The Love Talker Part 20

"Ned did very well in business," her aunt explained. "I don't understand such matters myself." They are, her tone implied, too vulgar.

"So now we're down to you and Aunt Lizzie," Laurie mused. "Your father must have been a-"

"He had every right to do what he wished with his own," Ida said firmly. "He chose . . ." Her hesitation was only momentary. "He chose to leave everything to Lizzie."

"Why did he do that?"

"I have explained to you why he omitted Ned and Mary. His reasons for excluding me are irrelevant." She lifted a hand to silence Laurie as the latter started to object. "Believe me, Laura, they are."

"Couldn't you challenge the will?" Laurie asked indignantly.

"Certainly not!" Her aunt was equally indignant. "Father was in complete possession of his senses. The embarra.s.sment and publicity of a lawsuit were out of the question." Her tone softened. "It has never made any difference, Laura. Your Aunt Elizabeth is very generous." She added, with no change of tone, "You are burning the sausages."

"Oh." Laurie flipped the sausages, with a reckless spatter of grease. She was now as reluctant as Ida to pursue the subject, but she forced herself to ask the question to which she already knew the answer. "Then who inherits when Aunt Lizzie dies?"

"I do, of course," Ida said. "And Ned. Elizabeth has always refused to make a will. Do you see now why I have been perturbed? If Elizabeth is losing her mind she will require skilled care; and an inst.i.tution is out of the question, Laura, I could not bring myself to take her from her home. If there is a plot aimed at her sanity or her life . . ."

"Oh, my," Laurie said helplessly. "I see what you mean."

"A singularly useless comment," said a voice from the door. Laurie turned. Hands in the pockets of his jeans, hair immaculate, Doug lounged against the doorframe.

"How long have you been there?" she asked.

"I heard most of it." Doug uncrossed his legs and went to Ida. Dropping to one knee, he put both arms around her stiff shoulders. "Get one thing straight," he told her. "I wouldn't believe you wanted to harm Aunt Lizzie if I caught you pointing a gun at her. I wouldn't believe it if Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot and the combined police forces of greater New York, Baltimore, and Washington, D.C., told me so."

Even in that extremity Ida did not succ.u.mb to the weakness of tears or emotion. She only said, "Thank you, Douglas," but her expression as she looked at him made Laurie's throat tighten.

"Make that two of us," she said.

Doug squeezed his aunt's shoulders and rose to his feet. Laurie was feeling particularly fond of him at that moment; she noted with approval that he moved neatly, without Jeff's feline suppleness, but with a grace all his own. Yes, as brothers went, he was a good example.

"You are burning the sausages," he said.

"Oh, curse it."

"They're a lost cause, I'm afraid." Doug inspected the wrinkled, leathery dark-brown objects in the pan with a fastidiously lifted nose. "Get out of the way and let me cook. I can see I'll never get any breakfast if I depend on you emotional females. Where is everybody this morning?"

"We all slept late," Ida said.

Doug busied himself at the stove. Laurie got herself some coffee and refilled her aunt's cup. Having started a new batch of sausages and filled the toaster with bread, Doug said, "We had another bad night last night, Aunt Ida. Luckily Aunt Lizzie didn't hear it, but the fairy piper was at it again. Laurie sallied bravely forth to investigate and the musician tried to run her down with the Lincoln."

Ida's shocked exclamation was echoed from the hall. Lizzie stood there, her horrified face contrasting ludicrously with her frivolous lace-trimmed peasant blouse and ropes of bright beads.

"You are tact personified," Laurie told Doug. "It's all right, Aunts; I wasn't hurt, I just skinned my knees."

Deciding that Lizzie was the more perturbed of the two, she started toward her, bent on rea.s.surance, but Lizzie waved her off and stumbled back. So might Macbeth have responded to the ghost of Banquo, his victim, and although Laurie knew her aunt's distress was genuine, she could not help noticing the streak of theatricalism that seemed to run in the family.

"Oh, dear," Lizzie gasped. "Oh, I never thought.... It isn't fun anymore. I can't let this . . . Wait here. Wait, I'll be right back."

She retreated at full speed, her dangling necklaces clashing.

The others exchanged glances.

"Oh, oh," Laurie said. "You don't suppose she planned it herself?"

"The thought did pa.s.s through my mind," Doug admitted. "But, d.a.m.n it-excuse me, Aunt Ida-no, she couldn't have. Not alone."

Lizzie was back before they could pursue this theory in greater detail. Her beruffled bosom heaved agitatedly. She thrust an envelope at Doug.

"Here. Here, take them."

"You told us they were gone," Laurie exclaimed, as Doug removed a small sheaf of snapshots from the envelope. "Aunt Lizzie, you lied to us."

