beds alone are worth a fortune. Really, lots of the furniture is very good – look at that highboy, for example. I used to have an interior decorator's shop, and a house like this is my idea of a dream to work on. The possibilities are endless.'
He was interested. She could tell by the way he took time to open closet doors, pound walls and turn on water taps.
'The third floor has more bedrooms, and then Mr Parrish's apartment is on the fourth floor,' she said. 'That apartment was designed for the resident manager of the country club. It's quite spacious and has a wonderful view of the town as well as the water.'
He was pacing off the room and did not answer. Feeling pushy and garrulous, Dorothy walked over to the window. She should give him a chance to consider the house quietly and come up with any questions that might occur to him. Hurry, hurry, she thought. She wanted to get out of here. The insistent need to be back with Ray and Nancy, to know what was happening, was overwhelming. Suppose the children were out somewhere, exposed to this weather? Maybe she should take the car and cruise up and down; maybe they had just wandered away. Maybe if she tried to look in the woods, if she called them… She shook her head. She was being so foolish.
When Nancy had left Missy at the office with her yesterday, she'd said, 'Please make her keep her mittens on when you go out. Her hands get so cold.' Nancy had laughed as she handed Dorothy the mittens, saying, 'As you can see, they don't match – and I'm not trying to set a style. This kid is always losing mittens.' She'd given her one red mitten with a smile face and a blue-and-green-checked one.
Dorothy remembered the cheerful smile with which Missy had held up her hands when they'd gone for their drive. 'Mommy said don't forget my mittens, Aunt Dorothy,' she warned reproachfully. Later on, when they'd picked up Mike and stopped for ice-cream, she'd asked, 'Is it all right if I take my mittens off when I eat my cone?' Blessed little baby… Dorothy dabbed at the tears that rushed to her eyes.
Determinedly she composed herself and turned back to John Kragopoulos, who had just finished making notes on the size of the room. 'You don't get high ceilings like these any more except in these wonderful old houses,' he exulted.
She couldn't tolerate being here like this any longer. 'Let's go upstairs now,' she said abruptly. '1 think you'll like the view from the apartment.' She led the way back into the hall and to the front staircase. 'Oh, did you notice that there are four heat zones in this house? It saves a lot of fuel bills.'
They walked up the two flights of stairs quickly. 'The third floor is exactly like the second floor,' she explained as they passed it. 'Mr Parrish has been renting the apartment on and off for six or seven years, 1 guess. His rent is quite minimal, but Mr Eldredge felt that the presence of a tenant discourages vandals. Here we are -just down the hall.' She knocked at the door of the apartment. There was no answer. 'Mr Parrish,' she called.
'Mr Parrish.'
She began to open her handbag. 'That's strange. I can't imagine where he'd go without his car. But I've got a key here somewhere.' She started to rummage through her bag, feeling unreasonable annoyance. Over the phone Mr Parrish had obviously been unhappy that she was bringing someone over. If he had been going out, he might have told her. She hoped the apartment was tidy. There weren't that many people looking for a three-hundred-fifty- thousand-dollar investment. They hadn't had even a nibble on the property in nearly a year.
Dorothy did not realize that the handle was being turned from the inside. But when the door was pulled open abruptly, she looked up and gasped and stared into the searching eyes and perspiring face of the fourth-floor tenant, Courtney Parrish.
'What a dreadful day for you to have to come.' Parrish's tone was courteous as he stepped aside to let them pass. By holding the door back and getting out the way, he reasoned, he might be able to avoid shaking hands. He could feel that his hands were drenched in perspiration.
His eyes darted from one to the other. Had they heard the little girl – that one cry? He was such a fool… getting too eager. After the phone call, he'd had to hurry so much. Picking up the children's clothing, in his excitement he'd almost missed the little girl's undershirt. Then the can of baby powder had spilled. He'd had to wipe that up.
He'd taped the children's hands and feet and mouths and hidden them in that secret room behind the fireplace downstairs that he'd discovered months ago in wandering through the house. He knew those hidden rooms were peculiar to many old Cape houses. The early settlers used to hide in them during Indian attacks. But then he'd panicked. Suppose that fool of a real-estate woman knew about that room and decided to show it? It was reached by a spring in the built-in bookcase in the main room downstairs.
