The Sorcerer's House (13 page)

"Oh, yes. Thank you, you're very thoughtful. You kissed my hand." She sighed. "Did you really, Bax? Or did I dream it?"

"Yes, I did, but you were asleep by then."

"I knew it. I felt your kiss. I'm fine now. Not quite my old self, but recovering rapidly. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm perfectly fine. Rearing to go, isn't that what they say? This morning I want to phone the electric company--though I suppose it must be nearly noon. This afternoon, then."

"Have you found a way into the cellar?"

It was a question I had not anticipated. "No. Or at least no way other than the door in back I told you about--the outside door. I haven't even looked for one today."

"This morning it occurred to me that the best way to find one would be for you to go into the cellar through the outside door and look from the bottom up. There will be steps. There'll have to be. Go up them, and see where you are."

"You're right. I should have thought of that. There was something else I wanted ask. Do you have keys to the garage?"

"Garage?"

"Yes, there's a big garage with three doors. They're all padlocked."

"I don't have the keys. The only key I've ever had was the one to the front door, and I gave it to you." She hesitated. "Couldn't you call a locksmith?"

"Yes. I'll do that."

After that our talk wandered off into generalities.

When I hung up, I smiled to think that it was the truth. I
could
call a locksmith now. I will not tell you, George, how much money that beautiful girl and I took from the mattress. She brought out two handfuls. I believe I said that. I brought out more shortly before I began this. When I counted all I had, the sum was so great that I grew frightened. I put most of it back into the mattress, got out my little sewing kit, and sewed the mattress back up. My stitches were not as sturdy as the factory's; nor were those of the person, Mr. Black, or whoever he
may have been, who had ripped out the factory stitches and inserted the money. It was why they had burst while the girl and I enjoyed each other's company.

But I have kept out enough to make me feel very rich indeed, a man who can summon a locksmith without a second thought.

As I have. He will come tomorrow.

Up there I was interrupted by a call from a young lady. "Mr. Dunn? Is this Mr. Baxter Dunn?"

"Speaking," I said.

"My name's Cathy Ruth, Mr. Dunn, and I write for the
Sentinel
. May I ask you a few questions?"

"You may, Miss Ruth, if you'll answer mine. How did you get my number?"

"Mrs. Murrey gave it to me, Mr. Dunn. She felt sure you'd be delighted to talk to me."

"I see. I was just speaking with her. I'm surprised she didn't mention it." I was striving to recall to whom I had given my number.

"She probably forgot about it. Are you living in the old Black House, Mr. Dunn?"

"Yes, I am. I own it."

"I know! She told me. And you were present when Star Paxton died?"

"Star Paxton was the poor woman last night?"

"That's right. Mrs. Wesley Paxton. You were there?"

"As I understand it, she was killed on the front lawn of her house. I was next door, at Mrs. Murrey's, talking with Mrs. Murrey."

"This is great! You ran outside when you heard the screaming?"

"Mrs. Murrey did. I followed her."

"What did you see?"

"Mrs. Paxton's body, and a great deal of blood. Also Mrs. Murrey looking down at it and screaming."

"You didn't know Mrs. Paxton?"

"No. To the best of my knowledge, that was the first time I'd ever
seen her. Now I'd like you to answer another question for me, Miss Ruth. What--"

"Call me Cathy, please."

"What do the police say killed Mrs. Paxton, Cathy?"

"There's been no official statement, Mr. Dunn. That will come from the coroner's office."

"I understand, but you have sources of information on the police force--one at least whom I could name. What does she say, Cathy?"

"Has anyone ever told you you're scary, Mr. Dunn?"

"Never. In my entire life no one has ever called me frightening, Cathy. It's a word that people reserve for my brother George. What does your contact say?"

"You're not supposed to know about her."

The pronoun made my conclusion certain. I said, "If you don't tell me, Cathy, I'll tell Officer Finn that you revealed her identity without being asked."

"Mr. Dunn . . ."

"You may well decide to risk it. I'm a poor liar, and I'm inclined to think Officer Finn will soon realize that I am lying. Why don't you chance it?"

"Suppose I tell you now? Exactly what she said?"

"Then I will keep your secret, upon my honor."

"All right. She said everybody thought it was a big dog. Nothing else. Just a big dog."

"I see. Did she agree?"

"No, she didn't, and now you're going to want to know what she thought it was. And I can't tell you because she doesn't know. But one of Star's legs was torn off. Did you know that?"

