R Is for Ricochet

by Sue Grafton

  27

  I checked the garage windows first. Nicks in the brown paint that covered the glass revealed a makeshift guest room: a chair, a chest of drawers, a double bed, and a lamp sitting on an end table fashioned from a cardboard box. The disheveled linens suggested current occupancy, as did the red cotton sweater flung at the bottom of the bed, which I recognized as Reba's. A hard-sided gray suitcase lay open on the floor near the chest of drawers. The duffel was unzipped on the chair, clothes spilling out.

  I circled the house as I had before. The pull latch on the wooden gate made scarcely a sound as I moved into the backyard and approached the lighted window. I ducked and came up at an angle, peering over the sill. Reba and Misty sat together at the desk with their backs to me. I couldn't see what they were doing and their voices were too muffled to discern the topic of conversation, but it was sufficient for the moment to know that Reba was in range.

  Here was the question I asked myself: did I dare go back to my motel without confronting them? I was desperate for sleep, but I worried if I waited until morning, one or both of the women would be gone. Of course, I'd be facing the same dilemma anytime I let Reba out of my sight. For the moment, I was reluctant to give up the only advantage I had, which was that I knew where she was, but she didn't know that I knew.

  Blessedly, as I watched, Misty gathered up the items they'd been inspecting and tucked them into the mailing pouch I'd seen earlier. Reba left the room and Misty followed, flicking the light switch as she passed. I made my way to the front of the house and hovered in the shadow of the evergreens. Ten minutes later, the living room light went out. I eased across the front of the house to the drive. Another fifteen minutes passed and then the line of light under the garage door was extinguished as well. I figured my little chickadees were in for the night.

  I drove back to my motel through a city that was wide awake but quiet. The sun wouldn't be up for another hour or so, but the sky had already lightened to a pearly gray. I parked, took the stairs to the second floor, and unlocked my door. The room was drab but clean enough, as long as you didn't use a black light or get down on your hands and, knees with a magnifying glass. I peeled off my clothes and took a good j hot shower, then did what I could to secure the drapes across the window. The fabric was a heavyweight plastic, dark red, and very tastefully flocked. Add to that, vinyl wallpaper with its lightning bolts of silver and black, and you had a most amazing decor. I pulled back the pink chenille spread and settled between the sheets, turned off the lights, and slept like the dead.

  At some point, my subconscious gave me a nudge. I remembered Reba telling me what a whiz Misty was at reproducing fake passports and other phony documents. Was that why Misty was meeting the fellow at the Silverado? Even in my sleep, I felt a whisper of fear. Maybe Reba was planning to make a run for it.

  At 10:00 the next morning the phone rang. I lifted the handset and laid it against my ear without moving my head. "What."

  "Kinsey, this is Reba. Did I wake you?"

  I rolled over on my back. "Don't worry about it. I appreciate the call. How're you doing?"

  "Pretty much okay until I heard you were here. How'd you find me?"

  "I didn't find you, I found Misty," I said.

  "So how'd you do that? I'm just curious."

  "Detective work, dear. That's what I do for a living."

  "Huh. That surprises me."

  "What does?"

  "I figured Pop was able to hire you because you weren't any good. Clearly you weren't busy, or why would you agree to such a dumb-ass job? Drive his daughter back from prison? You can't be serious."

  "Thanks, Reeb. That's nice."

  "I'm saying I was wrong. Truth is, it shocked the hell out of me when Misty said you showed. I still don't get how you did it."

  "I have my little ways. I hope you called for something more important than congratulating me for being less incompetent than you thought."

  "We need to talk."

  "Tell me when and where and I'll be there with bells on."

  "We'll be at Misty's until noon."

  "Great. Give me the address and I'll be over in a bit."

  "I thought you'd already have the address."

  "Guess I'm not perfect," I said, though as a matter of fact I was. She recited the address and I pretended to make a note.

  Once she hung up, I got out of bed and crossed to the window. I pushed open the drapes and winced at the harsh desert sun. My room looked out over the backside of another dingy two-story motel, so there wasn't much to see. By resting my forehead against the glass, I could see the flashing neon sign on the casino down the street still winking its invitation. How could anyone drink or gamble at this hour?

  I brushed my teeth and showered again, trying to jump-start myself. I dressed and then sat down on the edge of the bed and put a call through to Reba's father. Freddy told him I was on the line and he took the call in his room, sounding frail. "Yes, Kinsey. Where are you?"

  "At the Paradise. It's a motel in downtown Reno. I thought I'd give you an update. Reba called a while ago. I'm on my way over to Misty's to talk to her."

  "You found her, then. I'm glad. That didn't take long."

  "I cheated. Someone gave me Misty's home address before I left Santa Teresa. I kept an eye on the place for hours, but I didn't think Reeb was there. Misty has a very promising career as a nude dancer at a strip joint called the Flesh Emporium. I followed her to work and chatted with her before she went on. When I asked about Reba, she never batted an eye. Swore up and down the two of 'em hadn't been in touch since Christmas. I gave her the number of my motel and lo and behold, Reba called."

  "I hope you'll be able to persuade her to come home."

