I could just call her up and say nothing. That'd spook her.
A rotten trick, but it might really be dangerous for her to stay alone in that apartment. The guy just might pay a visit.
Bodie wondered if she had reconnected her phones.
'Have you decided what to do about school?' Melanie asked.
He shook his head.
'You don't have to stay here, you know. All this… it's not your problem.'
'Trying to get rid of me?' he asked, and grinned at her.
'I just don't want you to feel that you have to stick around. You've got those classes to teach, and… There's no telling how long Dad might last.'
'He might surprise you and recover.'
'Yeah, sure,' she muttered.
'I'll stay a few days. Besides, I want to help you get to the bottom of this business with Joyce and Harrison.'
'That won't take long,' Melanie said.
'You've got a plan in mind?'
She shrugged.
'We could always beat Joyce with a rubber hose until she spills the beans,' he suggested.
'Good idea.'
He turned and drove slowly up the narrow lane to the house.
Inside, he said, 'Do you think we could eat before I keel over?'
'Sure.'
Melanie found hot dogs in the refrigerator, buns in the freezer. She put them in the microwave. While they heated, she filled two glasses with Pepsi and found an open bag of potato chips. Bodie ate some chips while he waited. They were a little stale, chewy and with a strange under-taste that reminded him of drinking water from a garden hose.
Melanie put the steaming buns and hot dogs on plates. Bodie lathered his buns with mustard. They sat at the kitchen table to eat.
'I guess you should pack up Pen's things when we're done.'
Melanie chewed.
'Want me to help?'
'You'd like that,' she said.
Indeed I would, he thought.
'I can wait down here.'
And call Pen?
And breathe.
It'd be for her own good.
But when they finished eating, it was Melanie who went to the telephone. She dialed 411.
'Who are you calling?'
'Directory assistance.'
'I know that.'
' Santa Monica,' she said into the receiver. ' Harrison Donner. On Twenty-first Street.'
Bodie's back stiffened.
Melanie pressed down on the cut-off button, let it up, and began to dial.
'What the hell are you doing?'
'You'll see.'
'That's what I'm afraid of.'
'Hello. Harrison? This is Melanie Conway… Just fine. Dad's come out of it… Yeah. I'm calling from the hospital. He's just come out of his coma… Yeah, isn't it great? Anyway, the thing is, he says he has to talk to you… No, I don't know what it's about but I guess it's pretty important. Could you come right over?… Great. See you in a few minutes.' She hung up.
Bodie stared at her.
'Let's get going,' she said.
'What…?'
'We're gonna take a look at his Porsche,' she said.
'Good Christ, Mel.'
***
Pen sat on the sofa with the shotgun box heavy across her lap. She opened it and lifted out the weapon. The wood and steel were glossy in the light from the window at her back. There was a faint, pleasant odor of oil.
Though she'd never fired a shotgun, a boyfriend had taken her out to the hills near Valencia one Saturday and they'd had a fine time plinking cans with revolvers and his rifle. The rifle was a.30 caliber lever-action. She remembered the way it crashed her shoulder when she fired it. And the godawful noise.
The shotgun would probably be similar.
She raised it, pressed it firmly to her shoulder, and sighted along the narrow strip of steel that ran the length of the barrel to a bead on its muzzle.
Paul's rifle had had a telescopic sight. With that, she'd hit the cans more often than not.
With this - if she ever actually needed to use it - her target wouldn't be more than twenty feet away. She couldn't possibly miss.
She worked the pump. It made a sliding snick-clack. Her finger curled around the trigger, but she didn't squeeze it.
The thing's not loaded, she told herself. It shouldn't be. But if it is, you'll blast your wall open.
She set the shotgun across her knees and spent the next few minutes studying its instruction booklet. Then she checked the chamber. Empty. She pulled the trigger. Click. Then she opened a box of cartridges and fed four of them into the magazine.
Leaving the weapon uncocked, she pressed a switch to activate the safety. She worked the switch back and forth a few times until she felt familiar with it.
All set, she thought.
She had already decided on the best place to keep it. She carried the shotgun into her bedroom, knelt beside her bed, and pushed it beneath the draping side of her coverlet.
Then she lay down on the bed.
Someone's here!
She threw herself off the mattress, snatched out the shotgun, swept its barrel high to clear the bed, and swung it toward the door.
'Pow,' she whispered.
She shook her head. She felt a little silly, like a kid playing soldier, but she returned the shotgun to its place. This time, she took off her shoes and got beneath the covers. She tried the maneuver again. The covers slowed her down, but not by much.
She practiced three more times, then stripped off the sheets and pillow cases and piled them on the floor.
Sunday. Laundry day.
You're home now, you're not running away, you might as well do your regular chores as if nothing has changed.
***
Bodie drove past Harrison 's house. The Mercedes was no longer in the driveway.
'It worked,' Melanie said.
'Sure it worked. But what's he going to think when he gets to the hospital and finds out you lied?'
'It'll sure make him wonder, won't it?' Melanie didn't sound bothered.
'He'll wonder, all right.'
