Free The Kissed Corpse by Brett Halliday Page B
Authors: Brett Halliday
beside him, looking up the slope of the Young cabin. âItâs much less than a mile straight down here from the house,â I pointed out.
Burke nodded, following my thought: âIf she knew about this meeting place she could easily have followed him unseen, hidden in the brush and watched that last fatal kiss from Laura Yatesâ rouged lips ⦠then let him have it after Laura had driven away.â
âWhat about the two-barred cross on his cheek?â
âThat,â Burke admitted, âis just one of a lot of things I wish I understood.â
Up the other slope, to our left, was the low stone wall surrounding the Dwight estate. Gray stone turrets showed their tops above the wall.
Burkeâs eyes narrowed as his gaze went from the Young cabin across the ravine to the Dwight estate. He slid down the bank to the rock-strewn bottom of the dry wash and started following its winding course upward.
I moved along behind him without asking any questions. His broad shoulders were hunched forward and he moved as stealthily as an Indian scout. I didnât have the faintest idea what sudden thought had come to him, but I knew it was important and that Iâd know in good time.
Thorny mesquite branches whipped our faces and the tiny fangs of catclaw bushes tore at our clothing. Not a breath of air stirred in the gully and the sun blazed down mercilessly upon us.
It was slow going, with Burke taking every precaution to make no sound. I followed just as cautiously without in the least knowing what or who he was stalking.
It must have taken us half an hour to cover much less than a mile when Burke suddenly stopped. Moving close to look over his shoulder I saw in front of him the unmistakable mark of footprints crossing the gully at right angles. They were jumbled and messy in the loose sand, pointing in both directions. Traces of an old path showed on each side of the gully, now overgrown with fresh foliage which showed distinct signs that the old path had been lately traversed.
While Burke stood there peering down at the footprints as though they proved something important, the thought came to me that we must be in an almost direct line between the Young cabin and the Dwight mansion. I thought that might be significant and was on the point of mentioning it to Burke when we heard the sound of approaching footsteps from our right.
Burke stepped backward without warning and the sudden impact of his heavy body almost knocked me down. He grabbed my arm and pushed me back cautiously around a bend where we were screened from view by the leafy branches of a mesquite. We stood close together, our eyes glued to the crossing, and the footsteps came closer by the moment.
I donât know whom I expected to see. Certainly not Myra Young.
But we both saw her clearly as she slid down into the gully, stalked across in her riding boots and climbed up the other side toward the Dwight estate.
She was bareheaded and her face was flushed; whether from the sun or from some inner emotion I could not tell.
We stood with the sweat dripping down from our faces until the sound of her footsteps died away in the afternoon stillness.
âWhat do you make of it?â I asked Burke excitedly.
He shook his head. âIf the MUM case taught me anything at all it was never to indulge in a theory. Come on. You and I are going to pay Mr. Raymond Dwight an informal visit. Perhaps heâll serve us tea and crumpets.â
9
A two-lane concrete drive curved off the main road between magnificent granite columns. The upward sweep of rocky slope had been sodded to thick turf and expensively landscaped with exotic shrubbery and trees which God hadnât intended to bloom this close to the desert. The layout looked as though it might easily have set Dwight back a million bucks, and the upkeep on it must have swallowed up the income from a couple more millions.
It was a good half mile to the sprawling two-story mansion flanked
Burke nodded, following my thought: âIf she knew about this meeting place she could easily have followed him unseen, hidden in the brush and watched that last fatal kiss from Laura Yatesâ rouged lips ⦠then let him have it after Laura had driven away.â
âWhat about the two-barred cross on his cheek?â
âThat,â Burke admitted, âis just one of a lot of things I wish I understood.â
Up the other slope, to our left, was the low stone wall surrounding the Dwight estate. Gray stone turrets showed their tops above the wall.
Burkeâs eyes narrowed as his gaze went from the Young cabin across the ravine to the Dwight estate. He slid down the bank to the rock-strewn bottom of the dry wash and started following its winding course upward.
I moved along behind him without asking any questions. His broad shoulders were hunched forward and he moved as stealthily as an Indian scout. I didnât have the faintest idea what sudden thought had come to him, but I knew it was important and that Iâd know in good time.
Thorny mesquite branches whipped our faces and the tiny fangs of catclaw bushes tore at our clothing. Not a breath of air stirred in the gully and the sun blazed down mercilessly upon us.
It was slow going, with Burke taking every precaution to make no sound. I followed just as cautiously without in the least knowing what or who he was stalking.
It must have taken us half an hour to cover much less than a mile when Burke suddenly stopped. Moving close to look over his shoulder I saw in front of him the unmistakable mark of footprints crossing the gully at right angles. They were jumbled and messy in the loose sand, pointing in both directions. Traces of an old path showed on each side of the gully, now overgrown with fresh foliage which showed distinct signs that the old path had been lately traversed.
While Burke stood there peering down at the footprints as though they proved something important, the thought came to me that we must be in an almost direct line between the Young cabin and the Dwight mansion. I thought that might be significant and was on the point of mentioning it to Burke when we heard the sound of approaching footsteps from our right.
Burke stepped backward without warning and the sudden impact of his heavy body almost knocked me down. He grabbed my arm and pushed me back cautiously around a bend where we were screened from view by the leafy branches of a mesquite. We stood close together, our eyes glued to the crossing, and the footsteps came closer by the moment.
I donât know whom I expected to see. Certainly not Myra Young.
But we both saw her clearly as she slid down into the gully, stalked across in her riding boots and climbed up the other side toward the Dwight estate.
She was bareheaded and her face was flushed; whether from the sun or from some inner emotion I could not tell.
We stood with the sweat dripping down from our faces until the sound of her footsteps died away in the afternoon stillness.
âWhat do you make of it?â I asked Burke excitedly.
He shook his head. âIf the MUM case taught me anything at all it was never to indulge in a theory. Come on. You and I are going to pay Mr. Raymond Dwight an informal visit. Perhaps heâll serve us tea and crumpets.â
9
A two-lane concrete drive curved off the main road between magnificent granite columns. The upward sweep of rocky slope had been sodded to thick turf and expensively landscaped with exotic shrubbery and trees which God hadnât intended to bloom this close to the desert. The layout looked as though it might easily have set Dwight back a million bucks, and the upkeep on it must have swallowed up the income from a couple more millions.
It was a good half mile to the sprawling two-story mansion flanked