I leaped onto the porch. I stumbled, and slammed in through the open doorway, trying to keep from falling on her. And just as we hit the floor I saw a coffee cup on the table ahead of us explode into nothing, like a soap bubble. The pieces rained onto the floor.
I rolled her over me to get us out of the doorway, and reached back with one foot to kick the door shut. He put another one through it just as it closed. A golden splinter tore off the wood on the inside, and on the back wall a frying pan hanging on a nail bounced and clanged to the floor.
It was silent now except for the quick sob of her breath. We lay on the floor with our faces only inches apart. The fright was leaving her eyes now, and I could see comprehension in them, and a growing coldness.
“Maybe you’d like an affidavit with that,” I said.
I pushed myself up from the floor. She was trying to sit up. One side of her face was covered with dust, and a trickle of blood from a splinter scratch was almost black against the pale column of her throat.
“Stay where you are,” I said. I scooted over and stood up beside the front window. Peering out one corner of it, I could see the meadow. It was completely deserted and peaceful in the sunlight. Somewhere beyond, in the dark line of timber at the foot of the hill, he lay with his rifle and waited for something to move.
He probably wouldn’t try to come any closer. Not until tonight. But in the meantime nobody would go out that road.
Chapter Seven
“The stupid idiot,” she said. I looked around. She was standing up, squarely in line between the front and rear windows. I didn’t say anything. I dived.
I hit her just at the waist and took her down with me, turning a little to land on my shoulder. Splinters raked through my shirt. Panes in the front and rear windows blew up at the same time and glass tinkled on the floor.
“What’s the matter with you?” she spat at me. “Are you crazy?”
She lay beside me, caught in my arms like a beautiful and enraged wildcat. I disengaged an arm, picked a sliver of windowpane off the front of her robe, held it up so she could see it, and tossed it toward the front window. Her eyes followed it.
“Oh,” she said.
“If you feel like silhouetting yourself again,” I said, “tell
me where that money is first. You won’t need it.”
“What can we do?” she asked.
“Several things, I suppose, if I didn’t have to spend all
my time knocking you down. Do you think you can stay here this time?”
“Yes.”
“All right.”
I crawled over her. When I was away from the windows I stood up and ran into the bedroom. Grabbing a couple of blankets off one of the bunks, I draped one across the bedroom window and brought the other out.
I stood beside the rear window. “Cover your face,” I said. “We’re going to have more glass.”
She put an arm over her face. I flipped the blanket. It caught over the old curtain rod. Glass smashed in the
front window again and the blanket jerked, but remained on the rod. It had a hole in it.
I looked swiftly around. The back door was locked, the window covered now. The storeroom had no outside door, no window. He could sneak around to the sides or back, but he couldn’t see in anywhere to shoot. And he knew I had his gun.
From that distance he probably couldn’t see in the front window now, with no light behind it. Maybe he couldn’t, I thought. I could put another blanket over it, but I wanted to be able to see out on one side, at least. The thought of being sealed up in there with no way to guess where he was didn’t appeal to me.
“Is it all right now?” she asked.
“No. Stay down.”
I looked at her again, and thought of something.
“Take off that robe,” I said.
She sat on the floor and stared coldly at me. “Don’t we
have anything better to do?”
“You have got something on under it, haven’t you?”
“Yes. Pajamas.”
“Well, shut up and toss it here.”
She shrugged and slid out of it, turning a little to get it out from under her. The pajamas were blue and wide-sleeved, the lounging type. She tossed the robe. I crawled over and stood up beside the front window and flipped it over the curtain rod. It slid off. I picked it up and tried again. This time I got more of it over the rod and it stuck. There was no shot.
I stepped back. It was fine. It was just sheer enough to be transparent with the light on the other side. I could see the meadow. Nothing stirred.
“All right,” I said. “He can’t see in.”
She stood up. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know.”
I went over and got the gun out of my coat. I slid the
clip out and looked at it. There was one cartridge in it. Two, I thought, with the one in the chamber.
“We can’t just stay here,” she said.
“You got a better idea?” I checked the safety again and shoved the gun in my belt.
I fished in my pocket for a cigarette. The pack was empty. I went over to the coat and got another. I opened it, and gave her one. We sat down at the table. I could see out across the meadow without being directly behind the window.
“Couldn’t we sneak out the back door and get to the car?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said. “You might even get it out of the shed before he killed you. You’ve seen him shoot that rifle.”
She said nothing.
“And,” I went on, “suppose you did get out to the highway? What then? Every cop in the state has the description and license number of that Cadillac.”
She stared thoughtfully at me through the smoke. “Afoot? Out the back door?”
“It’s twenty miles to the nearest place you could catch a bus. You’re a dish everybody looks at. And you’re wearing pajamas and bedroom slippers. Any more ideas?”
“Charming thug, aren’t you? Shall I cheer you up for a while now?”
“Why? I’m all right. Nobody knows me; I can still run.”
“Well? Why don’t you?”
“You don’t scare much, do you?”
“Would being scared do any good?”
“You’re about the hardest citizen I’ve ever run into,” I said. “Did you kill Butler alone, or did that guy out there help you? Is that how he got in the act?”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
“Which one of you has the money?”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Who was that girl in the car? Angel-faced ash blonde,
with a hush-puppy accent.”
“Why didn’t you ask her?”
“I don’t think she liked me.”
“I can understand that,” she said.
“Well, you’re popular,” I said. “You’re in great
demand.”
She put the cigarette in the ashtray and leaned back in the chair with her hands clasped behind her head. The pajama sleeves slid down her arms. They were lovely arms.
I watched her, thinking swiftly. We were both in one hell of a jam, but I was beginning to get the glimmerings of an idea. It all depended on whether she had the money or not, and I still believed she had it.
There was no use even trying to guess whether she had killed Butler, or whether that man out there had, or both of them; but I was beginning to respect the cool and deadly intelligence behind that lovely face, and I was growing more convinced of one thing all the time: that no matter who had killed him, unless that guy out there was a lot smarter than I thought he was, she was the one that had the money. It figured that way.