Domino. Part 21

"It will probably take him an hour or more," Gail said. "In the meantime you look as though you need food."

"I don't want anything to eat," I told her, and Hillary said he'd had lunch at the hotel, and he would wait for me downstairs.

240.

I hurried down to my room to get out of my clothes. When I stood before the mirror in the bathroom I saw dirt streaking my face, with bits of wood and earth caught in my hair. In an instant I was back in the mine, remembering, trapped and frightened, with that smooth skull under my hand.

Hastily I splashed water on my face, shed my clothes, and stepped under the shower. For a moment all I wanted was to wash memory away, to stop being afraid. But my escape from the mine hadn't freed either Jon Maddocks or me from the danger that threatened us, and threatened Persis Morgan as well. I must talk to Jon as soon as possible. And there was one other thing I would do. I would go to the hotel and find Belle Durant, remind her of her promise to help if she was needed.

When I went downstairs I found Hillary in the parlor, looking through Morgan alb.u.ms, absorbed in old pictures. He had stopped at the snapshot I had found of Noah Arinand.

I could feel myself freezing at the sight of it, and Hillary saw my face. "What's the matter, Laurie?"

I didn't want to talk about those bones in the tunnel. Not > now. There was too much I needed to do.

"I want to go over to the hotel," I said.

He smiled at me. "That's just where I plan to take you. There's something I want you to see. A little distraction won't hurt right now, and you can come back here quickly before the doctor arrives."

I knew he was going to put his arms around me, but when I stepped back he let me go. "Something's been happening since we came here, hasn't it, Laurie? You've turned into a woman I don't entirely know."

I tried not to hear his words as dialogue from a play. He must have feelings-deep feelings-but I was beginning to realize that I didn't know what they were.

"We have to talk, Hillary. But not now. Not while my grandmother-"

"I know," he said gently. "Come along with me now, and I promise I'll get you back here quickly. I do want to show ^ou something."

"All right," I said. "But first I have a phone call to make."

He waited for me in the parlor. Jon's number was in the small book by the hall telephone, and I dialed it quickh, But though I let the ringing go on for some time, he didn't answ er. Probably because he had already gone to his meeting with Ingram? Perhaps I would find him at the hotel too. An increasing sense of anxiety was rising in me.

Hillary's mood seemed cheerful enough, and I knew he didn't really believe anything was seriously wrong between us. But I couldn't convince him now. We crossed the yard together, and at the gate I stopped and looked back at the house. Once more brown draperies had been drawn in Persis Morgan's room and the windows closed. I was sorrier than ever that I hadn't urged more strongly for Gail Cullen's dismissal while I had the chance.

Along the street we walked beneath scaffolding, dodged workmen, picked our way past debris that was being cleared out of one of the false-front buildings. When we reached the Timberline, we found Belle at the desk, looking rather distant and unwelcoming. It wasn't going to be easy to approach her, but I must say what I'd come to say. I must remind her of a half promise she had made me that time in the cemeten.

Mark Ingram was there as well, large and benevolent and a.s.sured. A benevolence I trusted even less than before. Impeccable in his gray cords, the silver-topped cane in one large hand, he beamed at us. There was no sign of Jon, to my relief. I must tell Hillary all that had happened, but when we were alonenot here.

I spoke directly to Belle. "My grandmother needs you. She's been oversedated and she's unconscious. The doctor has been sent for, but she ought to have better care than she's getting.

More trustworthy care." I flicked a quick look at Ingram, but he was impa.s.sive, merely listening. "Belle, will you come?" I pleaded.

She hesitated, obviously uncomfortable. Then she glanced at Ingram. "Sorry, my job is here."

I would have to get her alone, I thought. I would give my words time to soak in, and come back to the attack later. Belle, I suspected, was not one to act impulsively.

However, I had another question to ask her. "Caleb received a phone call from a man who said he'd heard a dog barking over near the mine on Old Desolate. The man told him he'd spoken to you and you said the dog probably belonged to me. Can you tell me who he was?"

