Miller introduced himself and flipped his badge. “Are you Geneva Masterson?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said with a haughty arch of one eyebrow. I felt like I’d been lugging a hunk of lead in my soul up to that point, and when she said that one word, the weight turned into water vaper. My doubts about the connections between this world and mine had just gotten a bit thinner.
“We’d like to search your property, ma’am,” he said. “We have reason to believe there may be someone here who’s in danger.”
“That’s absurd,” she said.
“Regardless, ma’am, we have probable cause and are going to come in, but we would prefer to do so with your cooperation.”
“What’s this all about?” She was starting to get huffy, and I knew she’d pull the lawyer card any second. Threatening to notify the press would come after that.
“Do you know a woman named Veronica Clark?” Miller asked.
“Never heard of her.”
“Your husband’s heard of her,” I said. Miller shot me a look, but I kept going. “And your boys have heard of her. One of them let me have this goose egg this morning to make sure I forgot all about her.” I pointed to my head as I spoke. “You remember that, don’t you, Mrs. Masterson? You were there, after all.”
“Who is this man?” she asked. “Is he with you? I want him off my property.”
At that moment, a man appeared from around the side of the house where I had found my way into the kitchen in the world I felt more at home in. I recognized him right away as the goon who’d done all the talking in the back of Mrs. Masterson’s car. He was holding two large suitcases and looked to be heading for the garage when he spotted the police, turned around, and went back the way he’d come.
“Planning a trip, Mrs. Masterson?” Miller asked. His tone had gone smug.
“Actually, I’m just…”
“Where’s your husband, ma’am?” Miller asked.
“He’s not at home.” The composure was slipping. I could see color rising in her cheeks.
“Is he with Mrs. Clark?” I asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
If words were water, she’d have spit them at me. Fury rose into her cheeks and forehead, but before it could explode, Mrs. Masterson spun on her heels and tried to slam the door in Miller’s face. He was too fast for her and got his shoulder into it before the door could meet the jamb, and that was that. The detective barreled in after her, and his men followed while I hung back and watched the door close in my face. I wasn’t a cop; in the world where I belonged, I wasn’t even a private detective. Everything on the other side of that door was official police business.
“Well, that’s that,” I said to no one, as I stepped away from the front door. I was alone again—just me and my thoughts.
I walked back to Miller’s car and leaned against the fender for a while. The three well-worn police vehicles now sat where Esplanades and Terranovas and a black Phantom Corsair had been parked the last time I was here. Well, not exactly here. Recalling the Phantom made me think again of Annabelle and of the possibility that she might be out in the city somewhere.
Such thoughts were getting me nowhere but bothered, so I told myself I should take a stroll around the grounds—just something to keep myself distracted while Miller did the hard work inside the house. I wondered what he’d find, but I didn’t wonder that hard. He’d find something. Of that I was sure. Whether it would be enough…that was tough to know. That part depended on Mrs. Masterson and how good she was at covering her tracks. She’d been pretty good in the other world, and I supposed if Carmelita hadn’t picked me up in the desert, the case would have gone unsolved, or someone else would have gone down for it.
I went around the side of the house just as I had done after Margaret West had dropped me off. Instead of heading for the kitchen, though, I continued to skirt the house and soon found myself on a brick deck with potted plants all around it. An expanse of perfect green lawn spread out between the deck and the little private lake. I liked the look of it; it seemed peaceful, a good spot to let myself unwind a little after the whirlwind I’d been caught up in.
I set out across the lawn, my destination a little grove of trees at the side of the lake. It looked to be about ten yards across and maybe fifteen long. I couldn’t tell how deep, nor could I tell what fed it—maybe an underground spring, and maybe pipes from some municipal source. The latter was the better bet, just one more Hollywood illusion. When I got there, I sat down with my back to a tree and looked back at the house and the tower windows, beyond which Annabelle and Miller had taken their last breaths in a different world. The sun was glinting off those windows now, and I knew dusk would be settling in any time. I turned my attention to the little lake in front of me and just watched the rippling water.
It took me a few minutes to realize where the ripples were coming from. There wasn’t much of a breeze, and there weren’t any ducks or anything else on the little lake to be disturbing its otherwise glassy surface. But there were bubbles coming up from somewhere near the middle. They weren’t regular, not like you’d expect to see if there was a pipe somewhere down there feeding the lake or filtering it. No, they came in little bursts, followed by long periods of nothing. And they were irregular in volume, too. Little ones, little ones, and then a few big ones.
Something wasn’t right about them.
I got up from my comfortable spot and felt a little funny when I did, a little light headed, like I’d gotten up too fast and my head and body were a bit out of sync. I’d felt that before. It always went away.
Not this time, though.
When I walked, my feet felt heavy. It was like I was drugged.
By the time I got to the spot where the edge of the water met the long expanse of lawn, the widest, most open spot in the Mastersons’ manicured lawn that led straight down to the lake from the courtyard and driveway, I had to fight to keep my balance.
