7191 by Unknown Read Free Book Online Page B

fits and starts, awakening and pushing onward, falsely guided by the pebbles which glittered like newly coined money, wandering, lost, deeper and deeper into the wood towards the terrors of an uncertain daybreak.

5
    Monday. October 21. Temperature: 37 degrees. Humidity: 98 per cent. Barometric pressure: 29.92 and falling.
    A storm system that provided snow for the upper Mississippi Valley and western Great Lakes had moved during the night into New England and parts of New York, including Manhattan. A light film of refreshing white blanketed the dun-grey streets and buildings visible from the Templeton apartment. The weather would turn colder by afternoon. More snow was forecast.
    The first assault came with the morning mail, delivered by Mario, the doorman, at nine twenty, thirty minutes after Bill’ had left the apartment with a warmly bundled, book-burdened Ivy in tow.
    The letter was included among a pack of bills, advertising circulars, an invitation form to a Four-As’ dinner-dance, and two magazines. The envelope was the standard white pre-stamped kind sold in the post office. It was addressed to Mr and Mrs William Pierce Templeton in a firm, bold hand, with no sender’s name or return address. The ‘Pierce’ was the giveaway. Whoever sent the letter had an intimate knowledge of Bill’s private life, for Bill never used the middle name - his mother’s maiden name - in any of his correspondence except his most personal legal documents.
    Janice hefted the envelope in her hand, feeling its thinness with her fingers, to ascertain its contents. It felt so light that for a moment Janice thought it might be empty, but holding it up to the window for light, she saw a small greyish square contrasting with the white of the envelope. Denied sufficient liquid, the poorly sealed flap opened at her touch without scarring or tearing the paper.
    Janice glanced sideways into the envelope - as a child watches a horror movie, through finger cracks - and saw a neatly clipped piece of paper covered with minute printing. She considered using tweezers to extract the paper from the envelope to preserve the fingerprints for later use as evidence, but settled finally on her long fingernails, which clutched the tissue-thin sheet by its edge. She read its contents with a self-control that amazed her before going to the telephone to call Bill.
    ‘What’s the matter?’ Bill panted lightly, having been pulled from a meeting to answer the ‘emergency’ call.
    ‘He sent us his calling card,’ Janice replied dully.
    ‘What? Say again,’ Bill stammered, trying to catch his breath.
    ‘His name is Elliot Suggins Hoover.’
    ‘Yeah? How do you know?’ Then, sudden concern: ‘Was he there? Are you all right, Janice?’
    ‘A letter arrived!’ Janice blurted, abandoning control. ‘With a printed slip of paper in it from Who’s Who or the Social Register or something, telling about his life and background …’
    ‘Anything else come with it, a note, or—’
    ‘No, just that!’
    There was a long pause on the other end while Bill considered the situation.
    ‘Listen to me, Janice.’ Bill came back briskly, resolutely. ‘Get the boys downstairs to find you a cab. Come down to the office and wait for me. This meeting should be over by twelve thirty. I’ll have my secretary reserve a table at Rattazzi’s. We’ll have lunch and talk, Okay?’
    He was doing what he did best - he was handling matters, Janice thought bitterly.
    ‘If you want, I’ll meet you for lunch, but I can’t come down to the office.’
    ‘Fine,’ agreed Bill. ‘Twelve thirty, Rattazzi’s, okay?’
    ‘Okay,’ she said, then quickly added: ‘Bill?’
    ‘Yes?’
    Was he waiting at the school this morning?’
    ‘No. At least I didn’t see him.’
    ‘Bill?’
    ‘Yes, dear?’ Bill was carefully maintaining the calm, conciliatory tone in his voice.
    ‘I’m scared.’
    Janice checked the chain bolt on the door before going upstairs to shower and wash her