be prettier than Linda was.
She walked to the telephone by the bed and forced herself to concentrate. First she looked in the telephone book and tried dialing a few numbers. She settled on one that belonged to a restaurant that sounded too fancy to serve breakfast. It rang twenty times before she hung up. She copied the number and began to dress.
At six thirty, Carey knocked quietly on the door. Linda stopped at the mirror, checked her hair and makeup, and then opened the door.
“Good morning,” he said. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”
She gave her best smile. “You’re not. I don’t sleep in an evening gown.” She made her eyes twinkle. “As you know.”
Carey glanced at his watch. “It’s six thirty …”
Linda’s brows knitted in apologetic distress. “I’m afraid I’ve got another problem, Carey.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been calling the impound lot since quarter to six, and they’re not answering. Didn’t the sign say they opened at six?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s what it said.” She could tell he was trying to look as though he were hiding his worry, but what he was hiding was irritation. “When did you call last?”
“A minute ago. I know you have to be at the hospital by seven …”
“Let’s try it again. The only place for a phone is in that little building, and they could be out on the lot.” He stepped into the guest room with her and picked up the telephone. “What’s the number?”
She handed him the little pad from the telephone where she had written down the number, and he dialed. He let the phone ring longer than she had, and finally hung up. “It doesn’t really mean they’re not open. I’ll drive you there, and if nobody’s around, you can always get a cab at the hospital.”
“Can I make another suggestion?”
“Sure.”
“They’re sure to be open by nine or so, right?”
“I would think so.”
“Then it would make me happiest if you would just go to work. I’ll call a cab to pick me up here at eight. If we’re both wrong and the place is deserted, the cab can keep going and take me home. That way you don’t leave some patient waiting on a gurney. Better still, I’m not left on the street in an evening gown in an unfamiliar city. And I’m not seen driving back to the hospital wearing last night’s clothes with a married man whose wife is out of town.”
She could see that the suggestion had the desired effect. It contained reasoning he could follow, and it also gently reminded him of what could have happened. He seemed flustered as he shrugged. “I’m sorry. Everything seems to have gotten complicated.” He was fiddling with his keys. He handed her one of them. “Would you mind locking up when you go? You can just pop the key into the mail slot in the front door.”
She took the key. “No problem.” She touched his arm. “And I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to be this much trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” he lied.
“I’m very grateful,” she said. “More grateful than you know.”
He backed away from her gratitude toward the stairs. “It’s getting late.”
“Oh, Carey?”
He stopped. “Yes?”
“I promise this is the last thing I ask. But do you think you could lend me something of Jane’s—an old pair of jeans and a sweater or something? Just to get me home.”
He seemed surprised, then reluctant, but as she had expected, he did not know how to refuse. “Of course,” he said. “I offered last night and then forgot. I’m sorry. Her closet is in the master bedroom. Take what you need.” He hurried down the stairs and out the front door.
At two thirty, Linda Thompson dialed the telephone and heard the machine in her suite come on. She pressed the two-digit code and listened while the machine rewound. She could tell there was something on the tape. There was a click, and Earl’s voice came over the line.
“I picked them up at Salmon Prairie and followed them as far as Swan Lake. I drilled a man through a restaurant window from five hundred yards. Felt pretty good about it until I saw their car pull out of the lot with them in it. They took off to the north. They could be heading to Canada. Lenny’s with me, and we’re going after them. When you find out where they are, leave a message on the machine at home. As soon as I’ve heard it, I’ll erase it from here.” There was a loud hang-up sound, and then a beep. Linda put the receiver back on the cradle. Earl had not said “If you find out.” He had said “When.”
Linda felt a shiver of fear that started in her shoulders, crept down her spine, and shot back up again. She could tell from the chill in his voice that he thought he had figured out exactly what Linda had needed to do to find out about Salmon Prairie.
That made Linda feel afraid again. His voice had sounded cold and detached on the answering machine, and that was very bad. He was resenting her for it, and Earl’s resentment was always acted out.
She was in trouble. She had not done what he thought she had done, but he was going to punish her for it. And here he was, sending her back for more, knowing deep inside that he was going to hate what she did this time even more than the last, and he was saving it all up.
The telephone had not rung since Jane had called from Salmon Prairie. Carey knew nothing more recent than that, so no matter how devious Linda was about asking him where his wife was now, he couldn’t tell her. She would have to buy time.
The best way would be to stay very close to him—move in with him, so she would hear the telephone ring and he would tell her, not because she had asked but because he wanted to. And the only reason he would want to tell her was to convince her that his wife was still very far away, that she was not about to burst in the door and find Linda with him. If Linda hoped to accomplish that, then she would have to make Carey want very much to keep her near him. Last night she had been sure she had him. He had not been as adventurous as she had anticipated, but there was no question he had been tempted.
Linda lay back on the bed and tried to coax from her imagination ways to make Carey interested in her. There was a special kind of titillation in the images she conjured, because even as she planned, she could feel Earl thinking about her on the bed with Carey and getting that strange combination of jealousy and arousal that was most exciting to her. Linda knew what her punishment was going to be, because she was going to submit herself for it.
She was going to make the big, wet tears come, and make her voice go small and helpless, and say, “Then he did this, and this, and this.” And Earl, because he was Earl, would make her do again everything she described for him. She could already hear his voice, through clenched teeth, whispering, “Like this? Was it like this?” And she would be beside herself with excitement, because with Earl it wasn’t like being with a man. It was like being possessed by a demon—part guilty, shameful sensation, but mostly fearing and sharing all of that power. A necessary part of her fantasy was that Earl would begin her punishment only after he had killed Carey. She liked to imagine that he would do it with a knife.
25
As the sign for Hungry Horse drifted past her window, Jane said, “Keep your eyes open for a sporting goods store. If we don’t find what we need here, go on to Coram. If you see a military surplus store or one of those places for survival psychos, don’t pass it by.”
They both saw the store at the same time, and it seemed to be a little of each. The sign was big and crude, but the merchandise in the window included skis and toboggans. “Park off the street,” she said. Pete found a space behind the building between two delivery trucks and they entered.
Jane picked out two of everything—compasses, canteens, sleeping bags, waterproof matches, flashlights. Pete hovered beside her to take the merchandise she selected, a worried look on his face. She whispered, “You