"n.o.body talked to me about any dog," she said.

I stared at Ingram, but his expression still exuded that benevolence I didn't trust, and I knew he would admit to nothing.

Hillary sensed an impa.s.se and broke in, speaking to Ingram. "I'd like to show Laurie the Opera House. We won't be long."

Ingram's expansive mood reached out to all of us in an excess of goodwill that I didn't believe in for one moment.

"A fine idea," he said. "In fact, I'd like to show it to Miss Morgan myself. Belle, come along with us. You're not needed here right now."

Moving with obvious reluctance, she came from behind the desk.

I didn't want to spend time sight-seeing, but this might be my one chance to have a further word with Belle. I tried to relax and not fidget.

As we crossed the street, I sensed that a hint of something electric was stirring in Hillary. He was planning some moment of drama that I didn't welcome at this time. I would have to deal with it when it came and try to get this visit to the Opera House over as quickly as possible.

The double doors stood open, and the lighting system had al- ready been repaired and connected inside, so that illumination flared when Ingram touched a switch. Moving ahead of us, Hillary went eagerly to pull open the door to the orchestra, and I stood at the head of a dark aisle, waiting for the house lights to come on.

It was Belle who went to find the switch, and the dull glitter of a chandelier, dusty with disuse, bloomed overhead, along with tulip-shaped lights along the side walls. Someone had at least swept out the orchestra pit, and the floor and s.p.a.ces between dilapidated seats were clean enough. Ahead and below us the stage stood dark and shadowy, the curtain-what was left of it-raised into the proscenium arch, its edges frayed by age.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Hillary whispered, as though reluctant to disturb old ghosts.

I knew he was seeing it as it could be, and I nodded.

"Red and gold, of course," he went on. "Lots of velvet. The two tiers of boxes on either side of the stage are jewels in themselves. Their bra.s.s rails should be restored, and all the seats must be red. It can be a beautifully rich little house!"

He had forgotten my grandmother, forgotten all our problems, in his rapture over this theater.

Mark Ingram smiled blandly. "You're right, of course. I've been thinking of bringing out an expert from New York to do the theater over. So I'm glad to have your impression."

I looked quickly at Hillary and saw a flash of very real anger in his face. He didn't like this man any better than I did, but he coveted this theater.

Ingram must have seen the look too, but it only amused him. He had a talent for stirring up emotion, playing with it. All this was rather a game to him. Destroying my grandmother was a game. Had shutting me into a mine tunnel also been a rather deadly game?

Now he laughed. "I had been thinking of sending for an ex- More trustworthy care." I flicked a quick look at Ingram, but he was impa.s.sive, merely listening. "Belle, will you come?" I pleaded.

She hesitated, obviously uncomfortable. Then she glanced at Ingram. "Sorry, my job is here."

I would have to get her alone, I thought. I would give my words time to soak in, and come back to the attack later. Belle, I suspected, was not one to act impulsively.

However, I had another question to ask her. "Caleb received a phone call from a man who said he'd heard a dog barking over near the mine on Old Desolate. The man told him he'd spoken to you and you said the dog probably belonged to me. Can you tell rne who he was?"

"n.o.body talked to me about any dog," she said.

I stared at Ingram, but his expression still exuded that benevolence I didn't trust, and I knew he would admit to nothing.

Hillary sensed an impa.s.se and broke in, speaking to Ingram. "I'd like to show Laurie the Opera House. We won't be long."

Ingram's expansive mood reached out to all of us in an excess of goodwill that I didn't believe in for one moment.

"A fine idea," he said. "In fact, I'd like to show it to Miss Morgan myself. Belle, come along with us. You're not needed here right now."

Moving with obvious reluctance, she came from behind the desk.

I didn't want to spend time sight-seeing, but this might be my one chance to have a further word with Belle. I tried to relax and not fidget.

As we crossed the street, I sensed that a hint of something electric was stirring in Hillary. He was planning some moment of drama that I didn't welcome at this time. I would have to deal with it when it came and try to get this visit to the Opera House over as quickly as possible.

