The Cove
Page 121
“Then the biker’s girlfriend realized he was dead. Sherry Vorhees had no choice but to kill her. She slammed her over the head with an industrial blender.
“It got easier after that, you know? Someone would spot a likely old couple or just someone who looked rich. Or maybe one of the women who was working in the World’s Greatest Ice Cream Shop saw a whole lot of cash when the person pulled open his wallet. Then we just did it. Yes, it got easier. It got to be nearly a game, but don’t misunderstand me, Sally. We always treated them with the greatest respect after they were dead.
“You’ve told me how beautiful the town is now. Well, it was a run-down mess before. But now, our investments are doing well, everyone is quite comfortable, and many tourists come here not just for the World’s Greatest Ice Cream but also to see the town and buy souvenirs and eat at the cafe.”
“How wonderful for you. More people to choose from. You could discuss it among yourselves. Did that couple look richer than that one over there? You played Russian roulette with people’s lives. God, that’s disgusting.”
“I wouldn’t put it so crassly, but as we’ve gotten to be more of a tourist attraction we’ve been able to be more selective. But we’ve killed only old people, Sally. They had all had a full life.”
“That biker’s girlfriend didn’t.”
Amabel shrugged. “It couldn’t be helped.”
Sally was just shaking her head back and forth on the pillow, believing but still incredulous. “Jesus, Amabel, you’ve killed people. Don’t you understand that? You’ve killed innocent people. It doesn’t excuse anything that they were old. You’ve robbed them. You’ve buried them in the cemetery—what? Oh, I see. You buried them two to each grave. Only you used just a man’s name. Does one of you have a list identifying who’s really in each grave?”
“No, but we left identification on the bodies. Don’t sound so appalled, Sally. We were dying here. We desperately wanted to survive. We have. We’ve won.”
“No, everything’s coming down on your heads now, Amabel. There are three FBI agents here, and Sheriff David Mountebank knows everything they know, maybe more. You kill the agents, and you’ll all be in the gas chamber. Don’t you understand? The FBI is involved!”
“Oh, Sally, here you are, going on and on about something that really doesn’t concern you. What about yourself, baby? What about your father?”
“He’s not my fucking father, thank God. At least I found that out.”
“Good, there’s anger there. I was afraid you were still trying to believe he was a nightmare come back to haunt you.”
“You’re saying he’s here with you, Amabel? You want him here?” She knew the answer. But she didn’t want to hear it.
“Of course, Sally.”
She stared beyond her aunt to the man illuminated in the doorway. Her father. No, not her father, thank God. It was the bastard who’d raised her, the bastard who’d beat the shit out of her mother and locked her away in Dr. Beadermeyer’s sanitarium, the bastard who’d beat her just because it pleased him to do so.
“So how does our little bastard feel, Ammie?”
Ammie? What was this?
“I’m not the bastard. You are.”
“Sally, I hesitate to hit you in front of your aunt. It bothers her, even though she knows what a vicious mouth you have, even though she knows I’ve got to do it to control you.”
“Amabel, why do you have him here with you? He’s a murderer. He’s a traitor to our country.”
Amabel sat down beside her. Her fingertips were light and soft as they drifted over Sally’s forehead, pushing her hair behind her ears, lightly smoothing her eyebrows.
“Amabel, please. When I was here before, I know it was him on the phone to me. He admitted that he’d looked in through the bedroom window.”
“Yes, dear.”
“Why was he here, Amabel?”
“He had to come here, Sally. He had to take you back to the sanitarium. He hoped to make you doubt your sanity with the phone calls and his face at the window.”
“But how could he possibly know I was even here?”
“I called him. He was staying at a small inn in Oklahoma City. He took the next plane to Portland, then drove here. But you knew even as you asked that question, didn’t you, Sally?
“Ah, but you didn’t doubt your sanity at all. That was due in part to Quinlan. That man. His being here made everything more difficult. Isn’t it strange? Quinlan made up that story about coming here to try to find a trace of those old folk? All he wanted was you. He didn’t care about any missing old people. Just you. He thought you’d either killed your father or were protecting your mother.
