She nodded.
‘This is it, Beth. Do you still want to go ahead? With any luck you and I will be worth a million by tomorrow.’
‘Yes.’
She was the ice woman again. A screwball, I thought, watching her, but without her, I couldn’t get the money and that was all I was now thinking about.
‘If he walks into the trap, Beth,’ I said at the door, ‘I’ll tell you. Don’t go to sleep. It could be a long wait.’
Again she nodded.
Leaving her, I went up the stairs. Soundlessly, I eased open Marshall’s door an inch or so. I could hear his heavy breathing and now and then a strangled snore. I went into my bedroom, turned down the bed, then changed my shoes for a pair of sneakers. Turning off the overhead light, I turned on the bedside lamp and sat in an armchair. Faintly, I could hear Marshall snoring. I wondered if he would sleep right through the night. If he did my plan was sunk.
I spent the next hour thinking about Beth and thinking about the money. I realized if Marshall were found dead tomorrow, I would have to leave the house. I couldn’t remain here with Beth alone. There must be no head wagging or gossip about us in Wicksteed. I would go back to Mrs. Hansen, then when Beth knew she had control of the money, I would go to Frisco and wait for her to join me. The thought of being separated from her for at least a month bothered me, but I knew we had to play it safe.
Around 22.30, I heard her come up the stairs. Moving silently, I half opened my door and watched her go into her bedroom. I waited, hearing her moving around. She closed the closet door with a loud click, then she came out in a dressing gown and went into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. She began to run the bath. If Marshall was awake fie must hear these preparations for going to bed.
I turned off the bedside light, then switching on a small pocket flashlight, I reversed the key in the lock, stepped into the corridor and locked the door, removing the key.
The bath water had stopped running. The house was silent. I couldn’t hear Marshall snoring. Had he woken? I went downstairs and into the living room. I didn’t turn on the lights, but using my flashlight, I went over to the window recess. I had already picked this as my hiding place. The recess was covered by heavy ceiling-to-floor curtains. There was room enough behind the curtains to take a chair. Pulling back the curtains, I carried a small armchair into the recess, then closed the curtains and sat down.
I was aware my hands were clammy and there were sweat beads on my face. All I now could hear was the rustle of leaves as the wind increased. I looked out of the window. The big moon was half hidden by drifting black clouds. The window was sprinkled with rain. I hoped there wouldn’t be a storm. I wanted to hear every sound that went on in the house.
Parting the curtains, I sat forward and listened. I could hear Beth’s bath water running away. Then I heard her bedroom door close. Then there was silence.
The wind began to whine around the house and the rain increased. Leaving the recess, I went into the hall. I had to hear if he got out of bed. I sat on the bottom stair and tried to relax.
I sat there for three tense, nerve wracking hours, continually looking at my strap watch. Apart from the sound of the wind and the rain, I heard nothing.
From time to time, I stood up and stretched, but I didn’t move around as the wooden floor of the hall was old and creaked.
At 02.00, I began to worry. Maybe that last double whisky had fixed him and he would sleep until daylight. I wondered if Beth was awake. She was cold and indifferent enough to be sleeping. I listened to hear any snoring from Marshall, but could hear nothing, but the rain beating down. I longed to smoke, but resisted the temptation.
The clock in the living room struck the half hour and I cursed to myself. The gamble wasn’t going to work! Getting to my feet, and flicking on my flashlight, I returned to the window recess and sank into the armchair. I drew the curtains. The tension of waiting, the previous night’s loss of sleep were taking their toll. I felt suddenly exhausted and desperately tired. My eyelids kept drooping. He hadn’t fallen for the bait! I shouldn’t have given him that whisky! Now, I would have to think of another scheme to get rid of him. My eyes closed. I was now too tired to care. I nodded off.
I woke with a start as the clock struck three.
The light was on in the living room! Immediately alert, my heart pounding, I parted the curtains so I could see.
Marshall, in his pyjamas, was standing in the doorway, his hair mussed, his face inflamed, his eyes furtively searching the room. He moved unsteadily to the liquor cabinet, paused to listen, then opened the double doors. He peered in, then uttered a four-letter word. For a long moment he stared into the empty cabinet, then shut the doors. Again he looked around the room, then staggered out and towards the kitchen.
With my heart pounding, I went silently to the door. I watched him turn on the kitchen light. I could see his broad back as he went to the refrigerator, opened the door, peered in and again muttered the four-letter word. He shut the refrigerator door and stood motionless for several seconds, then he moved out of sight.
He was remembering the bottle of whisky in the Caddy’s glove compartment. He had taken the bait!
Moving silently, I paused at the kitchen door, my hand in my pocket, my fingers around the wooden wedge. He had gone down the passage that led to the garage!
I moved into the kitchen. Sweat was bothering me, and with the back of my hand, I wiped it from dripping into my eyes.
My heart was now pounding so violently I had trouble with my breathing. I could hear him stumbling down the passage to the garage door. I moved forward. I could see him as he opened the door leading into the garage. The pilot light came on and he started forward, then stopped.
‘What the hell!’ I heard him mutter. ‘The motor’s running!’
He stood staring into the garage, his back to me. I realized he was sober enough to smell the buildup of fumes. Even from where I stood, I could smell them.
If he turned around, I was sunk. In a blind panic, I rushed forward, my hands outstretched. They slammed against his back, pitching him into the garage. Sweat blinding me, my breath rasping through my clenched teeth, I slammed the door shut, bent and shoved the wedge home.
I had scarcely time to kick the wedge into place when he thudded against the door.
‘Get me out of here!’ he bawled. ‘Beth! Hear me! Get me out of here.’
Panting, I leaned hard against the door. Again he thudded his body against the door which creaked alarmingly, but held.
‘Keith!’ His voice sounded fainter.
I was cold and shaking. It couldn’t last more than another minute or so, I told myself. Drop dead... drop dead!
Again he thumped on the door, but they were feeble little thumps now, then there was a slithering sound, as clawing at the door, he sank down.
I moved away from the door, took out my handkerchief and blotted my face. My legs were trembling. I became aware that Beth was standing at the end of the passage, watching.
‘Go away!’ I said huskily, hating her to see the state I was in. ‘Go away!’
She pulled her dressing gown around her, nodded and moved out of sight. I stood listening. All I could now hear was the steady beat of the car engine. I gave the wedge another kick, then moved back into the kitchen.
Beth was there, a glass of neat whisky in her hand. She thrust it at me. I drank, the glass rattling against my teeth.
We looked at each other.
‘It’s done,’ I said, only when the whisky began to bite. ‘Go to bed.’
‘Is he dead?’ The flat, cold indifferent voice could have been querying if the cat I had drowned was dead.
‘He will be. Not yet... he is unconscious, but in a few more minutes.’ I wanted another drink. Seeing the whisky bottle on the sink, I picked it up, but my hand was shaking so badly, I slopped whisky on to the draining board and not in the glass.