The Girl from Midnight Read online

  CHAPTER ONE

  Dear Rand,

  Since our telephone conversations lately have been so unsatisfactory, I'm writing you this letter instead. At least, this way I can say what I have to say without you shouting in my ear. You really should learn to control your temper, darling-this morning you were actually spluttering!

  Really, I don't understand what you have to get so angry about. I'm giving you the divorce like you wanted, without any fuss or muss, and it seems to me that the least I'm entitled to is a little consideration. And a fair share of what is rightfully mine-or aren't you aware of what California law says about community property? I'm not trying to bleed you to death, as you seem to think, simply because I'm asking for a decent settlement.

  Under the circumstances, the only sensible thing to do is to sell the farmhouse. It's pretty much of a dump as it stands but the acreage should be valuable to someone. That way, I could get what I'm entitled to and you'd have more than enough left to set up your clinic in some decent neighborhood. After all, just because you're an animal doctor doesn't mean that you have to live like an animal!

  Your unreasonable attitude of refusing even to discuss this matter makes me wonder if there's something going on. I don't know, another woman perhaps. I'd better remind you that I haven't even gotten my interlocutory yet-and the divorce won't be final for another year after that-and if you think I'm going to stand by while some broad lives it up on what belongs to me, you've got another think coming, darling. I don't mind being generous, and I'm sure even you'll admit I have been, but fair is fair.

  However, I don't want to threaten you. There's no reason we can't handle this on a business-like basis, as friends. I know that after thinking it over calmly, you'll realize that what I've suggested is for your best interests as well as mine.

  I'll expect to hear from you soon. And I do mean soon, darling-or I'll be forced to pay you a little visit.

  Sincerely,

  Carlene

  P.S. I'm sending this letter by registered mail so I can be sure you've gotten it.

  Rand Hammond balled up the letter and flung it across his living room. "Go to hell," he snarled at it. The tone of his voice caused the Doberman pinscher crouched beside his chair to spring up, bristling. It had less effect on the giant Irish wolfhound who slept on the other side of his chair. He opened his eyes but did not move; he was used to his master's temper.

  Rand patted the Doberman's quivering flank. "It's all right, Otto. No one here for you to bite." He added wryly, "For me, either."

  He retrieved the letter from the corner and smoothed it out on the coffee table to read again. It had arrived during a busy period that afternoon. Recognizing the handwriting, he had put it aside for later. He knew from experience that it would not contain good news, and saw no reason to spoil the remainder of the day by opening it. After dinner, he had been called out on an emergency-a milk goat mangled by a passing truck. He'd been forced to hypo the creature out of its misery-and so it was midnight before he'd got around to discovering what his soon-to-be ex-wife had on her mind this time. Now he wished he hadn't bothered at all.

  The letter contained nothing new, nothing he hadn't already heard a dozen times-with the exception of the accusation that he might be running around with another woman. Rand nearly laughed aloud. His only recreation these days consisted of reading the latest veterinary manuals, and his sole companions were the two dogs. Both were males; he'd had a bellyful of females recently. Or at least one particular female-but Carlene was enough to sour him on the entire sex.

  He wondered often these days why he had married her, at the same time rejecting the uncomfortable idea that Rand Hammond, DVM, had been the hunted rather than the hunter. He could remember no spark of attraction now, only the cold dead ashes. Considering his knowledge of biology, how cautious he was in treating animals, he was all the more surprised at his reckless plunge into marriage with a woman he scarcely knew.

  He had a glimmering of Carlene's spoiled hopes; she had told him enough times. The contrast in their looks-he big and fair, she petite and darker-intrigued her, and she had been impressed by his profession-"glamorous" was the word she used. She wore him on her arm like a new bracelet, introducing him to her friends as "my doctor." For his part, Rand fancied he had found the perfect mate to share his somewhat lonely career. Well, they had both been mistaken. Carlene rapidly discovered that the day-to-day practice of a vet in the Southern California back country was far from glamorous, and the life of the vet's wife even less so. She set about to alter it. Since Rand was content with things as they were, he resisted. In the vicious tug-of-war, their marriage was pulled to pieces. Carlene moved out, returned to the city environment she favored, and consulted an attorney. Rand made no attempt at reconciliation; he was glad to wash his hands of the whole affair

  He discovered it was not quite that simple. Carlene wanted money. Since all of his savings had gone into the purchase of the rambling old farmhouse and the five acres surrounding it, and his practice could still be described as struggling, he had no means to buy her off. Thereupon, Carlene conceived the idea of selling the property and dividing the profits. She had never cared for the place, anyway.