The double doors stood open, and the lighting system had al- 243.

ready been repaired and connected inside, so that illumination flared when Ingram touched a switch. Moving ahead of us, Hillary went eagerly to pull open the door to the orchestra, and I stood at the head of a dark aisle, waiting for the house lights to come on.

It was Belle who went to find the switch, and the dull glitter of a chandelier, dusty with disuse, bloomed overhead, along with tulip-shaped lights along the side walls. Someone had at least swept out the orchestra pit, and the floor and s.p.a.ces between dilapidated seats were clean enough. Ahead and below us the stage stood dark and shadowy, the curtain-what was left of it-raised into the proscenium arch, its edges frayed by age.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Hillary whispered, as though reluctant to disturb old ghosts.

I knew he was seeing it as it could be, and I nodded.

"Red and gold, of course," he went on. "Lots of velvet. The two tiers of boxes on either side of the stage are jewels in themselves. Their bra.s.s rails should be restored, and all the seats must be red. It can be a beautifully rich little house!"

He had forgotten my grandmother, forgotten all our problems, in his rapture over this theater.

Mark Ingram smiled blandly. "You're right, of course. I've been thinking of bringing out an expert from New York to do the theater over. So I'm glad to have your impression."

I looked quickly at Hillary and saw a flash of very real anger in his face. He didn't like this man any better than I did, but he coveted this theater.

Ingram must have seen the look too, but it only amused him. He had a talent for stirring up emotion, playing with it. All this was rather a game to him. Destroying my grandmother was a game. Had shutting me into a mine tunnel also been a rather deadly game?

Now he laughed. "I had been thinking of sending for an ex- pert, but perhaps I won't need to. The job is yours, Hillary, if you want it."

His anger didn't die out at once, and this time the real Hillary was coming through. For an instant I glimpsed his pa.s.sion for the theater-all aspects of the theater. Then he was his charming self again and laughing with Ingram. But I didn't think he had liked being manipulated, even though he might be willing to work for Mark Ingram because of the theater.

Belle had rejoined us and was listening, still looking uncomfortable. "When you refurbish it, Mark, who's to come? There are a dozen more easily accessible old towns in Colorado that have more to offer than this one."

Ingram's soft chuckle wasn't particularly pleasant to hear. He was enjoying every movement of his chessmen. "Belle is our local pessimist. She lacks vision, I'm afraid. But you and I can see the future, can't we, Hillary?"

Hillary was no longer listening. He'd started off by himself, lost in his own fantasy of what this theater would one day be, caught up in his own excitement.

"Come look here, sir," he called out, and I winced at the "sir." Hillary was playing his own game too, erasing that moment of open anger, presenting the role of a young man, extremely respectful toward one who was older and wiser.

"I suppose your friend will be writing and acting in his own plays?" That was Belle's whisper rasping in my ear.

I looked at her more carefully in the dusty light. She hadn't bothered with makeup today, and her wide cheekbones were more prominent than ever, her untinted mouth large and a bit rebellious.

I asked a question that was not entirely idle. "Do you know if Mr. Ingram was out on a horse this morning?"

She turned and started down the aisle because Ingram was beckoning to her. "I wouldn't know," she said over her shoulder.

245.

"I had a hangover this morning, and I didn't get up until a little while ago. He's still peeved with me about that."

I followed her down the aisle to the edge of the stage, where Ingram and Hillary were conferring. The older man was gesturj ing toward a rickety wooden gallery that could be reached by stairs backstage. A catwalk ran above ropes and pulleys, controlling the flats that made up what was left of stage scenery. I felt an odd sense of recognition, though I didn't know why.

"All that trash will have to come down," Ingram said. "There are a couple of old dressing rooms in the loft up there -too small and inconvenient. We'll clean it all out and build I some decent rooms backstage, even if we have to add an annex. Will you go up and have a look, Hillary? I don't think you've been up there. Belle can show you the way. Those stairs are a j bit too steep for me-harder to get down than up."