Suppose she knew about it; just suppose. Even as Dorothy's Buick sedan pulled up and into the garage, he had dashed from his watching point at the window and rushed down to get the children. He'd carried them up and thrown them into one of the deep closets in the bedroom. Better… much better. He could say that he used that closet for storage and couldn't find the key. Since he had put a new lock on, that fool of a real-estate woman couldn't possibly have a duplicate. Besides, the other closet in the room was practically the same size. She could show that one. That was where he could make a mistake… by getting complicated.
They'd dallied downstairs long enough for him to make one last inspection of the apartment; he hadn't missed anything, he was sure. The tub was still full but he'd decided to leave it. He knew he'd sounded too annoyed over the phone. Let Dorothy think that that was the reason; he'd been just about to bathe. That would justify annoyance.
He wanted so much to get back to the little girl that it was painful. From deep in his loins he felt frantic desire. Right now, there she was, just a few feet from them all, behind that door, her little body half-naked. Oh, he couldn't wait! Be careful. Be careful. He tried to pay attention to the voice of reason that kept cautioning him, but it was so hard…
'John Kragopoulos.' That damn fellow was insisting on shaking his hand. Clumsily he tried to dry his palm on his trouser leg before grasping the outstretched hand that he could not ignore. 'Courtney Parrish,' he said sullenly.
He could see the fleeting expression of distaste come over the other man's face when their hands touched. Probably a damned fag. Half the restaurants on this side of the Cape were run by fags. Now they wanted this house too. Well, fine. After today he wouldn't need it.
Suddenly he realized that if this house were sold, no one would ever find it suspicious if as Courtney Parrish he didn't come back to the Cape. Then he could lose weight
and let his hair grow and totally change his appearance again, because he would want to be here for Nancy 's trial, after they found the children's bodies and accused her. Why, this wasn't a problem at all. Fate was playing into his hands. This was meant to be.
He shuddered as a wave of exhilaration surged through his body. Why, he could even ask about Nancy. It would be only neighbourly. Feeling suddenly confident, he said courteously, 'I am pleased to meet you, Mr Kragopoulos, and rue the weather in which you first observe this wonderful house.' Miraculously, the dampness was leaving his hands and armpits and groin.
The tension in the small foyer relaxed tangibly. He realized that most of it was emanating from Dorothy anyway. Why not? He'd seen her countless times in these past years, in and out of the Eldredge house, pushing the children on the swing, taking them in her car. He had her number: one of those dreary middle-aged widows trying to be important to someone; a parasite. Husband dead. No children. A miracle she didn't have a sick old mother. Most of them did. That helped them to be martyrs to their friends. So nice to Mother. Why? Because they needed to be nice to someone. They had to be important. And if they had children, they concentrated on them. The way Nancy 's mother had.
'I have been listening to the radio,' he said to Dorothy, 'and am so disturbed. Have the Eldredge children been found yet?'
'No.' Dorothy felt all her nerve endings tingling. From inside she could hear that the radio was on. She caught the word 'bulletin'. 'Excuse me,' she cried, and hurried into the living-room and over to the radio. Swiftly she turned up the volume. '… storm increasing. Gale winds from fifty to sixty miles an hour are predicted. Driving is hazardous. The air and water search for the Eldredge children has been suspended indefinitely. Special patrol cars will continue cruising in Adams Port and vicinity. Chief Coffin of Adams Port urges that anyone who believes he or she may have any information report it at once. He urges that any untoward incident be discussed with the police, such as a strange vehicle that may have been seen in the neighbourhood of the Eldredge home; any unfamiliar person or persons in the area. Call this special number: KL five, three eight hundred. Your privacy will be respected.'
The commentator's voice continued. 'Despite the urgent appeal for clues to the missing children, we have it on good authority that Mrs Nancy Harmon Eldredge will be taken to Police Headquarters for questioning.'