I understood then what was happening.
Dropping to my knees, I put my fingers to the soft earth where the water met the grass, and I saw the tire tracks. Turning my gaze to the water, I tried to peer into its darkness and depth, imagining I could see Veronica Clark’s Packard in its wet grave, an air pocket here or there giving up the ghost and sending bubbles to the surface, maybe even bubbles drifting out of the mouths of the two corpses in the car. But I could really see nothing. The lengthening shadows didn’t help, and as I pitched forward onto the grass, I was left to wonder if Geneva Masterson had put the bodies in the trunk or left them together in the passenger compartment. She probably split them up, one in the trunk and one behind the wheel; the latter would most likely have been her husband.
Struggling to stay conscious and to keep control of this other Jed’s limbs, I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out the note I’d written. Then I fumbled for the pencil in this Jed’s jacket pocket. I wanted to write the words “tire tracks” but those words didn’t show up on the page. A different one did: Annabelle.
Then, feeling myself slipping away, I stuffed the note back into Jed’s pocket and reached out with the other hand to point at the tire tracks, hoping that either Miller would see what Jed was pointing at when he found the private detective prone on the lawn or that the other Jed would figure it out when he regained consciousness.
Chapter Twenty-One
And then I was back in Guillermo Garcia’s kitchen, the goggles and earphones still on my head. I disentangled myself from the apparatus and looked into the old man’s twinkling eyes. He sat across from me, a cup of coffee in his hand.
“Welcome back, lobo,” he said. Raising his cup, he said, “You want some?”
“No,” I said. “Thank you.”
I felt a little dazed at the transition I’d just been through. The same had happened the first time I’d made the journey, only then I’d come back to find Elsa Schwartz staring me down. It was much better to be looking into a friendly face. Even so, I still felt disoriented.
Whereas I’d been uncertain about what sort of adventure I’d been on after coming out of it the first time, I was now certain that the journey to the other world had been a real thing, not a vision or a hallucination, and certainly not a sign of my slipping sanity. How this was possible, I couldn’t say, nor could I explain how the weird metal box with its discs and other apparatus had caused me to take the journey. All I knew was that I had gone and come back again.
Focusing on Guillermo, I said, “Did I say anything when I was out?”
He shook his head.
I felt relieved at this, glad that the other Jed Strait hadn’t come into this world to start messing with my life the way I’d messed with his. I also felt relieved to know that I’d helped put Geneva Masterson away in two different worlds and that the other Jed Strait was going to come out of the encounter all right. With a little luck, he was still napping next to the Mastersons’ private lake, just waiting for Miller to walk down and urge him to get up and help or to get the hell out while the investigation picked up steam. Wherever that Jed had gone while I was in control, he was back now, and I hoped everything would work out for him. And—maybe—he might follow the last word I’d written for him and go find Annabelle if she wasn’t already part of his life on that side.
“What happens when you watch that thing?” Guillermo asked.
I shook my head. “Too complicated to explain now.”
He nodded at this, but I knew he wasn’t going to stand for secrecy on the box for long.
“How long was I out?” I asked.
“About an hour and a half.”
That was about as long as I’d been on the other side. Looking out the kitchen window, I saw that it was dark in this version of Los Angeles. Time didn’t quite match up in the two worlds, I told myself, as the sun had only been setting when I’d had my last moments by the Mastersons’ lake.
“What now, then?” Guillermo asked.
I got up and walked around the kitchen for a minute to get my bearings. Then I said, “I have some ideas. Maybe…maybe for now I could help you get the rest of this place cleaned up.”
“No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “You don’t need to do that.”
“Well…it’s kind of my fault it got so messed up. If I hadn’t figured out that you were hiding Carmelita in here and then gone and spilled it to Annabelle, none of this mess would have happened.” I paused a moment and then added, “Plus, I wouldn’t mind having a couch to flop on for the night, and I figure a little labor might buy me a cushion or two.”
Guillermo smiled at this. “You can stay here without working for it, lobo.”
“No,” I said in as friendly a tone as I could manage. “I want to earn my keep.”
He shrugged. Then he pointed at a broom closet and told me there was still broken glass on the floor in the next room. “The sofa, though…not so comfortable, I think. You sure about this?”
“I’m sure.”
“And after tonight?”
“Like I said, I’ve got some ideas. I’ve got about two bucks left to my name. It’s not much, but what do you say I hire you as my driver in the morning?”
“You don’t have to pay me. Where you want to go?”
“Maybe I want to pay you,” I said. “And as to the where…I’ve got some unfinished business out on Catalina.”
* * * * *
We set out the next morning after Guillermo scrambled a few eggs on an ancient skillet. He’d been right about the couch not being very comfortable, but I had slept regardless. For the first time in weeks, I hadn’t dreamed about the accident that had killed Buddy Stiles and so many others, or if I had, the dream hadn’t ended with me waking up in a panic. If I dreamed of Annabelle, I didn’t remember that either. Maybe bouncing between worlds the day before had short-circuited my dream machinery. Or maybe I’d just been so exhausted that I’d slept like a dead man.