  Rand stubbornly refused to go along with her scheme. He had two reasons, either of which he considered sufficient. In the first place, he had bought the property long before he knew Carlene, had poured sweat as well as dollars into it, and didn't consider that the few months she had shared his bed entitled her to such an exorbitant payoff, no matter what the community property laws said.

  But, more important, he loved the place. As his home as well as his clinic, it suited him perfectly. He had fenced off the acre on which the weather-beaten two-story house stood and, within the enclosure, built a new stable, kennels, pens and runs. The remainder of the property served as a buffer zone against potential neighbors who might complain of the noise and nuisance of an animal hospital next door. Two years before, he had been persuaded to lease the land east of his fence to Kwei, the Chinese farmer down the road, for use as a citrus orchard. It was a satisfactory arrangement: the rental helped meet the mortgage payments and the lemon trees made ideal neighbors. The nearest town, Avocado, was six miles to the west, midway to the city itself. Rand visited Avocado once a week to buy groceries, the city rarely.

  It was this existence, placid and contented, that Carlene seemed determined to destroy. Not necessarily through malice. Loathing it herself, she simply could not understand why he didn't. It was even possible that she considered she would be doing him a favor, getting him out of his rut. But the prospect of leaving his comfortable domain and setting up practice in a "decent" neighborhood (he knew the type of thing she had in mind, a quaint clinic of used brick and shake shingle roof in some bustling suburb) made Rand seethe with anger.

  He opened another can of beer and whetted his thirst with a salty handful of popcorn while he contemplated his reply. Simply ignoring her demands wouldn't work; he had already tried that. Neither would telling her to go to hell serve any useful purpose except momentary satisfaction. Familiar with Carlene's devious nature, he recognized the letter-registered and special delivery-as a ploy intended to lure him into some rash action that could be produced later in court as proof of his unreasonableness. He would have to be cautious, give her nothing she could get her teeth into, while at the same time surrendering nothing.

  "Sure, that'll be easy," he muttered. "Like milking a tiger."

  Otto snarled again. This time, however, he was not prompted by his master's tone. The dog had its head cocked, listening, and now the wolfhound came lumbering to its feet also. After a moment, Rand heard what had alerted the animals. It was the sound of someone running, not a rhythmical jog but a frenzied sprint, drawing rapidly closer. The old house seemed to shudder as the unknown feet vaulted onto the wooden porch.

  Puzzled, Rand took a step toward the door to investigate. Before he could reach it, the door was flung violently open and a girl plunged headlong into his living room. Three facts registered with Rand simultaneously: she was young, she had black hair and she was nearly nude.

  As the girl burst into the room, Otto emitted a high-pitched bark like a shriek and sprang for her throat. Rand grabbed his collar, halting the Doberman in mid-air. "Down!"

  The girl thought the command was meant for her. She fell to the floor at his feet and lay there, panting. Rand dragged Otto away from her. The dog, its vicious nature aroused by the sudden excitement, was nearly out of control. Rand forced Otto into the kitchen and closed the door behind him. Otto immediately began to whine and scratch at the panel.

  Rand returned to where the girl lay. He said, "For God's sake, what's going on here?"

  His voice acted like an electric shock. She scrambled partway up and embraced him about the knees. "Don't let them snag me!" she begged. "Help me! Please, please help me!"

  He tried to pull away. "Who are you? What're you doing here?"

  She clung tightly to him, refusing to be dislodged. "They're after me! They're going to kill me!"

