A Ticket to Hell Read online

  “Good-by, Mrs. Davis.”

  “Mr. Davis has gone into town. He plays pool every night. As soon as the sun goes down, he goes into town and plays pool.”

  “We all got our problems, Mrs. Davis.”

  She laughed. “That’s no problem. My God, I don’t know how I’d stand it if he didn’t play pool. Why, he acts like we been married less than a week, you know?”

  “That’s fine, Mrs. Davis.”

  “Maybe later, if you get lonely.”

  “All right.” He replaced the receiver.

  He wiped his hand across his mouth, strode across the room. He stepped outside, pushing his door wide open.

  He walked across the grass, hearing it crunch like corn flakes under his shoes. The ground sprinklers were still running. Somewhere he could hear a radio—rock and roll. Darling, they’re killing our song.

  He moved as casually as Handsome had. He would do what he could, but God help him if he attracted any attention.

  He stood before the door, looked both ways along the patio. The darkness was complete now and beginning to fade out. The empty sky glowed with the first stars.

  He rapped sharply against the panel. He waited, but there was no answer, no movement inside that cottage.

  Light glowed at the front of the motel and he heeled around to walk away from the cottage. The light passed and he exhaled.

  He could hear it now, the steady hissing of gas from within the cottage. He strode around the cottage, turned the valve. The hissing died slowly.

  He walked around to the door again, knocked. He studied the knob, took it in both hands. Bracing himself, he put his shoulder against the door close against the jamb, lifting and pressing. He heard the lock snap.

  The door swung open, spilling light around him when he released the knob. The smell of gas was strong. He thrust the door wide open and entered the cottage. It was furnished precisely as his was, but was in greater disarray. The man and woman had been here for some time or were extraordinarily messy. Make-up and lotions littered the dresser top, both men’s and women’s clothing were strewn all over the chairs. The green bathing suit was wadded on the rug. Near it, in a wide-open expensive housecoat, the girl was sprawled.

  He glanced at her only long enough to see that she looked even better out of the green suit, and that her body was that same golden color all over. Her dark hair was loose across the rug, and her face was barely inches from the grate of the wall heater.

  Ric’s mouth twisted. Here was the work of an amateur, beyond any doubt. This girl had passed out somewhere in the room, possibly the bed, and then he’d dragged her here to this exact spot so that she would get the full impact of the gas. The police were supposed to believe she had fallen here in a drunken stupor. His lifting gaze found the empty fifth bottles just as Handsome had left them to be found. Near the girl on a chair was a tray full of cigarettes, all of them red-tipped from her lip rouge. He could see Handsome telling himself how clever this phony setup looked. Here was a despondent woman who smoked and drank her way into a suicidal mood.

  He cursed, grabbing her roughly by her ankles and dragging her across the room to the door. No wonder the cops solved as many crimes as they did. When they were committed by brains like Handsome’s, the phony look of them screamed all the way to the D.A.’s office.

  He stood looking along the motel patio. He had attracted no one yet. He exhaled slowly, realizing it was the first time he’d breathed since he’d entered the cottage; and it wasn’t fear of gas. He was afraid of trouble—and trouble hounded him.

  Ric knelt beside her, slipped his arms under her body. He lifted her and walked slowly across the patio. He entered his cottage and kicked the door shut.

  He laid her down across his bed, and for a moment paused to look at her. He felt his nails bite into the palms of his hands.

  He bent over her, lifting her left breast slightly in the cup of his hand as he felt for her heartbeat. It was there through the texture of her breast. He pulled her housecoat across her rounded stomach and buttoned it almost roughly.

  He left her there and went out of his cottage. He crossed the patio again. Inside her cottage, he stood for a moment, looking around. He selected a shirt and skirt, deciding these would be easiest to put on her if he had to dress her before she regained consciousness. One thing was certain; if there were any chance that she was to be found in his motel room, he wanted her fully dressed. And with Peggy running up and down the motel walks trying to cool off her hot pants, there was a chance she’d be found in his cottage.

  He turned to leave the cottage; then, face set, he moved quickly, straightening up the room, ruining all the stage dressing Handsome had so carefully laid out. He dropped the empty bottles in the disposal, emptied ash trays into the toilet. He threw her loose clothing in the closet along with Handsome’s and closed the door. He scooped up the dirty glasses and put them in the sink. He glanced around then, deciding the room looked almost respectable.

  At the front door, he found that the lock catch had been sprung from the wall. He pressed it back into place, pushed the lock off the door and closed it gently so it held. There was no way he could keep an observant person from knowing something had happened in there, but at least it no longer looked like the room in which a despondent woman committed suicide.

  Carrying her skirt and shirt, he returned to his own cottage. He turned on the light, drew the blind closed and locked the door securely.

  She was lying as he had left her on his bed, the housecoat parted across one long golden column of her leg. He was going to be tormented by the looks of her for a long time.

  It was pretty certain that she had passed out from the drinks Handsome had fed her, and that the gas had not touched her yet. Black coffee would be ideal for bringing her around. The trouble with black coffee was that he might run into Peggy trying to get it.

