She put her face under the faucet. Soaked herself. Drank some rusty-tasting water. Then she put down the toilet seat cover and sat. Took cigarettes out of her T-shirt pocket. Looked down and saw the dark outline of a book on the floor. All the President's Men. Their bathroom book.
She smoked three cigarettes while thinking about her and Peter's situation. She heard another small noise... beetles flying against the window. Woof!
Like getting punched in the stomach. She decided she ought to be out where she could at least watch the front window.
The big window at the front of the bungalow was showing a crystal-clear black-and-white movie.
No more couple walking on the beach... thin, smoky, 'purplish clouds drifted past a full moon. Old, shriveled night clouds. A low line of frothy white surf running around the cove, outlining it like whipped cream.
She'd been all right until Peter called, Jane started to think....
A lot of men had ogled her around the inn. Even tall blond ones. Even tall blond ones who might look a little English....
Nice girl from the capital of South Dakota, she thought.... Boyfriend accidentally witnessed a murder. Just a glance. No more than ten seconds! Must be an Affied Hitchcock film... macabre throughout, ghoulish like Frenzy, but a happy ending. Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant clink champagne glasses, then kiss.
Thinking about the tall blond Englishman again. The Tall Blond Englishman. Couldn't keep her hands from shaking now. Funny-odd, that is. He'd been drinking by himself on the Pineapple Terrace. A very good-looking, serious man. Nice tan. Black wraparound glasses that made her think of the Mediterranean. She thought he'd been watching her while she taught a little girl how to get water out of her ear. 'First, hop on the foot opposite the clogged-up ear. Here-like this, silly-face. Now. Bang the side of your head. Bang it good.
After that, she was sure the blond man was following her. Keeping her in sight, anyway. Well, he seemed to be....
Jane looked down at her watch. Glowing red numbers in the dark bedroom: 10:43. An hour and ten minutes had passed since Peter had called. Usually the ride from Coastown took just over an hour. Add five minutes more from Trelawney. Standing there beside the dark front window, she heard another onslaught of apples on the roof. More blasted rose apples.
Then footsteps.
Then a young woman was outside, calling her name at the front door....
And then one of the shuttered windows was being broken down with something sharp md powerful like m ax.
May 7, 1979, Monday
Massacre at Elizabeth's Fancy
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
The planning is usually interesting. Getting close to the final time is interesting. But the climax, the big kill, was usually something of an anticlimax... not to the victims, of course.
The Rose Diary
May 7, 1979; Mandeville, San Dominica
Monday Morning. The Seventh Day of the Season.
At 4:00 A.M. on the seventh day, Jane's eyes popped open wide.
She saw nothing at first. Then the long shadow of a man sitting by her bed. Then bright afterimages of running men and machetes. And a tall woman who spoke very sweetly, as if she were Jane's best friend.
As she began to scream, a night lamp clicked on. A shiny aluminum lamp nailed to the wall. The man sitting underneath the light was the chief of police. He had a small black pipe stuck in his mouth. A holster and gun were slung over his short-sleeved white shirt.
'Shhhhhhh... you're in the Mandeville Hospital,' he whispered to the blond girl. 'You're all right. Everything is all right.now.' The black man smiled and winked at her, then he clicked the light off.
Jane lay in the dark, shivering badly. Her teeth began chattering, and she started to cry. Thought about Peter. Just wanted to hold tight. Hold tight.
'What is happening?'
She wasn't sure whether she'd said the words out loud orjust thought them loud. She started to shiver; then to cry; then to hug herself because it was so damn awful.
Then she was asleep again.
In her dreams they came to the hospital for her. they came somewhere for her. The two black men. The tall blond man with the wraparound sunglasses. The young woman.... they kept screaming at her to tell them where Peter was.... 'I don't know! I don't know! Please don't hurt me.'
The heavyset black police. chief smiled at her. He put his forefinger to his lips. Made a little fire in the bowl of his black pipe.
'Shhhh. Shhhh. No one can hurt you now,' Dr. Johnson said. Even though the worst day of the season of the machete had begun.
Cape John, San Dominica
Monday afternoon.
Like a white kite in the wind, a seagull swung back and forth high over his head.