"Oh, my darling, how can you say such a thing! I would never tell you a falsehood. The photographs I had concealed in my secret place were taken. But . . ." She c.o.c.ked her head and gave Laurie a sly glance. "You don't suppose I had only one set, do you? No, no, I had them copied. I pretended I had to go to the drugstore to buy aspirin. And, of course," she added virtuously, "I did purchase the aspirin, so that was not a lie."

"But, Aunt Lizzie-"

"Now don't scold me." The old lady's lip quivered. "It was just a game. Life gets so boring around here. But it can't go on, not if you are going to be hurt, Laura. Douglas must look at the photographs and tell us what to do."

"I wasn't hurt," Laurie a.s.sured her. "But I'm afraid your pretty robe is ruined, Aunt Lizzie. I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have worn it, but I was in a hurry and I couldn't find my jeans, and . . . What are you looking at me that way for?"

"My robe?" Lizzie repeated. "The gold one?"

"I'm so sorry. And I'm afraid your coat is ripped, but that was just a seam, it can be-"

"My coat?"

"I'm really terribly sorry, Auntie."

Lizzie's worried look smoothed out into an expression of such profound stupidity that a casual observer would have supposed she had lost what remained of her senses. Laurie knew better. Lizzie was considering a new, startling idea, and planning what she should do about it. There was no use questioning her about it, she would be deaf and blind to external stimuli until she had worked out her plans.

Laurie turned to the photographs, which Doug had spread out on the kitchen table. They were the same ones she had seen before-or rather, if Lizzie was to be believed, copies of them. His elbows on the table, his chin propped on his hands, Doug studied the bizarre objects intently. Ida moved her chair so she could see them too. She could no longer afford to dismiss Lizzie's fancies with a sniff of contempt.

"They are most peculiar, are they not?" she murmured. "I have never seen such things."

"I have," Doug said.

"What?" Laurie exclaimed. "Where? How? Who?"

"They're very good," Doug said, with the judicious air of a connoisseur. "Brilliant, in fact. Most fantastic art is out-and-out horror-buggy-eyed monsters or slimy what-nots from outer s.p.a.ce. It takes genius to give a faint, shivery suggestion of something alien and malevolent in familiar form. Not many artists can produce work of this caliber. Dore, Beardsley, some of Ed Cartier's stuff. . . . Frazetta and the Hildebrand brothers are slick and commercial and popular, but I'm not overly impressed by them. They never gave me the shivers."

Except for the first name, Laurie had never heard of the people he mentioned. That was enough to give her a clue, however.

"These are not paintings," she protested.

"No, they're definitely three-dimensional. I don't recognize the medium. Some semitransparent plastic, I would guess."

Laurie dropped into the nearest chair.

"Sculptures-figurines? Is that what-"

"What else could they be, nitwit? I don't blame you for being impressed, though," Doug added generously. "You're not familiar with this field of art. It's become popular, with the general boom in science fiction and fantasy, Star Wars and Tolkien and their imitators. Most of the artwork is two-dimensional. Posters, calendars, book ill.u.s.trations. There aren't many sculptors who specialize in horror and fantasy. And this guy is extraordinarily talented. Oh, yes, it's a guy, not a woman. I've seen his work somewhere. Wish I could remember his name."

"Where did you see it?"

"I forget. One of the sci-fi conventions, maybe. I've been to so many of 'em. He's not one of the well-known artists in the field. Probably an amateur who does this as a hobby and rarely exhibits."

Laurie was speechless. As she looked again, the true nature of the "fairies" seemed so obvious she could have blushed for her own gullibility. She was as bad as Lizzie; some subconscious part of her mind had wanted to believe in the wonders of the invisible world she had cherished as a child, when she had populated Idlewood's pastoral peace with fairy-tale characters. Yet the faked photos were cleverly done. The surrounding leaves and blades of gra.s.s had been arranged to suggest just-halted movement, so that the artificial intrusions blended with the natural background.

"Can we trace these things?" she demanded.

"Maybe. There are shops that specialize in fantasy. I don't know about Frederick; certainly D.C. and Baltimore might have such things. Getting the artist's name won't solve our problem, though. Presumably his work is for sale to anyone who walks in off the street."

"He can't have a large clientele," Laurie argued. "A dealer might remember who bought these, especially if they are one of a kind."

"Oh, I'll try," Doug a.s.sured her. "Don't expect quick results, though. I'm sure I saw these figures here in the East-I've never been to any of the Western or Midwest conventions-but that doesn't mean the artist is from this area. These little gems could have been bought in San Francisco or Nome, Alaska, for all we know. The fans keep in touch with one another, so I'm sure I can track the guy down eventually through local dealers. But it will take time."

Laurie made an exasperated noise. Doug grinned sympathetically.