“It got easier after that, you know? Someone would spot a likely old couple or just someone who looked rich. Or maybe one of the women who was working in the World’s Greatest Ice Cream Shop saw a whole lot of cash when the person pulled open his wallet. Then we just did it. Yes, it got easier. It got to be nearly a game, but don’t misunderstand me, Sally. We always treated them with the greatest respect after they were dead.
“You’ve told me how beautiful the town is now. Well, it was a run-down mess before. But now, our investments are doing well, everyone is quite comfortable, and many tourists come here not just for the World’s Greatest Ice Cream but also to see the town and buy souvenirs and eat at the cafe.”
“How wonderful for you. More people to choose from. You could discuss it among yourselves. Did that couple look richer than that one over there? You played Russian roulette with people’s lives. God, that’s disgusting.”
“I wouldn’t put it so crassly, but as we’ve gotten to be more of a tourist attraction we’ve been able to be more selective. But we’ve killed only old people, Sally. They had all had a full life.”
“That biker’s girlfriend didn’t.”
Amabel shrugged. “It couldn’t be helped.”
Sally was just shaking her head back and forth on the pillow, believing but still incredulous. “Jesus, Amabel, you’ve killed people. Don’t you understand that? You’ve killed innocent people. It doesn’t excuse anything that they were old. You’ve robbed them. You’ve buried them in the cemetery—what? Oh, I see. You buried them two to each grave. Only you used just a man’s name. Does one of you have a list identifying who’s really in each grave?”
“No, but we left identification on the bodies. Don’t sound so appalled, Sally. We were dying here. We desperately wanted to survive. We have. We’ve won.”
“No, everything’s coming down on your heads now, Amabel. There are three FBI agents here, and Sheriff David Mountebank knows everything they know, maybe more. You kill the agents, and you’ll all be in the gas chamber. Don’t you understand? The FBI is involved!”
“Oh, Sally, here you are, going on and on about something that really doesn’t concern you. What about yourself, baby? What about your father?”
“He’s not my fucking father, thank God. At least I found that out.”
“Good, there’s anger there. I was afraid you were still trying to believe he was a nightmare come back to haunt you.”
“You’re saying he’s here with you, Amabel? You want him here?” She knew the answer. But she didn’t want to hear it.
“Of course, Sally.”
She stared beyond her aunt to the man illuminated in the doorway. Her father. No, not her father, thank God. It was the bastard who’d raised her, the bastard who’d beat the shit out of her mother and locked her away in Dr. Beadermeyer’s sanitarium, the bastard who’d beat her just because it pleased him to do so.
“So how does our little bastard feel, Ammie?”
Ammie? What was this?
“I’m not the bastard. You are.”
“Sally, I hesitate to hit you in front of your aunt. It bothers her, even though she knows what a vicious mouth you have, even though she knows I’ve got to do it to control you.”
“Amabel, why do you have him here with you? He’s a murderer. He’s a traitor to our country.”
Amabel sat down beside her. Her fingertips were light and soft as they drifted over Sally’s forehead, pushing her hair behind her ears, lightly smoothing her eyebrows.
“Amabel, please. When I was here before, I know it was him on the phone to me. He admitted that he’d looked in through the bedroom window.”
“Yes, dear.”
“Why was he here, Amabel?”
“He had to come here, Sally. He had to take you back to the sanitarium. He hoped to make you doubt your sanity with the phone calls and his face at the window.”
“But how could he possibly know I was even here?”
“I called him. He was staying at a small inn in Oklahoma City. He took the next plane to Portland, then drove here. But you knew even as you asked that question, didn’t you, Sally?
“Ah, but you didn’t doubt your sanity at all. That was due in part to Quinlan. That man. His being here made everything more difficult. Isn’t it strange? Quinlan made up that story about coming here to try to find a trace of those old folk? All he wanted was you. He didn’t care about any missing old people. Just you. He thought you’d either killed your father or were protecting your mother.
