Psycho - Three Complete Novels Read Online Free PDF Page A

waited until the door closed behind him and then slipped out of her jacket. She opened her overnight bag on the bed and took out a print dress. She let it hang, hoping some of the wrinkles would disappear, while she used the bathroom facilities. Just time to freshen up a bit now, but when she came back she promised herself a good hot shower. That’s what she needed; that, and sleep. But first a little food. Let’s see, now—her make-up was in her purse, and she could wear the blue coat from the big suitcase—
    Fifteen minutes later she was knocking on the door of the big frame house on the hillside.
    A single lamp shone from the unshaded parlor window, but a brighter reflection blazed from upstairs. If his mother was ill, that’s where she’d be.
    Mary stood there, waiting for a response, but nothing happened. Maybe he was upstairs, too. She rapped again.
    Meanwhile, she peered through the parlor window. At first glance she couldn’t quite believe what she saw; she hadn’t dreamed that such places still existed in this day and age.
    Usually, even when a house is old, there are some signs of alteration and improvement in the interior. But the parlor she peered at had never been “modernized”; the floral wallpaper, the dark, heavy, ornately scrolled mahogany woodwork, the turkey-red carpet, the high-backed, overstuffed furniture and the paneled fireplace were straight out of the Gay Nineties. There wasn’t even a television set to intrude its incongruity in the scene, but she did notice an old wind-up gramophone on an end table. Now she could detect a low murmur of voices, and at first she thought it might be coming from the gramophone’s bell-shaped horn; then she identified the source of the sound. It was coming from upstairs, from the lighted room.
    Mary knocked again, using the end of the flashlight. This time she must have made her presence known, for the sound ceased abruptly, and she heard the faint thud of footsteps. A moment later she saw Mr. Bates descending the stairs. He came to the door and opened it, gesturing her forward.
    “Sorry,” he said. “I was just tucking Mother in for the night. Sometimes she’s apt to be a bit difficult.”
    “You said she was ill. I wouldn’t want to disturb her.”
    “Oh, you won’t make any bother. She’ll probably sleep like a baby.” Mr. Bates glanced over his shoulder at the stairway, then lowered his voice. “Actually, she’s not sick, not physically, that is. But sometimes she gets these spells—”
    He nodded abruptly, then smiled. “Here, let me just take your coat and hang it up. There. Now, if you’ll come this way—”
    She followed him down a hallway which extended from under the stairs. “I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen,” he murmured. “Everything’s all ready for us. Sit right down and I’ll pour the coffee.”
    The kitchen was a complement of the parlor—lined with ceiling-high glassed-in cupboards grouped about an old-fashioned sink with a hand-pump attachment. The big wood stove squatted in one corner. But it gave off a grateful warmth, and the long wooden table bore a welcome display of sausage, cheese and homemade pickles in glass dishes scattered about on the red-and-white checkered cloth. Mary was not inclined to smile at the quaintness of it all, and even the inevitable hand-crocheted motto on the wall seemed appropriate enough.
    God Bless Our Home.
    So be it. This was a lot better than sitting alone in some dingy small-town cafeteria.
    Mr. Bates helped her fill her plate. “Go right ahead, don’t wait for me! You must be hungry.”
    She was hungry, and she ate heartily, with such absorption that she scarcely noticed how little he was eating. When she became aware of it, she was faintly embarrassed.
    “But you haven’t touched a thing! I’ll bet you really had your own supper earlier.”
    “No, I didn’t. It’s just that I’m not very hungry.” He refilled her coffee cup. “I’m afraid Mother gets me a