Read Online Torch Song by Kate Wilhelm - Free Book Online Page B

arm, jerked her away from the house and into the snow, where she staggered to get her balance. He kept his hand tightly on her arm and pulled her farther away.
    At that moment, another car crunched on the gravel drive, and they turned, to see a Land Rover come to a stop and a short heavyset man get out.
    â€œBreckinridge,” he said. “You’re early.” He was carrying keys and walked quickly toward the house.
    â€œDon’t go near it!” Charlie called. “Stay back.”
    â€œWhat?” Breckinridge paused. “What’s that?”
    â€œGas,” Charlie said. “Stay back.” He stopped and picked up a large rock and heaved it at a window. Almost instantly, the smell of gas was in the air. “Where’s the main?” he demanded.
    Breckinridge looked stunned. “You broke the window!”
    â€œWhere’s the goddamn gas main?”
    He pointed to the side of the cabin and Charlie strode off in that direction. Constance and Breckinridge followed. “I need a wrench,” Charlie snapped.
    Constance ran back to their car and opened the trunk. There were always some tools there. She found a wrench and hurried back with it. Charlie turned off the gas. He glanced around the back of the cabin, but the snow was too deep for any rocks to show. Silently, he went back to the front and lifted another rock.
    â€œFor God’s sake, you don’t have to do that,” Breckinridge cried. “Just open the door.” He started to go to the cabin door and Charlie caught his arm.
    â€œDon’t even think of touching that door,” he said darkly, and pointed. A narrow strip of metal was visible at the bottom of the door. Breckinridge backed away; he looked confused.
    Charlie broke another window, took a rock around back, and broke a window there. The smell of gas was sickening all around the cabin. They went to stand by the cars.
    â€œWhat are we going to do?” Breckinridge asked helplessly.
    â€œWait a while and then open the back door. Is there a key for it?” He took the key from Breckinridge’s fingers.
    â€œ He did this! My God, he tried to kill me!”
    Charlie grunted, thinking of the unbroken snow at the back of the house, some of it drifted up over the doorsill. If that door had been opened, booby-trapped, the snow would have been disturbed, he decided, and went around to unlock the door. First he examined the frame, the single step, the door itself, and finally he inserted the key and turned it. A light wind was blowing, would be blowing through the house, he knew, and a lot of gas had already been released, replaced with fresh air. Enough ventilation? He decided it was, and he pushed the door open and quickly stepped back as a cloud of poisonous air rushed out.
    He waited ten minutes before he entered the cabin through the back door. It stank of gas, and would for quite some time, but it was no longer a primed bomb. He stopped to examine the front door: solid wood, like the back door, with weather stripping, a good tight threshold, and a narrow strip of metal nailed to the door on the inside, bent to fit under it. Inside the door, a metal plate was like a deadly welcome mat. It would have done nicely, he decided, and opened the door carefully, using a handkerchief, watching for a spark. If one came, he missed it, but he felt certain that it had sparked, and if the door had opened an hour ago, the house would have gone up in a gas explosion.
    Constance had followed him in through the back door and now took his hand without a word. Breckinridge approached cautiously. He was pasty-faced.
    â€œKeep your hands in your pockets,” Charlie told him. He squeezed Constance’s hand and released it. “You’ll have to go to the nearest phone, in Benson’s Landing, I guess, and call Bruce Wymouth over in Albany. I don’t know anyone in the FBI in Vermont Tell him what we found here, why we came—checking out a tip