Even so, I’d awoken feeling rather uneasy, the first thought in my mind being that the two bucks in my wallet and the clothes on my back were literally the only things I had to my name. If things didn’t work out on Catalina, I was going to need to formulate a new plan quickly. And I didn’t think California was going to be the place to do it in; she hadn’t been kind to me so far, and I felt like whatever luck I’d stumbled into had pretty much run out.
After we got going, Guillermo started talking about how much things had changed since he’d been a young man in the city, how he’d watched it grow from nothing into the monster that it was now. He also told me about Carmella, his late wife. The explosion and what led up to it, he didn’t seem to want to go into, so I didn’t ask. I could tell he still missed her dreadfully, and I could also tell it made him sad that Carmelita had opted to leave him rather than be the kind of companion he’d probably been hoping to have when he built her.
“Do you think there’s a chance the police will let her go?” he asked as we approached the harbor.
“I don’t want to get your hopes up—mainly because I just don’t know this detective all that well—but my gut says they will, especially if what I’ve got in mind out on Catalina goes the way I want it to.”
“And what exactly do you have in mind?”
“I’m going to keep that to myself for now. If it doesn’t work out, then I’m the only one that knows I failed. But if it does…do you think Carmelita would consent to me keeping an eye on her?”
“I can’t say.”
“What if I offer her some structure to follow?”
“You mean a job?”
“Sort of.”
“Depends on the job.”
“What if it’s one that might give her a bit of excitement now and then?”
He smiled at this. “Carmelita likes excitement. It might work.”
“Good. If we can convince her, and I can convince O’Neal that Carmelita’s on board with it, then, yeah, I expect we’ll see her released from custody before too long.”
“That’s good,” Guillermo said as he parked the truck.
I hesitated before getting out of the old pick-up, building up my nerve before I said, “I know I told you I’d pay you for the ride down here.”
“And I told you not to worry about it.”
I sighed. “It’s just that…I think I’m going to need all I’ve got for the ride over there and back.”
“And all you’ve got is…what? Two dollars, you said?”
“Something like that.”
He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a faded ten spot with Hannibal Hamlin’s face on the front. “Take this,” he said.
“I can’t.”
“You have to.”
“Have to?”
“Si.”
“Why?”
“Porque I said so. That’s why. Now go. You’ll miss the first boat.”
Reluctantly, I took his money, telling myself I’d avoid breaking the ten if I possibly could.
“You want me to wait here for you to come back?” he asked.
“I might be a while. You should probably head back. Stay by the phone in case O’Neal calls. I’ll find a way to get back to the ravine.”
“Maybe you can get my flight pack back, eh? Then you can fly there.”
“I’ll try, Guillermo. And I’m sorry I lost that in all the confusion.”
“I can build another. And now I’ve got you to test it for me. You won’t refuse.”
“I suppose not. I owe you at least that much.”
I got out of the truck then and pushed the protesting door closed, wincing at the squeal of its hinges in the quiet morning. Leaning through the open window, I said, “There is one thing. It’s possible I don’t make it back. I doubt it, but you never know.”
“It’s dangerous, what you’re doing? You want me to come out there with you?”
I loved the idea of the old man taking off his shirt and balling up his fists to defend me against whatever nastiness Cosmo or Elsa might have lined up on their island stronghold
, but it was more important that he get back to Chavez Ravine and do what he could for Carmelita if O’Neal reached out to him.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll be all right. I’m not counting on trouble, but like I said…you never know. If you don’t hear from me by the end of the day, let O’Neal know where I went. Maybe she can come to the rescue one more time.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Me, too.”
I reached into the cab and offered him my hand. “Good luck, lobo,” he said.
“Thanks.” I gave him a little salute then and headed for the ticket office, the ferry already starting to load in the distance.
You’d think that with so much on my mind and so much having happened in the days since I’d crossed the border into California that I’d have spent the boat ride processing recent events and laying plans and contingencies for what I was about to face. But instead, I spent the next hour looking out at the waves, feeling the hull cut through them like they were nothing, thinking about Annabelle and how I was going to break the news to her grandmother. I felt terrible that I hadn’t made the call already.
Things were beginning to bustle in Avalon when I got off the boat, the little strip of shops and beach along the waterfront ready for all the money-laden tourists coming over from the mainland. I wasn’t one of them, so instead of poking my head into shell shops or trying to find a place where I could get a snorkel for the day, I walked the short distance away from the beach and toward the gate that led to Cosmo Beadle’s little tram station. Finding the tram absent, I tried the same call button Annabelle had used. Nothing happened. Rather than stand there contemplating my options, I started hoofing it, taking a little trail through the rubber plants and ferns that bordered the track all the way up to Beadle’s mansion near the hilltop.
The Blacktop Blues: A Dieselpunk Adventure (The Crossover Case Files Book 1) Page 26