On the next block, Bodie found an empty stretch of curb where the Continental had been. He pulled over and parked.
'What time is it now?' Melanie asked as they met on the sidewalk.
Bodie checked his wrist watch. 'Twelve-forty.'
'Good.'
'It's kind of tight, if you ask me.' He hurried to stay with her.
'No problem. I phoned at twelve-thirty. Say it took five minutes for them to clear out. Should take them fifteen minutes to reach the hospital, at least five to find out they were tricked, and fifteen to get back here. And that's assuming they're real fast about it. So we should be all right till ten after one.'
'Right. So we check his garage and get away clean as a whistle. Only what the hell are you going to say when Harrison wants to know about your call?'
'That'll depend on what his Porsche looks like, won't it?'
'It damn well better be smashed up.'
The driveway gates beneath the porte cochere were seven feet high and locked. Bodie looked at the gate's mechanism. 'It opens by remote,' he said.
Melanie didn't hesitate. She hurried onto the porch, walked across it and boosted herself onto its low brick wall. Then she swung her legs over and dropped onto the driveway behind the gate.
With a groan of despair, Bodie did the same. He followed Melanie toward the garage.
This really bites, he thought. It's crazy.
The driveway was bordered by a high fence, but the neighbor's house was two stories. He could see its upstairs windows.
If someone happened to be looking down…
He imagined a police car swinging into the driveway.
Oh man, oh man.
Behind Harrison 's house, the narrow driveway flared out in front of the two-car garage.
Melanie tugged at the handle, trying to lift the garage door.
'That'll be on remote, too,' Bodie told her.
> 'You try.'
It's no use, he thought. But he pulled hard on the handle. The door didn't budge.
The door had no windows.
A walkway led around the corner of the garage. It led to a side door with glass panels.
Melanie cupped her hands against one of the windows and peered inside. 'There it is,' she said.
'How does it look?'
'Dark.' She tried the knob, shook her head, then turned toward Bodie.
'Let's give it up,' he said.
'Do you want to kick the door open?'
'Are you kidding? Christ, we're already trespassing. Do you want to end up in jail?'
She glanced sideways. Then her arm shot back. Bodie flinched, stunned and disbelieving, as her elbow rammed one of the lower windows. The glass blasted inward, shards clinking and shattering as they hit the garage floor.
'Mel!'
'I'm not giving up,' she said. Reaching through the broken window, she opened the door. 'You can wait here if you're scared.'
'Let's make it quick and get out of here.'
Inside, the garage was cool and dark. Bodie quickly shut the door.
Melanie flipped a switch. An overhead bulb came on. The Porsche, on the far side of the garage, gleamed fire-engine red.
Bodie glanced around as they walked toward it. Along the near wall were wash basins, a clothes washer and drier, shelves stacked with cardboard boxes. Closer to the garage door were rakes, a power lawn mower, shovels, bags of fertilizer. The stale, dank odor of the garage was mixed with the smells of fertilizer and gasoline.
Bodie shivered. It was the cool, closed-in air. It was being here.
God, this is insane.
Melanie stopped in front of the Porsche. Her eyes roamed its windshield and hood.
They looked fine to Bodie. He moved to her side as she crouched to inspect the headlights, grill and bumper.
'Not a scratch,' Bodie said.
'It just means he probably didn't use this car. He still could've stolen or rented one.'
'That'll be pretty tricky to prove.'
'God damn it!'
'Come on, let's get out of here.'
She followed Bodie to the door. After opening it, he twisted his hand on the inside knob to smear the fingerprints. Then he pulled it shut and did the same to the outside knob.
Melanie, well ahead of him, walked quickly to the back door of the house. She opened it and stood peering inside as Bodie ran to her.
'No!' he snapped. He grabbed her shoulder.
'What time is it?'
'Mel, no. We can't.'
'Come on, what time is it?'
He checked. 'Ten till one.'
'We've got at least fifteen minutes.'
'What do you want to do in there?' he asked. His voice was shaky, his heart thumping wildly.
'Just take a quick look around.'
'God, Mel.'
'There might be evidence. I'm going in.'
'No!'
'Let go of me.'
He dropped his hand from her shoulder.
He entered the kitchen behind Melanie. He felt sick. Breaking into the garage was bad enough. This was utter madness.
He realized he wanted badly to urinate.
If we're caught in here…
Why the hell didn't Harrison lock his back door?
Maybe someone's here!
Don't even think that.
The house was silent.
What if he's got a silent alarm?
'What if he's got a silent alarm?' Bodie whispered. 'It might be tied in directly to the police or a security patrol.'
Melanie ignored him.
'Two minutes,' he said. 'You've got two minutes, then we're out of here even if I have to drag you.'
They passed a bathroom. He could sure use it. He didn't dare.
He followed Melanie into a bedroom.
The covers and top sheet hung off the foot of the king-size bed. The pillows were mashed. Near the center of the blue satin bottom sheet was a wet place.
Melanie, leaning over, swiped at it with her forefinger. She rubbed her fingertip with the ball of her thumb, then sniffed it.
Bodie struggled not to gag.