"Go on."

"She said she grew up with Saint Bernards. Those are big dogs."

"I know."

"Her father bred them. She said the big males are as strong as any dog on earth, and they couldn't have done it. They could have grabbed a leg and dragged the body for miles, but they couldn't have torn a leg off like that."

"I'd say she has a point. Shall I wait for you to ask whether I own a big dog?"

"Do you?"

"I do not."

"Any kind of a dog? A little one?"

"I have nothing against dogs. I rather like them, in fact. But I have never owned one."

"You saw Star's body, Mr. Dunn. I didn't. What was your first thought? What did you think had happened to her?"

"I shouldn't answer that." I paused, hoping Miss Ruth would speak again. "I will, but only because I'm a trifle ashamed of having bullied you. I thought that she had been attacked by a bear."

"Why did you think so?"

"I can't tell you. It just popped into my mind."

"Do you still think that? What do you think now?"

"At present, I don't know what to think. If you'll excuse me, I have to--"

"Please! Just a couple more questions."

"All right, two. No more than that."

"What is the connection between Star's death and the Black House?"

"There is none that I know of." (I was lying, to be sure; but I was not under oath.)

"Have you seen a ghost? In the house, I mean, since you've been there?"

"I'm not certain," I said, and hung up.

I dialed Directory Assistance immediately and was soon connected to the power company. I provided my name and address, explained that I had been occupying the house for several days, and suggested politely that the house could now be reconnected to their grid.

"Let me check this, sir. It will just take a minute."

I waited.

"You've asked to be reconnected before, haven't you, sir?"

"I have not, but I've been told that the real-estate agent made the request on my behalf."

"I see. What this shows, sir, is that you've already been reconnected. It was done yesterday. You don't have power?"

"Correct."

"You checked today?"

"Yes. This morning."

"Could you try again now?"

I could and did, flipping switches in the living room, the dining room (two switches), the butler's pantry, and the kitchen without result. "No power," I told the woman who had answered my call.

"We'll send a man over as soon as we can, sir."

I thanked her, and turned off my cellular telephone.

Now, George, you are bound to be curious regarding my final sally to Miss Cathy Ruth. I confess that I spoke as I did to discomfort her; but upon reflection, I fear there was more substance to it than I intended. I shall not enlarge upon that until I learn more. And perhaps not then.

I have bought her a gift, George. You will say that does not sound like me, but I have.

I walked downtown, you see, after writing to you. You might suppose I would be too tired to do anything of that kind after combing the neighborhood for her, and searching (however inadequately) this house as well. You would be quite correct, too; I was tired, but hunger is a great spur. It was nearly noon, I had money in my wallet, and I had not eaten since dinner last night at Martha's.

So I found a little place with a salad bar and enjoyed a bountiful lunch. After that, I went to the pawnshop, reclaimed my coin, and would have reclaimed my laptop if I could. The time had run out, however, and it had been sold. I will buy a proper computer soon, never fear. Then you can send e-mails berating me once more.

Nor was that all. I found a Laundromat and bought a laundry bag, and tomorrow I intend to carry all my dirty clothing there and wash it.

After that, it occurred to me that I ought to have invited Doris Griffin to lunch--that I owed her a meal. I telephoned her and suggested dinner, promising to pay for our dinners if she would provide
our transportation. Very much to my surprise, she asked me to come to the office in which she is employed, saying that someone there needed to speak with me.

I was footsore, I admit, and the distance was at least six blocks; I asked her to pick me up early. We will go to her office and have dinner afterward.

Should I then have bought a gift for another woman? You will say no. Millie--a better judge, I think--might well say yes. I felt that if I was going to buy Doris's dinner, I ought to do that much and more for the young lady who had spent the night with me.

As I have. My original notion was simply to give her a robe to replace the blanket she had borrowed for her dash to the bathroom. When I described her to the saleswoman, however, she insisted that I ought to buy her a silk one of the type she showed me, an Oriental robe with wide sleeves. She had several of these sized for small women. I sat in near-royal majesty (you will not believe this, George, but it's true) while another clerk of the correct size modeled each. In the end I chose the simplest, though it was also the most costly. It is white, and prettily embroidered with a nature scene: a golden pheasant on the limb of a pine watching a fox in pursuit of a rabbit. The sash is crimson. This is something less than modest, I suppose, but I honestly think she will like it. If she does not, I can return it; I have the receipt.