Man On The Run Read Free Page B

unlocked the garage. Then she came suddenly into view, a tall woman in a dark coat, holding a plastic raincoat over her head and shoulders. She seemed to sway slightly, as if leaning against the wind, as she opened the car door and slid in behind the wheel. One of the doors blew shut, and she had to get out again and prop it open with something. She got back in and drove into the garage.
    I ran into the kitchen. The moment she walked in she’d see the open can of food and the coffee, and I had to grab her before she could back out and run. I could hear the car’s engine, still running, and then the click of high heels on concrete. The garage doors slammed shut in a heavy gust of wind that shook the cottage. I waited tensely inside the door. Nothing happened. Maybe she’d gone outside and was going to come in through the front door. I ran back, slipping noiselessly across the tile, and listened beside the window. There was no one on the porch, unless she was standing utterly still. I parted the drape enough to peer. out. She was nowhere in sight. Rain was beating across the porch and against the window.
    I hurried back to the kitchen again and stood silently with my ear against the door, waiting for the sound of footsteps. She must be getting something out of the car. It had been several minutes now since she’d driven in. I could still hear the car’s engine running, just barely audible above the sound of the rain. Had she discovered the broken pane of glass in that window and run out? No, that was ridiculous. Anyway, if something had scared her she’d have backed the car out. I waited, growing more puzzled with every minute. There was something spooky about it. Why didn’t she at least shut off the engine? I could smell carbon monoxide beginning to seep in around the edge of the door. Was she trying to commit suicide?
    I unlocked the door and gently pushed it open a few inches. Even with the broken pane of glass in the window, the exhaust smell was overpowering. I didn’t see her anywhere. It was almost dark with the front doors closed, but the left-hand door of the car was open, so the ceiling light was on, and I could see she wasn’t in it. Where could she have gone? The car practically filled the garage. I looked farther back then and saw her—or rather, I saw an arm and a hand in back of the rear wheel on this side. She’d fallen between the rear of the car and the garage doors, and was lying right under the tailpipe.
    I jumped down the two steps, opened the car door on this side, and shut off the ignition. Already beginning to choke on the fumes, I knelt, caught her by both arms, and pulled her out from under the overhang of the trunks. She was a big woman, and heavy, with the limp, dead weight of the unconscious. I was gasping by the time I got her across my shoulder. I hurried into the kitchen, kicked the door shut, and sped toward the bedroom with her. Rolling her off onto the bed, I turned her on her back just under the window and put a hand on her chest. She was still breathing. I parted the drape. The window was a casement type. I unlatched one side and cranked it open a few inches to catch the wind. Holding the bottom of the drape, I forced the blast of fresh air down across her face. She had on lipstick, so it was impossible to tell whether her lips were blue or not, but the color of the rest of her face seemed to be all right. A few drops of ram blew in on her, and she stirred faintly. She was going to come around, all right, but if I’d waited another five minutes before going out there she’d have been dead.
    She’d probably been hit by that door when it slammed shut. Then I remembered the way she’d weaved as she got back in the car the first time, and bent down to sniff her breath. At least part of Suzy Patton’s trouble—if this was Suzy Patton—was that she was crocked to the teeth. I didn’t know how carbon monoxide and alcohol mixed in the human system, but I had a hunch she was going