  "Who's going to kill you?" Unable to shake loose, he seized her arms and dragged her to her feet; she transferred her grip to his waist. "Will you let go of me and start talking sense?"

  She shook her head violently and pressed her face against his chest. "Save me!" she moaned. It occurred to Rand what a bizarre picture he must present, struggling to free himself of this half-naked stranger, and he glanced worriedly at the open door. But there was no one present to observe his disc
omfiture except Morrigan, the wolfhound, who sniffed timidly at the girl's bare legs.

  He tried reason. "If you want me to save you, you'd better let me lock the door."

  It worked. Her arms reluctantly loosened their hold and he went to close the front door. When he turned to face her, she was standing in the same spot, eyes wide with apprehension. "Did you see them?" she whispered. "Are they still out there?"

  He wondered what sort of maniac had invaded his home in the middle of the night. Midnight, the witching hour. Outwardly at least, she didn't look like a maniac and if she was a witch she was a pretty one. She was on the diminutive side but well-proportioned and fully mature, small bones nicely fleshed. Her hair, disheveled and brushing against the tawny skin of her shoulders, matched her eyes, as black as obsidian. Her cheeks, flushed by fright and exertion, glowed a dusky rose. Her exotic appearance hinted of foreign blood; she might have come from some South Seas island.

  Her costume, or lack of it, aided the illusions. It consisted of bra and half-slip; the sheer synthetic fabrics afforded almost no concealment at all. She was barefoot. The total effect was sensual but at the moment Rand was more startled than stimulated. He carefully kept his distance. He said, "I don't see anybody. Except you."

  Her lack of clothing didn't bother her; she didn't seem aware of it. "Maybe they're gone. Maybe they got scared and punked out." She put her hands together in an attitude of prayer. "Please, God, make them go away."

  "Who's this they you keep talking about?"

  "The men trying to kill me. I don't know their names, they never said. There were two of them."

  It didn't ring true, none of it. "Oh, cut it out. You mean that a couple of strangers suddenly decided to kill you? Just like that?"

  She whispered, "Don't yell at me. That's the way it happened. I don't know why! They're out there now, waiting for me." She edged toward him again. "I don't want to die!"

  "You're not going to die, so knock it off and tell me what really happened. You were out with your boy friend, right? And he tried to play a little rough and you got scared and beat it. Isn't that more like it?"

  "I don't even have a boyfriend," she wailed. "I never saw them before, either of them. But they were going to kill me-they were going to stuff me down a hole in the ground…"

  "Sure, that makes a lot of sense. They had a hole all ready to put you in and-" He stopped, struck by a sudden memory. "What kind of a hole was it?"

  "I don't know. Just a hole, a dark hole. It had a lid on it."

  "Where? What direction?"

  She pointed east. Her hand was trembling. "They took my dress off. And my shoes. The rest didn't matter, they said. Then when they were lifting the lid, I cut out in my nothings. I climbed a fence and saw your light-and I kept praying. Oh, God, how I prayed, because I knew they were after me, going to catch me and put me down in that hole-" She was on the verge of hysteria. If she were acting, she was doing a superb job. And Rand saw that her legs were scratched, her feet bleeding, which would seem to prove a portion of her story genuine. Still, he couldn't bring himself to believe all of it, not yet. Strange, though, that she should know about the old…

  In the sharp tone he used to secure obedience from his dogs, he said, "Stop your whining. You're safe now."

  She seized his hand. "You're an ace," she murmured, fondling it gratefully. "Thank you for believing me."

  "I didn't say I did. All I'm saying is that nobody's going to kill you while you're in my house. If anybody's trying to kill you at all. And kindly quit pawing me."

  From the desk, he extracted a flashlight and a choke chain. When he turned toward the kitchen, the girl clutched his arm, then quickly withdrew her hand as if remembering his command. "Where are you going?" she asked fearfully.

  "Outside to take a look around, of course."

  "Please don't go. Stay here with me."

  "Why? Afraid I might find out you're lying?"

  She shook her head. "There's two of them and only one of you. If anything happens to you, there's nothing to stop them from coming in here after me."