She turned to him. A corner of her mouth twitched. 'Guess we know what they've been doing.'
Bodie grabbed her wrist. 'We're getting out of here now.'
'Okay, okay, don't pull.'
Letting go, he rushed ahead of her - out the bedroom, down a corridor to the living room, across the living room to the foyer. He opened the front door. Melanie stepped out. He twisted his hand on the knob, remembered that Melanie had left prints on the back door, and wondered if he should race through the house to wipe them off.
A patrol car might be racing toward the house right now.
He stepped outside and pulled the door shut by its edge.
They walked slowly over the flagstones to the sidewalk.
When they reached the end of the block, Bodie realized they were safe. He filled his lungs. His heart was still hammering. He still had to urinate, but the need wasn't as strong as before.
***
They climbed into the van. He pulled away. 'Thank God that's over,' he said.
'We didn't accomplish much.'
'We found out Harrison 's car isn't smashed up. And I presume your sniff-test eliminated the possibility that their relationship was purely Platonic.'
'I wish I could be there when they get back from the hospital.'
'They'd no doubt have some very interesting comments about you.'
'That's right.'
'You should've thought about that before you made the call.'
'I did. My message wasn't just to get rid of them. It was to worry them, stir things up.'
'I'm sure you succeeded. And when Harrison finds the busted garage window, he'll really get stirred up. He'll know exactly who did it. And why.'
'That's right,' she said calmly.
'Maybe we'd better move in with Pen.'
'Oh, you'd like that.'
'What I wouldn't like is facing Harrison after what we did. He'll know what we were up to.'
'I don't care what he thinks.'
'Do you care what he might do?'
'He won't bring in the cops, if that's what you're afraid of.'
'If he's innocent…'
'He isn't innocent.'
'If he's not innocent, that's even worse.'
***
When they entered the house, Bodie hurried ahead of Melanie. 'My teeth are floating,' he said.
'Hey, I left my purse in the van.'
He tossed the keys to her and rushed into the bathroom. He swung the door shut, unzipped, aimed at the toilet and released the tight hold he'd been keeping for so long. He sighed. He counted the seconds until he was done. Sixty-three. No record. His record was ninety-eight seconds one night last year after walking back to his apartment from a beer drinking session at Sparkey's.
He zipped up, flushed the toilet, and washed his hands.
Melanie should wash her hands, he thought. She actually touched that stuff. And sniffed it.
The girl is definitely mad.
He dried his hands and left the bathroom.
Melanie didn't seem to be back yet. He went to the kitchen. The thoughts of Sparkey's had whetted his thirst. He found several bottles of Corona beer in the refrigerator. Taking one out, he felt a small tug of guilt.
It's not as if I'm stealing the thing, he told himself. Joyce said we should make ourselves at home.
He searched a drawer, found a bottle opener, and pried off the cap.
She might not be quite so generous, however, if she knew what we've been doing.
Hell, it isn't her beer, anyway. It's Whit's. He's the breadwinner around here, the beer-winner. He certainly wouldn't begrudge me a brew. Look what I've gone through on his behalf.
Bodie took a drink. It was cold and very good. He sat at the table and drank some more.
Poor sod, he thought. They
certainly screwed you over, Whit. Your law partner and your dear wife. You'll have some nasty surprises if you ever come to.
But did they run you down? Ah, there's the question.
Nice to make them pay, if they did.
And how do we go about that? Harrison, the slime, was smart enough not to use his own car. So where do we go from here?
I guess we don't have to go anywhere from here. Melanie has already hurled the crapola into the fan. We only have to sit back and watch where it flies.
Perchance to duck.
Taking her one long time to fetch her purse.
Bodie suddenly knew why.
He set down his beer bottle and sighed.
'Melanie,' he muttered. 'Oh, for Christsake.'
He walked out to the street. His van was gone, all right.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Pen carried her laundry basket down the stairs and past the pool in the courtyard. The apartment building was silent and she saw no one. A typical Sunday afternoon. The tenants were either gone, or hidden away in their rooms.
She entered the short passageway between the courtyard and alley. The utility room's door stood ajar. It was supposed to be kept locked to prevent vandalism and unauthorized use of the machines. Alicia, from the corner apartment, had told her once about walking in on a shopping cart lady doing her wash - a filthy woman who screeched and jibbered like a lunatic when Alicia confronted her.
Pen set down her basket and swung the door wide. She peered into the gloom. Seeing no one, she reached around the corner and turned on the overhead light. The room looked deserted. The two washers and two driers were silent. She picked up her basket and entered.
The washing machines were top loaders. She opened each and looked inside. They were empty.
My lucky day, she thought.
She had separated her laundry before coming down. Bending over her basket, she lifted out a bundle of white fabrics. A sock fell to the floor on its way to the machine. She squatted to pick it up.
'Beautiful ass.'
She flinched. Her head snapped around so fast she hurt her neck.
In the doorway stood Manny Hammond from 202. He'd played football at USC and usually wore a jersey to remind everyone of his glory days. This afternoon, he wasn't wearing the jersey - just a pair of faded red gym shorts and thongs. The shorts were extremely tight.