Sleep with the Devil, page 11
"Where is who?" Ferron asked her.
"This other girl," Lydia said. "The girl you think you're going to marry."
Chapter Eleven
FINGERS OF LIGHTNING felt their way across the sky. For a moment, despite the drawn shade, the dimly lighted room was brilliantly illumined. The lightning was followed by a low rumble of thunder that seemed to shake the old Inn.
Ferron realized his chest was laboring with the simple effort of breathing. He stood with his legs spread slightly, looking at Lydia, wondering how she had found him.
Lydia forgot her anger momentarily and was alcoholically sorry for herself. "Well, aren't you glad to see me?"
"Of course I am," Ferron lied.
"You don't act like it."
Ferron forced himself to take her in his arms. "How's this? Better?"
Lydia raised her smeared lips. "You still haven't kissed me."
Ferron kissed her. She still tasted good.
Lydia mouthed his lips wetly, straining her body against his. "I've
been so worried about you, Les. I like to have died when I woke up that Tuesday morning an' you were gone."
Why didn't you? Ferron thought. He tried to remember if he'd locked his door. "I can imagine," he said.
Self pity filled Lydia's voice. "An' then the cops came an' slapped me around because I said I didn't know where you were."
"You didn't."
"They took me over to 52nd Street and held me for a week. An' they wouldn't even let me have any cigarettes."
Ferron felt coldly detached. "That's too bad. I can imagine how you must have suffered."
He released her and tried his door. It was locked. He unlocked it and looked down the hall. There was no one in the dimly lighted hall and no light in the foyer. There was a light in old man Jepson's room at the far end of the hall.
He relocked the door and walked back to Lydia. She was still standing in the doorway.
"Did you kill Whit, Les?" she asked him.
"Of course not," Ferron said. "Don't you read the papers? That big
sergeant killed him."
"Then why did you run away?"
"That's a long story."
Lydia's smeared lips twisted. "I can imagine."
Ferron made certain the shade in the adjoining room was drawn.
"Let's go into your room."
The red-haired girl weaved uncertainly across the faded rug and sat on the rumpled bed in her room, looking around with distaste. "This is a hell of a dump."
"It's all of that," Ferron agreed.
He looked at the bedside table. A cigarette, burned to an ash, was
smouldering in a tray that Lydia had improvised from the top of a cold cream jar. There was a full package of cigarettes beside the tray. There was also a half-filled fifth of bonded bourbon.
Lydia looked at the bottle and brightened. "Let's have a drink."
Ferron handed her the bottle. "You have one."
He watched her tilt the bottle to her lips. He'd never wanted a drink so badly but he didn't dare take one. Perhaps later, but not now. He had to know how Lydia had found him.
Lydia wiped at a trickle of spilled whiskey that was zigzagging down the cleft between her breasts. "Whash a matter with you? You sign the pledge or somethin'?"
"Something like that," Ferron said. He studied Lydia's eyes, wishing he knew how drunk she was.
Lydia leaned back on both hands and giggled. "Thas what Mrs. Harvey tol' me. She said you were one of the nicest young men she had ever known."
Ferron pulled a chair up to the bed and sat with his knees touching Lydia's. "You mean Mrs. Harvey in Palisades Falls?"
"Is there another Mrs. Harvey?"
"No."
"Then that's the one I mean."
"How did you meet her?"
Lydia fluffed the pillow against the headboard of the bed and
made herself more comfortable. "How do you think? I went there."
"How did you know her address?"
Lydia giggled. "I found it."
"Where?"
"You remember that Sunday night you came back after being away for three days?"
"Yes."
"Well, after you went to sleep I looked through your pockets, and
what do you think I found in your wallet? A room receipt signed by a Mrs. Harvey of 210 Oak Street, Palisades Falls, New York."
The beads of perspiration dripping from Ferron's forehead were blurring his vision. He used the skirt of Lydia's negligee to wipe his face, and wished he hadn't. The garment wasn't fastened at the waist and as he wiped at his face it fell away, exposing the familiar white body.
"So that's why you kept asking me if there was some other woman."
Lydia made herself modest. "What would you have thought if you'd
found a receipted hotel bill in my purse?"
"What did you tell Mrs. Harvey?"
"I told her I was your sister."
"Did she believe you?"
"She seemed to."
"And what did she tell you?"
Lydia sat up and refluffed the pillow before lying back again. "She said you were marrying a girl named Amy Wayne, a pretty girl whose father owned a farm that was worth a lot of money." She uncapped the whiskey bottle and looked at Ferron as she drank. "The hell you are. I've told you how I felt. I told you I'd do anything for you. But you're not marrying anyone." The corners of her pretty mouth turned down. "Is that clear?"
