“Brett says you’ve got a part in for him—something to do with his carburetor?”
“Yeah, the cutoff assembly. Came in yesterday.” Mel caught the girl’s eye and grinned. She flashed a quick, nervous smile back—probably anxious about her car.
“So, is life in general treating you well?” Mel asked, looking back at Sam.
“It’d be better with less damn papers to fill in all the time,” Sam muttered as he scrawled. “Forms, questions, all the time goddam papers. Do you know I threw out the coffee machine because the last ass of a state inspector who was here decided that it classified the place as a restaurant? A restaurant, this place? I ask you!”
“You’re kidding.” She wasn’t that bad looking, Mel saw, stealing another glance, with her clear, sharp-angled features and straight nose turning up just a fraction at the tip. And despite the sun, her skin had a light tone that made her look appealingly delicate.
“And the taxes!” Sam grumbled. “Do you know, they said I owed ’em another one-fifty on my last return, and they goddam went and had it lifted straight outta my bank account—just on their say-so, without even telling me! I didn’t even know about it. I mean, what’s it all coming to? If anybody in business thinks I owe them something, they have to go to court and get an order, right? And I get a chance to present my side, too. But who are these guys that can just go in and take your money, and you don’t even know about it? Even the Mafia don’t do that to you. I mean, it’s at least as if you’ve got a choice in the matter, right? Like, if I’m into gambling, or drugs, or girls, or what have you, I know a slice of the action goes to the firm. But it’s my choice, right? If I don’t deal with them, they leave me alone. They don’t send guys with guns round to my front door to take what they figure I owe them, and I don’t have any say. But it ain’t like that with the feds. So for my money, if you look at it on a scale of ethics from one to ten, the Mafia scores higher.”
The girl interrupted. “It looks as if I’m going to be a while anyway. If this gentleman’s just in for a part, why don’t you take care of that and he can be on his way?”
“Thanks,” Mel acknowledged.
Sam finished what he was writing on the worksheet and turned to take a cardboard box from one of the shelves behind. “Sixty-eight dollar and fifteen cents. Are you paying, or do you want me to charge it to Brett?” he asked, dumping the box on the counter.
“I’ll pay for it,” Mel sighed. He pulled his wallet from a hip pocket and took out a Visa card.
“Do you know how long the car will take?” the girl asked Sam.
Sam took Mel’s Visa and inserted it into a card-reader slot. “Could be a while. If we have to get a replacement chip, it mightn’t be till after the weekend. No use hanging around. We’ll call you as soon as we know.”
“Oh… I see.” The girl looked perplexed. She hesitated. “I have to get back to Garcia Street, down near the bay. Is there any chance of a ride?”
Sam shook his head. “ ’Fraid not today, ma’am. Normally we’d be happy to oblige, but one of my mechanics is out this afternoon, and Nick has another emergency call waiting. I can’t leave the place unattended. Be happy to call a cab for you, though.”
“I’m going that way,” Mel said. “What part of Garcia are you on?”
“The east end. I’m in the university flats there.”
“Then we’re only about four blocks away.”
“Thanks. That’d be just great… You know, this is embarrassing. It’s a brand new car. My folks got it for me as a graduation present.”
“It happens,” Mel said. He nodded at Sam. “Thanks, Sam. See you around.”
“Yeah. Take care.”
Mel held the door open and followed the girl out. “I have to stop off at our place to unload some groceries before they melt,” he said as they walked over to his car. “And Brett needs this part right away. He’s going off with a group to a boat party out on one of the islands tonight.”
“Brett?” The girl climbed in while Mel held the passenger door. “Is he your roommate or something?”
“Yep. We’ve got a place down by the water.”
“Are you both with the university, too?”
“Yes. Oh, and I’m Mel, by the way.”
“Hi. My name’s Stephanie.”
