Free The House at Sandalwood by Virginia Coffman

natural follower. I could see that even at this distance. There was no doubt in my mind that the tall, thin man with the frosty hair and eyes was Victor Berringer, and I didn’t like to think of Deirdre, confused at best, in the grip of that frosty man.

 
    Five
     
    Kekua went around me, passed Deirdre with a flippant, “Ahoy!” and dashed back to the strangers. Berringer and his friend had stepped up onto the veranda, but as I approached the house with Deirdre hanging back behind me, the tall, frosty man said something to Kekua. She nodded and went off past the bushes masking the gulch at the back of Sandalwood. The man took long strides down the wooden steps toward us.
    Deirdre whispered, “Don’t let him talk to me. Please send him away.”
    “Well, then,” I said firmly, “you should tell him yourself that you don’t wish to see him.”
    “No, no. He wouldn’t pay any attention.”
    “Tell him and he will go away.” I didn’t know whether I had convinced her or not until we reached the veranda, but meanwhile, the formidable gentleman reached us. I had been right about the frosty eyes, which were more gray than blue. I was surprised at Kekua’s admiration—they looked as though they could cut one down at twenty paces. For a moment, I feared they would cut me down! I was momentarily tongue-tied when he demanded of me, “Mrs. Giles! I do not like to be made a fool of. Furthermore, I don’t intend to be.”
    “Then, in the first place,” I began, “you really should know that I am not—”
    “However you may be used to being treated, madam, I have been trying to speak with you for three days. And this time I will not be put off. May we go somewhere and discuss this thing? I intend to get the answers to some questions. I’m sure you appreciate my anxiety, Mrs. Giles.”
    “Now, see here,” I tried to bring Deirdre forward but she nudged me so hard I was breathless for a couple of seconds.
    We had reached the house where the younger, stockier man stood, with a hesitant smile and a hand outstretched to take mine.
    “Please ... please ...” Deirdre whispered in my ear, and then she dragged along behind me as Mr. Berringer escorted me into the house. I decided to see just how nasty Victor Berringer was going to be in pursuing his absurd suspicions before I turned Deirdre over to him and acknowledged that she was Mrs. Giles.
    I looked around the long, desolate living room, saw nothing that looked like a bar, and went into the hall. Then I remembered the comfortable room at the back of the house. The two men followed me, and Deirdre scuffed along behind us. I asked the men to mix their own drinks at the tiny portable bar across one corner of the room. The Japanese housewoman brought ice, and Mr. Berringer’s companion went to the bar. Both men took Scotch and water. The male “companion” watched Berringer take up his glass before pouring his identical drink. I was too keyed up to have a drink, and Deirdre didn’t even want to go near the bar. Anyway, I wished to keep my wits sharp, as sharp, I hoped, as this stranger. He introduced his companion with a brief movement of his glass punctuated by the tinkle of ice.
    “This is William Pelhitt. Willie and my daughter had a—an arrangement. They intended to marry, eventually.”
    “Intend, Vic. Excuse me. Intend,” William Pelhitt put in with a kind of nervous, fluttering smile. “Glad to know you, Mrs. Giles. I’ve been in love with Ingrid since—well—since she was about fourteen, I guess. We sort of had it settled we’d be married later on, after she got out of that fancy college.” He glanced at Deirdre, obviously curious about her identity. I glanced at her and opened my mouth, but Deirdre shook her head faintly.
    I thought, well, why inflict this angry Victor Berringer on the poor girl until he has simmered down?
    Berringer had apparently stored up endless suspicious little details he could use against Deirdre. Although he was not