Ferron took the bottle from her and recapped it. "Very clear." He set the bottle back on the bed table. If Lydia passed out, he was sunk. There would be no way he could get rid of her.
"It better be," Lydia said. "You try to marry anyone but me an' I'll raise more hell than you ever saw." She studied Ferron's face and shook her head as if puzzled. "What you done to yourself? You look like a goddam farmer."
"Shh. Not so loud," Ferron said.
He got up from the chair, unlocked the door of her room and looked
down the hall again. The light in old man Jepson's room had been turned out. He thought he could hear the old man snoring. He closed and relocked the door.
As he sat back in the chair Lydia asked, "If you didn't kill Whit what are you so jumpy about?"
"All right. So I killed Whit. Why the hell do you think I'm lying low in a joint like this?"
The information seemed to sober Lydia. "You killed Whit?"
"Shh."
"But they've indicted that guy Roberts. Even the cops who questioned me don't think you killed him. All they want to do is talk to you."
Ferron took a cigarette from the package on the bed table and lighted it. It had been three weeks since he had smoked. The harsh smoke rasped his throat. He coughed.
Lydia's eyes continued to search his face. "You mean what you just
said, Les?"
"About what?"
"You killed Whit?"
"I did."
"Why?"
Ferron brushed the question aside. "That doesn't matter now. What
does matter is getting clear. I had everything all set and now you've fouled it up. Were you followed to the Falls?"
"Of course not," Lydia said scornfully. "Do I look like a fool? I took an excursion boat to Bear Mountain, then took a bus the rest of the way."
"How did you get from the Falls to here?"
Lydia giggled. "I hitchhiked."
"With whom?"
"Some farmer."
"Young or old?"
"Young. In a muddy Buick."
Ferron looked around the room. The only luggage he could see was a cheap canvas bag large enough to hold some cosmetics, a change of lingerie, and the fifth of whiskey.
Lydia's eyes followed his. "I traveled light," she told him. "If any cops were watching me I wanted them to think I was going on an excursion, see. Besides, I didn't think I'd need any clothes. I don't usually need any when I'm with you."
Ferron looked at her, then away. His need for a woman had been a physical necessity. Now, he doubted if he could take Lydia if he tried. "What did you tell this farmer who picked you up?" he asked her. "How did you explain being on the road?"
Lydia giggled again. "I told him the same thing I told the old goat who runs this antique flop house. I told them my boyfriend wanted me to be bad, but I wouldn't, that I'd rather walk back to New York."
"What did they say?"
Lydia ran her hands over her breasts, then down over her concave
stomach and white thighs. "They said I was a good girl." She blew up at a wisp of hair that had fallen into her eyes. "Although I thought the old goat downstairs was going to hold a prayer meeting right in the lobby before he rented me a room."
"You told him you knew me?"
"Don't be silly." Lydia lighted a fresh cigarette from the stub of
the one she was smoking. "I wanted to talk to you first, find out just
where I stood."
"I see," Ferron said.
He considered the information. Things weren't as bad as they could
be. He doubted if Jepson had connected him with Lydia. The old man would have made some comment if he had. What was more, he wouldn't have assigned her to the adjoining room.
Lydia asked, "So where do we stand?"
"You know where we stand," Ferron lied. "I'm crazy about you,
honey."
"So crazy you ran out on me."
"I told you, I killed Whit."
"That hasn't anything to do with you marrying this Amy."
Ferron was partially truthful. "She's just part of the cover, baby. I had to disappear."
"You could have disappeared with me."
The big blond turned on his charm. "I intended to, baby. Believe me. As soon as I cleaned up this little business here I intended to contact you and take you to South America with me."
Lydia studied the glowing tip of her cigarette. "I wish I could believe you."
"You can."
Lydia winced as another streak of lightning brightened the room.
"I don't like this place, Les," she said. "Let's get out of here."
"Now? Tonight?"
"Now. Tonight."
"And kick away a quarter of a million dollars?"
"A quarter of a million dollars won't do you any good if you go to the chair."
Ferron sniffed the cigarette he was smoking. "But I'm not going to the chair. A grand jury has indicted Roberts."
Lydia was alcoholically sympathetic. "I feel sorry for him. I saw him at the precinct station after the big eyes had been beating on him for a week, tryin' to make him confess." She shook her head. "He didn't look so good."
"To hell with him," Ferron said.
"The hell with him," Lydia agreed. She snuggled down in the bed.
