Part 6 (1/2)
”Oh, thanks. What kind of stuff did you pick up today?”
”The usual run of evidence of extramarital affairs, illegal business dealings, and tax frauds... Nothing really outstanding, though the names involved are surprisingly interesting.”
”Come on and drop one, I'm not a reporter anymore.”
”Well, I could mention the name of Hoover, but I shan't tell which one or the nature of the blackmail article.”
He looked smug and left me guessing which Hoover: Herbert, J. Edgar, or the vacuum cleaner. I finished dressing and someone knocked on the door. It was the bellhop with my regular pile of papers. I tipped him and shut the door.
”Good heavens, you read all of those?”
”I'm addicted, but trying to taper off.” I opened the top paper to the personals page and checked the column of fine print. My notice was missing, but I was still hoping for a reply. I went through the rest of the stack in short order and dropped them to one side.
”What were you looking for?”
In answer, I fished an old paper from the trash, opened it to the right page, and pointed.
” 'Dearest Maureen, are you safe yet? Jack,' ” he read. ”I'd wondered if this were yours. This was the lady you knew in New York?”
I nodded. ”That's from the other day. I've had the ad canceled.”
He didn't ask why, not aloud anyway, but he was curious.
”If she were alive... she would have...” I wanted to pace, but the room was too small. Instead I took the paper from him and shoved it back in the trash. As an afterthought I threw the rest of them on top with it. ”I looked for her. I'm no amateur, I know how to look for people, but this was like she dropped off the face of the earth.”
”You still have doubts,” he said kindly.
”I shouldn't after all this time. I've got Bobbi to think of now. I've got a different life ahead of me.”
”And an unresolved question in your past. I would like to help, if you'll allow me.”
”The trail's five years cold. I couldn't ask you to do it.”
”I'm volunteering. I'm planning to go to New York, anyway. If nothing turns up you're no worse off than before, and if I do find anything, pleasant or not, it's better than not knowing at all.”
”You know what it's like, don't you?”
His eyes flickered and settled. ”I have an imagination.” Whatever it was, he didn't want to talk about it, and changed the subject. ”How is Miss Smythe doing these days?”
”Better since she quit the club. They put Gordy in charge of it.””How fortunate for him.”
”Anyway, she's been busy doing some local broadcast shows and stuff. Next week she's going to be on her first national broadcast. I'm going to drive her down to the studio.”
”How delightful. I'm truly happy for her. She appears to have fully recovered from her... uh... adventure.”
”I guess, she doesn't talk much about that night, and I don't bring it up if I can help it.”
”For all concerned, it's probably for the best. Well, I did come by to ask a favor of you.”
”What?”
”I shall be out of town for a few days next week-my business in New York, you know-and was wondering if you would mind staying over at my house while I'm gone. I'm expecting a s.h.i.+pment from overseas and would be glad to have someone there to receive it.”
”They deliver after dark?”
”I could arrange that, yes.”
”Sure, no problem.”
”Thank you, I appreciate this. I'll have a duplicate key made up for you.”
”Were you serious about looking for Maureen?”
”I can try, but I'll have to have her full name and description, where she lived at the time, and any other facts about her that could possibly be useful. Have you a photograph?”
”No.”
”A pity, it might have helped.” He shrugged his eyebrows philosophically and changed the subject again. ”I've been reading Stoker's book-”
”You have my sympathy,” I said dryly.
”Indeed, it does become turgid in spots, I had to completely skip over the correspondence between the two female characters-such a letdown after those terrifying scenes in the castle. But the idea of the multiple boxes of earth strikes me as very clever, and I came by to recommend it to you. You are quite vulnerable with just the one trunkful.”
”It's not even that much, but I see your point. I've been thinking about that, but putting it off. After all, I'm hardly being chased by Van Helsing. Who believes in vampires in this day and age?”
”Myself, Miss Smythe, Gordy, and anyone else who might notice your lack of a reflection in a mirror or window and think it peculiar. Consider it a safety measure.
Suppose there's a fire, or someone steals your trunk?”
”I'm sold already, but where do I stash all this extra dirt?”
He had a ready answer. ”I've plenty of room in my cellar until you can work out your own places. Are you planning to acquire a second trunk as well? The one you have is a bit large.”
”You noticed. I'll look around for another tonight and see if I can locate something like a feed sack.”
”What about some canvas bags?” He pulled one from an inside pocket and unfolded it. It was about eighteen inches long, with a rounded bottom six inches across. Around the opening were some things like belt loops. ”They were originally made to hold sand, but should work just as well for your earth.”
With that as a clue I realized it was the kind of bag that theaters used to counterweight curtains and stuff backstage. The loops were to be threaded with rope to attach it to lines.
”I have several dozen of these, you're welcome to them.”
”It's perfect, but how did you happen to have so many?”
”I have a lot of odds and ends lying about that I'm trying to clear away. I found these while doing some unpacking today. Much of my kit is absolutely useless at the moment, but now and then it fills an unexpected need. It occurs often enough to justify the presence of so much rubbish.”
So two nights later I was in my Buick with three dozen empty sandbags, a new shovel, some rope, and a new trunk. It was smaller than the one I'd initially bought to rest in for the day, which was currently in Escott's bas.e.m.e.nt. The new trunk was easier to manhandle from the car, and though cramped, it was large enough to hold a body, namely my own. Inside, still in the original feedsacks, was my home earth, which for reasons I did not understand, I was compelled to lie in during the day. The stuff gave me rest and strength and was as necessary to my survival as blood; I could no more question its importance to me than anyone else could question the need for air and water.
I pa.s.sed through a sleeping little town, one of the many on the road that rolled up the sidewalks at night. The reversed image of the welcome sign was receding in my mirror when the black Lincoln reappeared, this time with its headlights off. They were about a quarter mile back, and if they'd been after anyone but me they would have been invisible in the dark.
That clinched it, they were following me. The idea that they may have had their own brief rest stop and then forgot to switch on their lights was quickly discounted. On a night as black as this, human eyes needed all the help they could get.