"Of course," Hillary agreed cheerfully. "Come along, Laurie. I Let's explore."

He went ahead of me toward the door at the left of the I stage, and ran up the few steps.

Belle came after us more slowly, still reluctant. "This place I gives me the creeps. I'm not much for ghosts, but I can believe I in them back here."

I could too. It was dim backstage, and the air seemed cold I and musty. There was a smell of dust as we moved about. I stood between wings that seemed to represent a street scene beneath ancient grime, and looked across the stage. By New York standards it was small, but any empty stage can seem large.

"Look up there," Belle said, pointing to the gallery that ran (across the back above the flats. "One young soubrette is supposed to have thrown herself down from there, breaking her neck when she hit the stage."

I shivered, but Hillary was calling to me. "This is the way np Come on, Laurie. I want you to see the theater from up here."

Belle gave me a little push. "Go ahead. I've been up before. Just watch yourselves, you two."

Hillary climbed first, light and graceful as a cat, and I took hold of the unsteady rail and went after him. As always, I was ready to climb anything. I would choose heights over depths any day, but something else was pulling me now. I had been up here before. The steps reached a landing and then climbed again, and I looked down at Belle, her wide face upturned, watching us, her look anxious.

"Be careful!" she called.

Hillary paid no attention. I knew his imagination was leaping ahead to how it was all going to be, and he began explaining to me how perfect, how beautiful, how comfortable for both the theater's patrons and for the actors backstage everything could be made.

"Look at this," he said, poking into a tiny dressing room that boasted a cracked mirror on the wall and a sagging makeup shelf. "Imagine all the itinerant actors who have occupied this room, dressing and making up in front of that very mirror. And then going out to the cheers and jeers of an audience of miners. Maybe that's what I'll do a play about-one of those actors. And of course the miner's daughter who loved him. It can be beautifully corny, Laurie, and today's audiences will love the nostalgia."

I hardly heard him, because it was not the shabby little dressing room that drew me but the long gallery that stretched high above the stage. I could almost hear my father's voice echoing in this high place.

All right, my little mountain goat! We'll have a look if you must. Wait till I see if it's safe.

That remembered voice drew me. I knew we had gone out there together. I left Hillary to his make-believe and stepped carefully onto what was hardly more than a catwalk. The railing was steady enough, and the wood underfoot seemed firm. I moved cautiously, drawn by the spell of memory that vas so strong in me, and by a sense of long-lost companionship. Always I had loved to stand in high places where I could see what no one else could see, and my father had understood my cornpulsion.

If I went just a little farther out I would be able to view the whole theater, as I had seen it long ago with him.

I inched toward the middle of the stage, where I could look down from what seemed a vast height above the bare boards, to where Mark Ingram stood before the row of old-fashioned footlights, staring up at me. Beyond him lay the entire dim and dusty theater, clear to a dark row of back seats. It was as exhilarating as standing on a mountain, and I could almost feel my hand in my father's strong clasp, protecting me.

Had Sissy Tremayne ever danced and sung on this stage in the days before she married her Englishman and went to lie in the mining camp of Domino? It was possible.

"Come back, Laurie," Hillary called. "It can't be safe out there."

I took one more tentative step toward the center of the walk and heard the cracking of rotten wood. Not the railing that I clung to with my lacerated hands, but the boards under rm feet. Before I could recover and draw back, one foot was going through a widening crack. The stage below me showed through jagged splinters-a drop that could break every bone in rm body. My scream sounded thin and high, and I clung with all my strength to a railing that had begun to shake.

Hillary was there in an instant behind rne, moving lightly, surely. "Hang on," he said. "I can get you."

His arm came about my body with win,- strength just as my leg went through, and he pulled me back slowly from the widening crack.

"Let go, Laurie. It's all right now."

When I managed to uncurl my fingers from about the rail and he'd drawn me to safety, he led me down the stairs to where Belle waited, her face white with shock.