  "Don't worry. I'm taking Otto with me. That makes the odds roughly five to one in my favor." He went into the kitchen and looped the choke chain around the dog's tense neck. His own protection was only part of the reason for taking the Doberman with him; he didn't dare leave the vicious animal alone in the house with the girl, even with a door between them.

  The night was moonless. Rand went out the side door which served as the entrance to his clinic and up the driveway to the gate, Otto tugging eagerly at the leash. The gate was locked, added proof that the girl had climbed his fence as she had claimed. But, though he strained his eyes at every shadow, he saw nothing of her allegedly murderous companions.

  He hesitated a moment, uncertain, then shrugged and unlocked the gate. His flashlight beam probing before him, he strode eastward along the chain-link fence toward the dark shapes of the lemon trees. He turned the corner and slowed his steps, studying the knee-high weeds.

  "Let's see," he muttered. "Should be about here someplace."

  It was. In the bygone days before the formation of the water district, a cistern had served to collect and store water for the farmhouse. Rand had come upon its rusty iron cover when he first cleared his property. And, having no use for it, had promptly forgotten it. He would have supposed that he was the only person in the world who knew of its existence.

  Yet someone else had known. The weeds were trampled and, although the round cover still capped the cistern, the dirt at its rim showed evidence of having been disturbed. With the cover removed, the old cistern would be, to a frightened girl, just a dark hole in the ground.

  A few paces away, Rand found her dress, blue rayon, turned inside out and ripped down the back as if jerked roughly from her body. Beside it, caught on the thorny branch of a tumbleweed, was a golden charm bracelet, dime store variety. He was unable to locate her shoes.

  Rand gathered up her possessions, valueless as they seemed to him, and stuffed them into his jacket pocket before he turned back the way he had come. He was frankly puzzled. The girl-he realized that he didn't even know her name- appeared to have told him the truth, at least as far as she had gone. But it didn't take any great amount of brainwork to figure out that she wasn't telling him everything. If someone was trying to kill her-why? And if she had fabricated the whole story, including the evidence to substantiate it, the question still was-why?

  As he neared the gate, Otto suddenly bristled, throwing his weight against the restraining chain. Rand flicked on his flashlight. A man was standing at the edge of the road.

  "Hey, there," the man called, squinting. "Police officer."

  CHAPTER TWO

  He was a heavy-set man in a rumpled brown suit and he wore a hat, as police officers-but few other men-did in Southern California. As further proof of his identity, he held up a wallet on which a badge gleamed golden. Rand wasn't close enough to read the inscription but the other man elaborated. "I'm Thornton, sheriff's deputy. This your place?"

  "Yeah," Rand agreed. "I'm Doctor Hammond. I live here. What can I do for you, officer?"

  "First you can take that light out of my eyes," said Thornton, putting away his wallet. "What're you doing out at this time of night, Doc? Kind of late for a walk, isn't it?"

  His faintly bullying manner, probably the result of his profession, rubbed Rand the wrong way. He was already irritated by the girl's intrusion into his life, bringing problems he didn't care to face. He was in no mood to answer questions that were none of the other man's business. He said shortly, "You might say that."

  "Maybe you were looking for something," Thornton probed. "Or someone."

  "Not necessarily. Are you?"

  "Matter of fact, I am. A girl. Yon seen anything of her?"

  "What's she done?" countered Rand.

  "Oh, she's a little junkie, nobody important. I was taking her in on a narcotics rap. Had a flat down the road a piece and when I got out to change it, she slipped her cuffs and took off through the trees. I figured she might have come to your place."

  The story sounded plausible, more so than the girl's lurid tale, in fact. He was on the point of admitting the truth. Then his ingrained distrust, never submerged very deeply, bobbed to the surface. Both these strangers might be lying to him-and suddenly he thought of Carlene. The suspicions regarding another woman she had voiced in her letter, as if laying the groundwork for something to come… Wouldn't it be just like her to send the half-clad girl into his home, to be followed by a private detective, with blackmail the aim? Damn right it would!