Safer Dead

I took out a pocket screwdriver I had brought with me. Looking closely I could see some of the screw heads that secured the planking looked newer and less rusty than the others. Working quickly I took out all the newer looking screws. They came out easily. Then I dug the point of the screwdriver between two planks and levered one up. My mouth was dry and my heart was pounding as I turned the beam of my flashlamp down into the cavity.

Although I was expecting a gruesome find, the grinning skull, picked clean by rats, that stared up at me out of the darkness, made me catch my breath.

The glimpse I had of the dusty leather wind cheater told me I was looking at all that remained of Ted Dillon.

II

For perhaps ten seconds I stared down at the skull, then, with cold sweat on my face, I pulled up another plank so I could see more of him.

It was Ted Dillon all right. The wind cheater and corduroy trousers as well as a forked stick from which hung perished elastic that lay near him, made identification certain. There was a hole and powder burning on the left side of the wind cheater to tell me he had been shot at close quarters, and as I stared down at the telltale hole I wondered how it was the sound of the shot wasn’t heard up at the house which was no more than a hundred yards or so from the cabin.

Working quickly, I replaced the two planks and screwed them down. Then I flicked the carpet back into place and shifted the furniture into its original position again. I straightened up and wiped the sweat off my face. I had seen what I had come to see, and there was no point in remaining here any longer.

As I crossed to the light switch, I heard a board creak somewhere on the verandah. I hurriedly turned off the light and listened.

Only the heavy beating of my heart and the faint sighing of the wind in the trees outside came to me.

I moved silently across the room to the window, drew the drapes and looked out on to the moonlit clearing. I could see only the dark trees and darker shadows: shadows deep enough for someone to be lurking there unseen.

I fumbled in my hip pocket for Juan’s gun, pulled it out and slid back the safety catch. I didn’t think anyone was out there, but I had an uneasy feeling there might be. I stood still, leaning against the wall, looking out into the darkness. Minutes ticked by and still nothing happened. I neither saw nor heard anything.

Then just as I was deciding to take a chance and climb out of the window on to the verandah, a pheasant gave a frightened squawk and rose out of a nearby tree with a great flapping of wings that scared me silly.

I peered through the window, my heart thumping, my gun thrust forward. Someone was out there, I thought. Someone who was sneaking towards the cabin and who had disturbed the bird. Then my attention shifted from the dark shadows outside to a faint sound that seemed close to me. I felt the hair on the nape of my neck rise as I listened. It was as if someone near me had put their weight on a loose board and the board had given slightly.

I was so scared I couldn’t bring myself to look over my shoulder. If someone was in the room, whoever it was could see me outlined against the window. I made a sweet target for a shot in the back.

I imagined now I could hear someone breathing, but maybe that was only my scared imagination scaring me still more. Close to me was a big settee. A quick jump would get me under cover, but I had left it too late. As I tensed myself to dive, Cornelia Van Blake said out of the darkness, ‘Don’t move and drop that gun!’

There was a bite in her voice that warned me to obey. Sliding the safety catch up, I let the gun drop on to the carpet, then the light clicked on and I slowly turned my head. She stood against the wall, a .22 automatic in her hand, her face ivory white, her scarlet lips too vivid against her pallor. She had on a black silk shirt, black slacks and crepe soled sandals. For a long moment we looked at each other.

I had no doubt now that she had murdered her husband and Dillon, and I could see no reason why she shouldn’t murder me. How she had got into the cabin without my hearing her foxed me, but here she was, gun in hand, and if she recognized me, my chances of survival were slight. My life depended on her not knowing who I was.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, not moving, her eyes wary and watchful.

I tried to loosen the muscles in my face. I gave her what I hoped was a simpering smile.

‘Lady, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t be here. I know it, but I heard there was liquor in here and with all your money, I didn’t think you’d miss a bottle.’

I could see that wasn’t the story she was expecting and I went on, driving it home.

‘Maybe you don’t know what it means to crave for a drink,’ I said, wiping my hand across my mouth. ‘I gave my wife my word of honour that I wouldn’t buy the stuff, but I didn’t promise her I wouldn’t steal it. I had to have a drink tonight. I didn’t think anyone came here. It’s when the craving gets me.’