"You do love me, don't you, Les?"
"Of course I do."
"This Amy is just another one of your fast deals."
"Just another one of my fast deals."
"Then prove you love me."
"How?"
The red-haired girl held out her arms. "You know how I mean."
Ferron made certain he'd relocked the door, then proved he loved her. Despite his former desire the act was obnoxious to him. There was nothing between them but flesh. He'd never known it could mean so little.
When it was over, Ferron handed her the whiskey bottle, wondering
how he was going to get her out of the room, out of the hotel, and back to New York. He sat up on the edge of the bed and looked down at her flushed face as she drank.
"Now do you believe I love you?"
Lydia studied him over the neck of the bottle. "I don't know if I do or not. That didn't mean a thing. All I was was a woman. What's the matter, doesn't this Amy put out?"
The smoke from a cigarette smouldering in the cap of the cold cream jar got in Ferron's eyes. He snuffed the cigarette. "How do you know her name is Amy?"
"Mrs. Harvey told me."
Ferron used the hem of the sheet to wipe the perspiration from his face. "Oh."
Lydia continued. "What's more, Mrs. Harvey said she came over here to church one Sunday, just to sort of snoop around, and that this Amy is one of the prettiest girls she ever saw." Lydia's face turned ugly. "But you're not going to marry her, understand. I'm not going to take a chance of you crawling in bed with any pretty girl. I know you. You might not ever crawl out again."
Ferron continued to mop at his face. "Don't be silly, baby. All I'm interested in is her father's money."
"Ha."
"I swear it's the truth."
Lydia was practical. She adjusted the pillow so she could lean against it. "Look, Les. Let's face it. You've lied so goddam much you couldn't tell the truth if you tried."
Ferron tried to think of something to say. There didn't seem to be anything he could say. He unscrewed the cap from the whiskey bottle and let a four-ounce drink trickle down his throat. Whiskey still tasted good. He could feel an almost delicate glow spread through his body and remembered he hadn't eaten since he'd had breakfast that morning. He'd meant to eat in some good place in New York, but Swinton had frightened him away.
Lydia made herself comfortable. "How much money was in Whit's
safe?"
"Quite a bit," Ferron admitted. "Why?"
"Because we're going away together. You and I. Tonight. I don't care where we go, but we're going away together." Her sharp fingernails bit into Ferron's forearm. "Can't you understand, Les? Neither of us are any good, but we are good for each other. So you killed Whit. So what? Whit was a louse. He got what he had coming. But that hasn't anything to do with us. I love you. You're my man."
Ferron drank from the bottle again, then sat listening to the patter of the rain that had followed the brief electrical display. The whiskey glow continued to spread. He felt more like himself than he had in three weeks, since the night he had killed Whit. Lydia was a nice kid. She meant what she said. She loved him. There wasn't anything she wouldn't do for him. He had $127,000 in cash. It would take them a long way.
Lydia continued. "You aren't even hot, Les. I know. I heard the big eyes talking while they were holding me. They think Roberts killed Whit and is clamming up about the money. And because Whit was a former detective they want to keep the whole thing as quiet as they can and get it over with as fast as they can. They'd just as soon not find you. You know too much about the kind of business Whit was running."
"So where does that leave us?" Ferron asked.
The patter of the long-delayed rain increased to a heavy downpour that made it difficult for Ferron to hear the girl's slurred words.
She smiled. "I told you, sweetheart. We're going away together. Now. Tonight.'
"In this rain?"
Lydia's smile turned wry. "We aren't that sweet, either of us. We
aren't sugar. We won't melt."
"And if I won't go away with you?"
"I'll blow the whistle. I'll yell my lungs out. I'll say I lied about the
time you came to the apartment. I'll tell the cops you told me you killed Whit."
"I'll go to the chair if you do."
"At least no one else will have you."
Ferron drank from the bottle again, then got up from the bed and paced the room slowly. He'd been a fool to feel secure. He was as bad off now as he had been when Whit had been holding the dead Roberts over his head. Lydia meant what she said. She loved him. And if she couldn't have him she would play bitch in the manger rather than see him in Amy's arms.
With the whiskey roaring in his head, he closed his eyes and thought of
Amy as he had seen her standing in the blue lake water. Even the memory excited him. He wanted her. He'd never wanted any woman so badly. Still, after all, she was only a woman. He meant to leave her as soon as he got his hands on her father's money. If he could stall Lydia for six weeks or two months it might be possible for him to have his cake and still have Lydia to munch on.
He sat back on the bed and stroked her. "You know I love you honey."
