "I think I'll

go fishing this afternoon. You know, so you can be

alone with the great man."

"Don't be mean," she said shyly. "And it isn't

necessary for you to go away."

"I'm going anyway," I said, then told Fireball, "let's

go kill a trout. " But he was sitting stolidly beside

Betty Sue's heel. "Will you keep an eye on the dog?" I

asked her.

"He'll keep an eye on me," she said. "You have a

good time. "

"You too," I answered, trying t o mean it.

As I walked to the pickup, beneath the heat of the

late summer sun, a hint of cool, crisp air tickled my

nose. Autumn soon, I thought, and another Montana

winter waiting in the wings. Every fall I considered

drifting south to San Francisco and renewing my

California license, but I never went. Maybe this would

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be the year. But for now, I knew where there was a

little roadside lake up in the mountains behind Cauldron Springs. Moondog Lake, where the trout had an affinity for worms, a place to waste an afternoon

watching my bobber dance across the windy chop.

I drove down to the highway and turned right, away

from town, but Catherine's Porsche caught up with me

before I crested the first rise. I pulled to the edge of the

road, parked, and got out.

"What did she say?" Catherine asked as she walked

over to stand beside me. "Well?"

"We didn't talk about it."

"Why not?" she demanded flatly.

"This whole idea is . . . is terrible," I said. "You

can't expect to pay people to do this sort of thing."

"Why not?"

"There's more than money involved," I said.

"That's why Edna and I are willing to spend so much

money."

"Well, you're going to have to get somebody else to

do it," I said. "Or do it yourself."

"You're the only one who could do it," she said,

"and if you don't, whatever happens is on your head."

"Sometimes I get the awful suspicion that this whole

thing has been out of my hands from the very beginning," I said, "so it can't be my fault. But even if it is, I'm not going to try to bribe her to leave the man she

loves."

"If she loved him, Sughrue, she would leave him for

free."

"Betty Sue doesn't-"

"So it's Betty Sue now," Catherine interrupted.

"That's very interesting."

"That's her name."

"Fitting," Catherine sneered.

"Look," I said as I stepped behind the pickup to

unlock the topper, "I'm going to give you those

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damned checks back and then wash my hands of this

whole fucking mess."

"It's on your head now," she said, then ran back to

her car and drove away before I could climb into the

pickup bed.

"My ass." I coughed into her dust as I locked up.

I didn't leave Moondog Lake until full dark, so it was

nearly midnight before I drove down the highway

toward Trahearne's house. The lights were still on, so I

went on into town for a drink, then drove back out to

check again. This time the lights were out. I eased up

the driveway, parked, and let myself in through the

basement door. As I mixed a drink the household

above was silent. I switched on the television to catch

the late movie from Spokane by cable, hoping for

something rich with romance and scenery. The Hanging Tree, maybe, or Ride the High Country. Instead I caught The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire, which

put me to sleep. Occasionally I woke for a barbarian

attack, a Christopher Plummer screeching speech, or

Sophia Loren's breasts nudging the small screen, then

fell back into a confused sleep.

I woke to the sound of gunfire and the instant

memory of a preceding scream. I glanced at the

television, where an aggressive young man urged me to

buy a new pickup from the thousands on his lot. Then

another shot boomed through the house. Down the

hallway, I heard glassware break in the basement

bathroom. I dashed to my bedroom for the .38, then

raced back and up the stairs to the main floor, listening

to the grunts and thuds of a struggle. As I slipped

through the darkened kitchen, another shot banged. I

dove across the living room rug and rolled into a

left-handed firing position behind Traheame's lounge

chair.

The desk lamp in the study was on, but it had been

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knocked askew and it shined out the doorway directly

into my eyes. Beyond it, though, I could see two

shadowy figures struggling, wrestling for possession of

the .45 automatic, which went off again. A shelf of

books scattered into smoldering pulp. I fired a round

through the ceiling and shouted Freeze! but nobody

paid any attention to me. As I charged the door, I

heard a fist strike soft flesh, and Betty Sue staggered

toward me. I shoved her aside and crouched just

outside the door. When Trahearne hulled his way

through it, I slammed him on the side of the neck with

the butt of the .38, then again as he was going down. As

he fell, he swung the .45 toward me, but I clubbed it

out of his hand with my cast. He hit the floor

unconscious and belched a small puddle of vomit,

which smelled like straight whiskey. I picked up the .45,

unloaded it, and tossed it on his lounge chair.

"Is he all right?" Betty Sue panted behind me.

"He's alive," I said as I knelt to check his pulse,

which beat along as strong as a bear's, "but he's dead

drunk. Are you all right?"

"Just had the breath knocked out of me." She huffed

and puffed. "That's all." She moved over to kneel

beside me. "Help me get him to bed."

"Right," I said, stuffing the .38 into my belt. "Glad I

didn't have to shoot anybody," I added. "I'm terrible

with my left hand."

"Help me," she answered, and the two of us levered

the big man upright and walked him toward the

bedroom. As we dropped him on the bed, he woke up

long enough to tell us that he didn't need our damned

help, but he went to sleep before we could debate the

point. "Thank you," Betty Sue said, still breathing

hard and deep.

"What the hell happened?" I asked.

"I need a drink," she answered, then walked out of

the bedroom.

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"Me too. " I said as I followed.

But she wouldn't talk to me in the living room,

either. I poured whiskey into two glasses and handed

her one.

"Can I have a cigarette?" she said. I lit two, and she

grabbed one out of my hand and sucked a cough out

of it.

"Maybe you better sit down," I suggested.

"Outside," she said, and I followed her again.

As I leaned against the door frame, she paced back

and forth across the deck, hitting the cigarette and the

whiskey until she finished them both. When I went back

inside, I noticed that the lights were on in Trahearne's

mother's house. I hoped that they hadn't heard the

shots. Outside again, I handed Betty Sue a fresh drink.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I'm not sure," she said in a small voice. "When he

finished working this afternoon, we went into town for

dinner, and he started drinking-he said it was all right,

a celebration, you know, because he'd just finished a

section and I had come home. And it was all right. He

was in great form, full of good spirits and jokes . . .

"

"Until?" I said into her pause.

"Until we went to bed," she murmured. She blushed

and hugged herself against the chill night air, wrapping

the new yellow nightgown tightly around her body.

"He went to sleep--finally-and I guess I dozed off

too," she said. "When I woke up he was gone. I went

down to see if he was in his study working-he does

that sometimes when he can't sleep at night. He was

there. He was . . . holding the gun to his head . . . He

was holding the gun anci staring me right in the

eye . . . It was almost as if he was daring me to make

him pull the trigger. I don't know . . . I remember

screaming, then after that we were fighting for the gun.

That's all I-"

"You better pull yourself together, " I interrupted as

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I saw the blue lights of a sheriff's car racing out of

Cauldron Springs toward the turnoff to Traheame's

house.

"Why?" She was close to crying.

"Because the law is here," I said.

"What should I say?"

"Don't say a word," I said. "Just sit down on that

lounge chair and whenever somebody asks you a

question, you break into tears. All right?"

As if taking me at my word, she fell on the chair and

began sobbing loudly. I stepped back inside the house

and flipped on the porch lights, then stood emptyhanded in their glare as the sheriff's unit skidded to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. The officer stepped out

and leaned across the hood, covering me with his

revolver.

"Shoot him!" came a wail from the direction of the

creek. "He's killed my baby boy! Kill him!" The old

woman floundered out of the shadows, dragging Catherine as she tried to hold her back. "Kill him! " she wailed again.