River Girl - By Charles Williams Page 0,89

around all night until I was dirty and bloody and haggard enough, and then start finding my way out, get picked up by some of the searchers, and have a good story ready for them. I could make it stick. But wait, I thought. I’ve got to get that bag back out of the locker and change clothes somewhere. I’ve got on the new suit, and I’d have a hell of a time explaining how I bought it while I was lost in a swamp. But that was easy. I could do it in the men’s rest room. I put a dime on the counter for the coffee and started to get up, and then the other thought hit me. I sat down.

My hands were tied. I couldn’t make a move until I found out what she had said to the police. God, suppose I went back into the swamp, and then, tomorrow morning, when I found my way into one of the searching parties, learned that she had confessed the whole thing! Talk about walking into a trap…I flinched.

Her story would probably be in the papers. I had to wait for them; there was no other way. I couldn’t do a single damned thing now but sweat through the whole, hot, nerve-racking eternity of this afternoon waiting for the story to hit the streets. I looked at my watch. It was twelve-thirty. It would be at least three hours, if it hit the last edition of the afternoon papers, and it might not be in them at all and I’d have to wait until around eight for the morning ones.

But in the meantime there was something else to work on. Was there any way to get word to her to tell her what I was going to try to do so she could hold on and not break down and spill everything after I had started in there? I thought about it for just a minute. There was one slight chance.

I got up hurriedly and got some change from the cashier at the counter and went over to the bank of pay phones along the wall. I dialed, “Long-distance? I want to put in a person-to-person call to a Miss Dianne Weatherford at Bigelow. I don’t know the number.”

“What is your number, please?”

I told her and waited. It was a slim chance. Would Dinah even be there? She was probably still here in town. And suppose she was home; would she talk to me? I remembered the way she had driven off. I could hear the terse, efficient chatter of the long-line operators and then somewhere far off a telephone ringing. It went on, while I waited, sweating. “Hello?” It was Dinah. I deposited the coins.

“Hello, Dinah?”

“Yes. Oh, is that you, Ja—?” She caught herself in time and cut it off.

“Yeah,” I said. “Look, can you get in touch with Buford? It’s important, and I can’t call him at the office.”

“I will if he’s there. He may still be down at the lake.”

“Well, look,” I said urgently. “Try to get hold of him. Ask him to come to your place and I’ll call again exactly an hour from now. Got it?”

“All right.” She paused, then went on blandly. “Oh, by the way, I see they caught that awful Shevlin woman. It was on the radio.”

“Yes,” I said. “I heard it.”

“And isn’t it funny, too, that the creature was right there in Bayou City? Where you are.”

“Yes, isn’t it? Remember. I’ll call you an hour from now.” I hung up. Wait till she sees the picture, I thought. Then she won’t have any doubt of it. Well, it couldn’t be helped now.

Somehow I sweated out the hour. When I called back Dinah said, “Yes, he’s here now. Just a minute.”

“Yes?” It was Buford his voice as impersonal as death.

“Listen. I want you to do something for me,” I said, beginning to talk fast and stumbling over myself. “They’ve just picked up Mrs. Shevlin. I guess you know it by now. And I suppose you’re going to have to send a man down to get her. I want him to give her a message”.

“Yes? What is it?” he asked coolly.

“Tell her not to worry about anything. I’m coming back.”

“I thought so. That’s about the way I had it figured. Well, I’ve got news for you. I can’t do anything about your girl friend. We’re not claiming her; Raines is. That place was in Blakeman County, as I told you, so now

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