  He got a glass from his dresser, went into the bathroom. He peeled open a bar of soap, dropped it in the glass, ran water in it and stirred until the mixture was gray and soapy. Then he removed the soap. He lifted the girl then, brought her into the bathroom.

  He laid her down on the bathmat, leaning her body against the tub. Holding her head back, he forced the soapy water down her mouth. He pinched her nostrils closed, forcing her to swallow. It didn’t take much of the water.

  He half lifted her so she was hanging over the tub, and he turned the water on full force.

  Wetting a towel, he washed her face and carried her back to the bed. She was whimpering and writhing back and forth.

  He loosened the button on her housecoat. It fell away down her arms when he lifted her. He pushed her arms through her shirt, buttoned it.

  She was still fighting him, her eyes closed and her mouth twisted pettishly when he pulled the skirt down over her shoulders. He turned her on her side, zipped and buttoned it.

  He stepped back, watching her roll her head back and forth on the bed.

  “Martin?” She whispered.

  He did not answer. Her eyes opened slowly, seeming to focus even more slowly, as though she were unwilling to come back to whatever hell she had drunk her way out of.

  When she saw him, her eyes widened. A shiver passed through her body. She sat up, moving in slow motion, never taking her distended gaze from his face. Then she let her gaze slide down to her wrinkled clothing.

  Her mouth pulled. For a second Ric was afraid she was going to scream, and he set himself to leap forward and clap his hand across her mouth.

  He saw the terror working into her eyes.

  His voice was cold. “What’s that for?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Well, I’m not Martin,” he said. “That’s for sure. I’m not pretty enough.”

  Her mouth trembled. “Where is Martin?”

  “My God. You mean you still care?” He shook his head and turning, walked away from her. He stared at the television set. Gray pictures were still leaping silently on its picture tube. A woman was sobb
ing. For a moment he thought it was the same woman he’d seen there this afternoon.

  Chapter Six

  “Who are you?” Her voice had so much more in it than simple fear that Ric turned, almost pitying her.

  She had not moved. She was still sitting crouched forward on his bed. Her head was tilted slightly to one side as though she were poised to run, as though she would have run except that she could not move at all.

  Her skirt was still twisted across her golden thighs and a long shadow reached softly to her knee. He tried to forget the dimpled knees, the golden color of her, the kind of woman she could be if she were happy. Hell, he thought, maybe he could have dimples in his knees, too, with a little happiness.

  She stared at him as if she were seeing a ghost. The blood had seeped out of her face, leaving it chalky, so even her lips were colorless and slack. The terror swirled in shadows through her eyes and though she did not speak, Ric knew she was screaming silently. He saw that she was filled with agonizing memories of the last moments over there with Handsome before she passed out. She was trying to work him somewhere into that pattern of terror.

  Ric walked to the television set and snapped off the leaping picture, watching the eye contract and glow.

  “Please. Where’s Martin? Who are you?”

  “Is Martin the tall handsome one?”

  She nodded.

  “He burned out of here in his Caddy.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Nobody. I’m just the character that watched Martin try to gas you—and make it look like suicide.”

  She slumped, putting out her arm to support herself on the bed. She did not cry out or make any sound. For a moment she looked as though he’d struck her, but she was not astonished. She massaged at her throat.

  Though he knew she did not, he said, “You doubt what I say?”

  She did not move. A shudder ran across her and Ric saw she was thinking about Handsome now. He had tried to kill her and yet she was not going to say anything that might condemn him or incriminate him.

  “A friend of yours?” Ric said.

  She dampened her lips.

  “My husband.”

  Ric shrugged. It figured. She wiped her hand across her eyes, then pulled at her skirt. She could not budge it and lost interest. She was numb, incapable of caring about anything. She began to stroke her arms as though she were chilled.

  Ric turned down the air conditioner, but she did not notice: The chill came from within her.

  He walked over to the easy chair and sat down, facing her. No use trying to rush her. She was suffering from shock and she was not going to recover easily.

  He shook out a cigarette, patted his pocket, found his lighter. He extended the pack toward her, but she shook her head without really seeing him or the cigarette. He lighted up, drew in deeply, exhaling the smoke. He watched her through it.

  Ric did not speak for a long time. He ground out the cigarette butt in an ash tray. He waited for her to come out of her shock and leave. But she stayed there, huddled on his bed, staring at nothing. Finally, when she looked around, he saw for the first time that she realized she was not in her own cottage.

  She said, whispering. “Are you the police?”

  He laughed shortly. “No. Are you all right now?”

  “How did you find me?”

  He told her again, watching the terror and the hurt make an ugly mask of her face.

  “What am I going to do?” she whispered. Ric’s head jerked up. Then he realized that she was not talking to him. She spoke the words the way one says “God help me” without really expecting any help.

  “I know what I’d do if I were you.”

  She looked up. Some of the shadows of fear had faded in her eyes. But she did not change her position.

  “What?”

  “I’d run.”

  Her mouth trembled. “Where would I go? What would I do?”

  “You’ve got folks haven’t you? Parents?”

  Her slack mouth pulled into the semblance of a bitter smile. “Oh yes.”