  "Hey, me too. Wish me luck."

  "Ring me anytime you like. I appreciate your efforts on her behalf."

  "Happy to be of help."

  We exchanged a few more remarks and I was preparing to disconnect, when I heard a small click. I said, "Hello?"

  "I'm still here."

  I hesitated. "Is Lucinda there?"

  "Yes. She's downstairs. Did you want to speak with her?"

  "No, no. I was just curious. I'll call you as soon as I know where we stand."

  After I hung up, I sat for a moment and stared at the phone. I was almost certain Lucinda had been listening in. Freddy would never be guilty of such an offense. Lucinda, on the other hand, was clearly someone who needed to insert herself in the thick of every situation, someone who needed to be informed so she could exercise control. I thought about how she'd pumped me for information, how much she'd resented being locked out of Nord's room when he and I conferred. Under the guise of being oh-so-concerned, she'd wreaked havoc in Reba's life, and she'd do so again if she had the chance. She was the kind of woman you didn't want to turn your back on when leaving a room.

  I crossed the motel parking lot to McDonald's, where I ordered three large coffees, three OJs, three hash browns, and three Egg McMuffins to go. According to my calculations, Misty, Reba, and I - assuming we cleaned our plates - would each be supplied with 680 calories, 85 grams of carbohydrate, and 20 grams of fat. I amended my order, adding three cinnamon buns just to round things out.

  I drove back to Misty's, this time parking in the driveway. Reba was waiting when I knocked on the door. She was barefoot, in a pair of red shorts and a white tank top without benefit of a brassiere. I held the bag out. "Peace offering."

  "What for?"

  "Invading your turf. I'm sure I'm the last person in the world you wanted to see."

  "Second to last, just ahead of Beck. You might as well come in," she said. She took the bag and moved down the hall toward the kitchen, leaving me to close the door. I did a quick check of the living room in passing. The interior was sparsely furnished: bare linoleum flooring, wood-laminate coffee table, one of those brown tweed couches that can flatten to a bed. Brown tweed chair, end table, lamp with a flouncy shade. The next room on the right was the office I'd seen. There w
as a modest-size bedroom across the hall.

  "Getting an eyeful?" Misty asked. She sat at the kitchen table in a black satin robe that was tied at the waist, boobs close to bulging out of her lapels. I was surprised the weight didn't cause her to lose her balance and flop over in her plate.

  Reba had a lighted cigarette on the ashtray in front of her. She was drinking a Bloody Mary.

  Oh, perfect, I thought.

  "You want one?"

  "Why not? It's after ten," I said. I reached into the McDonald's bag and unloaded the goodies while Reba made me a drink and set it at my place. I looked at Misty. "You're not having a drink?"

  "I got bourbon in here," she said, pointing to her coffee with a red-lacquered nail.

  I sat down and doled out hash browns and Egg McMuffins, leaving the cinnamon buns, orange juice, and coffee in the center of the table. "Sorry if I seem rude, but I'm starving to death." Neither seemed to object as I unwrapped my Egg McMuffin.

  There was a blissful few minutes while the three of us munched. I figured business could wait. I didn't have a clue what we were doing anyway.

  Reba finished first. She wiped her mouth on a paper napkin she kept wadded in her fist. "How's Pop?"

  "Not that well. I'm hoping to talk you into going home."

  She took a drag of her cigarette. The house felt chilly and I marveled at her bare arms and legs. I tried a sip of Bloody Mary - largely vodka with a thin mist of Bloody Mary mix on top, like blood in a toilet bowl. I could feel my eyes cross as the burning liquor went down. She said, "Does Holloway know?"

  "What? That you left the state? That'd be my guess. Cheney told me he'd be getting in touch with her."

  "Lucky I'm having fun."

  "Mind if I ask why you left?"

  "I got bored being good."

  "Must be a record. You lasted ten days."

  She smiled. "Actually, I wasn't all that good, but I got bored anyway."

  "Is Misty in on this?"

  "Meaning, can we talk in front of her? She's my best friend. You can say anything you like."

  "You blew all the money, didn't you? Salustio's twenty-five grand."

  "Not all of it," she said. "How much?"

  She shrugged. "Little over twenty. Well, maybe more like twenty-two. I have a couple of thousand left. I figure there's no point talking to him if I don't have.the rest. What am I supposed to do, offer him small monthly payments until I've satisfied the debt?"

  "You have to do something. How long do you think you can duck a guy like that?"

  "Don't worry about it: I'm working on it. I'll figure it out. Anyway, maybe I'll be back in prison before he catches me."

  "That's a happy thought," I said. "I don't understand why you can't go back to Santa Teresa and talk to Vince. There's still a chance the feds can cut you a deal."

  "I don't need to make a deal with the feds. I got something in the works."

  I turned to Misty. "She's nuts, right? I mean, how nuts is she?"

  "Might as well leave her alone. Truth is, you can't save anybody but yourself."

  "I'm afraid I'd have to agree with you there," I said, then to Reba, "Look, all I want is to get you back to Santa Teresa before shit comes raining down on your head."

  "I get that."