"I know how you feel. I'm impatient too. So why don't we go to the source? Aunt Lizzie. Hey, Auntie, wake up and pay attention. The die is cast, the worms have turned. We want the truth now."

Lizzie started affectedly. Three pairs of hostile eyes focused on her. She began to retreat, step by step.

"Come on," Doug insisted. "You told us you got these from the Wilson girls. We know that isn't true-"

"Douglas, I do not tell lies! If you choose not to believe me, I won't talk to you anymore."

"Auntie, a child could not have taken these." Doug's tone became wheedling. "Come on, Auntie, be nice. You said you didn't want to see Laurie get hurt-"

"Laurie won't be hurt. That was ... It won't happen again. Dear me," Lizzie murmured, as if to herself, "I seem to have acted rather precipitately. It has always been my weakness." Her eyes shifted, with seeming casualness; when they came to rest on the snapshots Doug slapped his hand down on them. Lizzie sighed. "There is nothing to worry about," she a.s.sured them. "Nothing at all. Laura, darling, will you see to breakfast? I just don't seem to feel like cooking this morning. I think I will take a little nap."

"Stop her," Laurie exclaimed, starting up. It was too late. Lizzie had fluttered out, with the deceptive speed she could muster when she wanted to.

"What's the point?" Doug demanded. "I can hardly shake the truth out of her, can I? What made her change her mind?"

"She put two and two together, that's what," Laurie said. "Darn that woman! She's the smartest lunatic I ever saw. Don't you get it? When she thought I was in danger she was ready to tell us everything she knew. Then-dumb me!-I told her I was wearing her clothes and she realized she was the intended victim. She's enjoying this melodrama!"

"Or she knows who the villain is and thinks he wouldn't hurt her," Doug said.

"She could be wrong."

"She sure could. d.a.m.n .. . Excuse me, Aunt. I just burned the second batch of sausages."

With Ida's help Laurie finally managed to get breakfast. Lizzie had barricaded herself in her room and refused to come out. When Doug knocked and demanded entry, a slim furry paw slid under the door and dug sharp claws into his ankle. He left, cursing cats, Lizzie, and old houses that didn't have properly fitted doors, and shut himself in with the telephone.

Ned came in and applied himself to his breakfast.

"Going into town," he announced. "Taking the car in. Fender's dented. Can't have it like that."

"Did Jeff tell you how it got dented?" Laurie asked.

"Must have forgotten to set the brake," Ned said calmly. "Even Atlas nods." He inspected Laurie. "You all right? You must be, you were walking okay this morning." He returned to his eggs.

Laurie looked at her uncle with exasperated affection. He was so disinterested in the ordinary cares of life that he seemed inhuman at times. At least after their talk that morning she had a clue as to why he was that way. Plunged into the insanity of war, some men became hardened to slaughter and cruelty. Ned had become oversensitized to pain and protected himself by trying not to care too much.

Doug joined them.

"Guess what?" he demanded, grinning.

"Don't tell me you found the artist!" Laurie registered appropriate surprise, pleasure and admiration.

"I got his name. Frank Fulkes. Sound familiar?"

"Never heard of him."

"I doubt that he's our villain." Doug perched on the edge of the table and began nibbling absent-mindedly on the last sausage. "He lives in upstate New York. Hasn't produced anything for several years. But the second place I called-the Cimmerian Bookshop, in Baltimore-used to handle his work. If I take in the snapshots they may remember who bought those pieces."

Neither of them expected Ned to demonstrate any curiosity about this speech; nor did he.

"Going to town," he told Doug. "Have to take the car in. Big dent in the fender."

"You're not driving, are you?" Doug asked apprehensively.

"No. Jeff. I have to go along, make sure they do the job right."

Doug looked inquiringly at Laurie. His uncle's Olympian calm seemed to bewilder him.

"Jeff forgot to set the parking brake," she said.

"Anybody can make a mistake," Ned remarked. "Offered to pay for it. Can't allow that, of course. I'm going now."

He left. d.u.c.h.ess, abandoned, let out a sharp, indignant bark. She was soothed by the remains of the sausage, preferred by Doug, and settled down at his feet.

"You going to Baltimore?" Laurie asked.

"Uh-huh."

"Want me to come along?"

"You'd better stay here and keep an eye on Lizzie. G.o.d knows what she'll do next."

"That was odd, wasn't it? That she's the family heiress. I never would have suspected it. I wonder how much money is involved."

"Almost any amount of money can const.i.tute a motive for someone," Doug answered. "But do you believe that's the reason for all this?"

"I don't see how it could be. The only one who profits is Aunt Ida, and n.o.body in his right mind would suspect her. She must know that. Why do you suppose she's so upset?"

"She isn't worried about being suspected. She's worried about the next heirs."