  “Go back to them. Now. Before Handsome comes back to discover you dead—”

  “Comes back?” Her face was white again, the blood drained out.

  “Sure. He’s playing a little game. And you’re it. He’ll come back in a little while. Then he’ll find your body in that cottage over there. And the people up front will agree that he raced out of here as though you two had had a fight—”

  “Oh, we did. All afternoon.”

  “Sure you did. So Handsome has it all figured out. You were despondent when he walked out, you drank too much, turned on the gas. He’s got it all worked out.”

  Her mouth quivered and only the way she held her jaw kept her teeth from chattering. “Martin wouldn’t do that. No one would—”

  He shrugged. “Okay. You feel better now so you run along back over there. The gas ought to be cleared out by now.”

  She made a sobbing sound of protest.

  “What’s the matter?” he said.

  “I can’t go back over there. I’m too afraid.”

  “Of Handsome? You just said he wouldn’t leave you in a gas-filled room. You love him so much—”

  “I married him.”

  “Not the same thing at all. There’s some reason why he wanted to kill you. Why? You don’t have to answer aloud. It’s none of my business. I got my own woes. But answer it for yourself. It might help you decide what you’ve got to do.”

  She pressed her hands against her face.

  “Martin wants to be rid of me. I know that. But he wouldn’t try to kill me.”

  “Sure. If he wanted to be rid of you he’d just get a divorce, wouldn’t he?”

  She pressed her hands more tightly against her face. It was as if she was trying to burrow into them, to hide from him and from herself and from the truth she was going to have to face sooner or later.

  “He wouldn’t try to kill me.”

  His voice was flat. “Like I said, it’s none of my business, but if you’re going to stay alive and healthy, you better stop kidding yourself. I dragged you out of that room. It was full of gas. I saw him turn the outside valve off and on. If he was playing a joke on you, he plays rough.”

  She straightened finally, but did not look at him. Her voice was odd, taut. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I can’t believe it.”

  “You don’t want to believe it. That’s up to you. I know if somebody did that to me, I’d sick the cops on him.”

  “Why would he want to kill me?”

  “Ask yourself. I came in late.”

  “I know what he wants. But I’ve lived with him for three years. Why would he kill me?”

  He exhaled. “I don’t know. When he comes back over there, you ask him.”

  She looked up at him, eyes distended. She shook her head back and forth. “I can’t go back over there.”

  “But you love him. He wouldn’t hurt you.”

  She lifted her head. Her eyes were filled with tears. She did not meet his eyes.

  “All right. I love him.” She shook her head and pressed her knotted hand against her mouth. “But I don’t want to see him again. I don’t ever want to see him again.” The tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “The first smart thing I’ve heard you say.”

  “You don’t get over loving someone just like that.”

  “No.”

  “You try to go on trusting them, even when you know better.”

  “Now’s the time to call a screaming halt. You don’t want to see him any more, get on that phone there and call your father. Tell him to come and get you.”

  “I can’t do that. Believe me, I can’t do that. Father hates Martin—he always has hated him. He told me before Martin married me what he wanted. But I thought I was pretty, I thought I was as exciting as any other woman. I couldn’t believe that Father was anything but prejudiced. No woman likes to admit she’s being married for her money.”

  “You’re
past the point where pride matters a damn, baby. You’re trying to stay alive. Have you stopped to think what Martin will do when he comes back here—and you’re not dead? He’ll know for sure that you know he tried to kill you.”

  She slumped back on the bed. Her shoulders sagged. Some of the color had returned to her cheeks, but it faded again. Ric spoke sharply, “I’m trying to help you. Looks like the only way I can help you is to scare you. Now if you’re scared enough you’ll get on that phone and tell Papa he was right. Only don’t let him waste any time crowing about it. Let him come and get you.”

  “He’s thousands of miles away—in California.”

  “So? Tell him about airplanes. Tell him where you’ll be. Tell him you’ll wait for him in town at the hotel—anywhere Martin can’t find you. Then I’ll walk over there with you while you pack a few things and get out of here. It’s really simple.”

  “Oh, no. It isn’t simple. I don’t know what Father would do about Martin. He might make it worse.”

  Ric laughed. “When they try to kill you, baby, that’s about as bad as things can get.”

  She looked up, her eyes lost, staring at him. She licked her colorless lips with her tongue.

  “Can’t I stay here, with you—just a little while? Just until I think what I’m going to do?”

  “You don’t know who I am. You don’t know anything about me.”

  “You saved my life.”

  “All right. So I’ll get my merit badge. That ends it. I don’t owe you anything else.”

  “You can’t just send me back. You said it yourself. He might try to kill me again.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” He walked back and forth before the bed. Her eyes followed him. “Depends on whether he thinks you suspect him.”

  “You know he’ll be afraid to take a chance.”

  “No. I don’t know much about Handsome—except the type. Now, the murder he attempted over there was something he had evidently planned very carefully—”

  He saw her shudder. He continued talking, his voice cold. “Yes, and you might as well face all of it. All the time he was holding you in his arms, making love to you, he was thinking about that pilot light, and that gas valve—”