  "So why don't we leave it at this? You know where I'm staying. I'll hang out until seven tomorrow morning. If I don't hear from you by then, I'll drive back alone. But I gotta warn you - at that point, I'm calling the Reno PD and telling 'em where you are. Fair enough?"

  "Oh, thanks. You think that's fair? Calling the Reno cops?"

  "As fair as you're going to get. You'd be wise to spend time with your dad while you can."

  "That's the only reason I'd go back, assuming I do."

  "I don't care about your motive - just getting you there."

  I went back to the motel, where I spent one of the most wickedly enjoyable days I've experienced in some time. I finished one paperback novel and started the next. I napped. At 2:30 I bypassed McDonald's and ate at a rival fast-food place. Afterward, I would have taken a walk, but I really didn't care what was out there. Reno is probably a very keen town, but the day was hotter than blue blazes, and my room, while glum, was at least habitable. I slipped my shoes off and read some more. At supper time, I called Cheney and brought him up to speed.

  I went to bed at 10:00 and got up at 6:00 the next morning, showered, dressed, and packed my bag. When I got down to my car, I found Reba perched on her suitcase with her duffel at her feet. She had on the same red shorts and tank top she'd been wearing the morning before. Bare legs. Flip-flops.

  I said, "This is a surprise. I didn't think I'd see you."

  "Yeah, well, I surprised myself. I'll go with you on one condition."

  "There aren't any conditions, Reba. You go or you don't. I'm not going to bargain with you."

  "Oh, come on. Hear me out. It's no big deal."

  "Okay, what."

  "I need to make a stop in Beverly Hills."

  "I don't want to make a detour. Why Beverly Hills?"

  "I have to drop something off at the Neptune Hotel."

  "The one on Sunset?"

  "That's right. I swear it won't take any time at all. Will you just do me this one tiny thing. Please, please, please?"

  I swallowed my irritation, thankful she'd agreed to come at all. I unlocked the car door on the passenger side, flipped the seat forward, and tossed my duffel in the rear. As Reba added her two bags, I noted that the duffel bore a United Airlines tag and a small green sticker showing the bag had cleared security. I'd been right about the fact she'd flown to Reno.

  "We might as well have a decent breakfast before we take off. My treat," she said.

  We had the McDonald's to ourselves. We gorged on the usual, though even as I ate, I swore off junk food for life, or at least until lunch. A couple of guys came in after us and then the place began to fill up with people on their way to work. By the time we visited the ladies' room and got into the car, it was 7:05. I gassed up at the nearest Chevron station and we headed out of town. "If you smoke in my car, I will kill you," I said.

  "Blow it out your butt."

  Reba was in charge of the map, directing me to the 395, which cut straight south to Los Angeles. Somehow I knew the detour would be a pain in the ass, but I was so relieved to have her with me, I decided not to make a fuss. Maybe she'd experienced a change of heart and she was ready to take responsibility for herself. Skittish as she was, I figured the best thing I could do was to keep my observations and opinions to myself.

  Conversation was in short supply. The problem in dealing with people who are out of control is that the choices are so few - two being the actual number if you want to know the truth: (1) You can play counselor, thinking that perhaps no one (save yourself) has ever offered the rare tidbit of wisdom that will finally cause the light to dawn. Or (2) You can play persecutor, thinking that a strong dose of reality (also delivered by you) will shame or cajole the person into turning her life around. In both instances, you'll be wrong, but the temptation is so strong to take one role or the other that you'll have to bite your tongue bloody to keep from jumping in with all the lectures and the finger wagging. I kept my mouth shut, though it required an effort on my part. She was mercifully quiet, perhaps sensing my struggle to mind my own business.

  28

  On the road, Reba fiddled with the radio until she found a station that didn't sound like it was broadcasting from Mars. We listened to country-western tunes while I played bumper tag with the same three cars: a pickup with a camper shell, an RV, and a couple of college students in a U-Haul truck. One would pass me and then the next and then I'd pass one of them, a form of vehicular leapfrog that had us hopping over one another at irregular intervals. At the back of my mind, I wondered if we were being followed, but I couldn't imagine how Beck or Salustio could manage to get a bead on us.

  Where the 395 and Highway 14 intersected, the kids in the U-Haul went straight while we s
tayed on Highway 14, angling south and west. Eventually we connected to the San Diego Freeway and drove south. By then the RV had disappeared and I saw no sign of the pickup with the camper shell. Nervous-making nonetheless.

  It was close to 3:00 when I got off the freeway at Sunset Boulevard, took a left, and followed the road east again through Bel Air and into Beverly Hills. Reba played navigator, tracking street addresses though it really wasn't necessary. A few blocks beyond Doheny, the Hotel Neptune loomed into view, an Art Deco wonder that vaguely mimicked the Empire State Building, its shoulders narrowing to a point. I'd read an article about the place in a copy of Los Angeles Magazine. The property had recently been expanded to encompass a large parcel of land on each side, which allowed the creation of a sweeping entrance and additional guest parking. A name change and the multimillion-dollar renovation had propelled the old hotel into prominence again. Now it was the hot new destination for rock stars, actors, and wide-eyed tourists hoping to be considered hip.