• • •
Pensacola had a long-running feud with Saint Augustine over which was truly the oldest city of the nation, and its sixteenth-century foundations gave it an excellent claim to the title. Originally founded as a Spanish mission, the city also had a turbulent, as well as long, history, having flown five different flags and changed hands thirteen times. It was a product of an age of elegance, and much of its past had endured alongside the signs of its progress toward the twenty-first century to endow it with a flavor that was unique. Between its wide, sun-drenched boulevards and modern office towers were lazy streets of tall live oaks draped with gossamer films of Spanish moss, shading rambling mansions that had been built by the timber barons of a century before, with bay windows and tall chimneys, wraparound verandas, turrets and gables, and ornate gingerbread trim.
It was Mel’s hometown, too. His family lived in Warrington over on the west side, and he visited from time to time to pay respects and be sociable. But the truth was that as he’d come to the end of this teens, his interests and concerns had diverged steadily from those of his parents, and while a natural affection remained at the filial level, the range of things they had in common to talk about shrank as his horizons broadened. So, eventually he had moved out, and he now spent most of his time with his own kind of friends in his own world, while they stayed contentedly in theirs. The arrangement suited him, and the family was happy with his proximity. Life in general was pleasant. And one of the things that added distinctly to its quality from time to time was finding himself driving through the city on a sunny weekend day with nothing pressing to do, with a new, attractive girl sitting next to him, and the prospect of all the getting-to-know-you excitement which such a situation implied.
Houses and palm trees flowed by, with the bay glistening in the background off to the right. Stephanie sat back loosely in the seat, an elbow resting on the ledge of the open window and her hair billowing in the wind.
“So what are you taking?” Mel asked her. She had narrow, feline eyes with a light blue-gray tint that moved inquisitively all the time. One of the things he liked about her already was that if she had been watching him, too, she didn’t make it obvious.
“Physics. I’d like to end up doing something in the nuclear field. But that’s some time away, yet. I only started here a week ago. That’s why I’m in the flats. I plan on moving out into a private place when I make some friends and get to know the city better.”
Mel gave her a puzzled glance. “A week? But I’ve seen you around the campus on and off for a long time. I’m sure I have.”
Stephanie smiled. “That was probably my sister. She’s been here for about a year now. A lot of people get us confused.”
“Twins?”
“No, but we’re often taken for twins. Eva’s a couple of years older than me.”
“That’s her name, Eva? What does she do?”
“Philosophy and political science, mainly. We’re alike outside, but quite a bit different inside.”
“I see. Brett and I are both in computer science—just finishing second year now. Where are you from?”
“California—the northern part, near San Francisco. I was thinking of going to Cal Tech-Berkeley, but the standards these days aren’t what they used to be. Everything’s so socialist there now. So I came here, to be near Eva, mainly. We’re very close. How about you?”
“Oh, I’m just a regular ol’ southern boy from right here in Pensacola. Never did stray too far from home.” Mel hesitated for just a second. “So if you’re ever looking for someone to show you around the town…”
“Well, Eva knows the town pretty well already…” Stephanie began automatically. Then s
he checked herself and looked across the car curiously. “Well, why not? As a matter of fact she and I were going to go to a party tonight with some of Eva’s friends over on Santa Rosa Island. How would you like to come along? It looks as if I won’t have a car, anyway.”
“Well, sure… I mean, if I wouldn’t—”
“It’s not really a party—more just a kind of get-together over a few drinks, and a lot of talk. They’re quiet types, really. At least, that’s what Eva says.”
“What do they talk about?”
“Probably politics and economics.”
“Sounds like a wild evening.”
They turned off the avenue, and after a couple of blocks halted in front of the apartment building, a brick-built duplex with cream-painted wooden veranda and trim. The hood of Brett’s Ford Falcon was raised, and Mel could see him fiddling with something on the far side.
“You weren’t kidding,” Stephanie said, looking around as they got out. “It’s right by the water. I love it. How did you find it?”
“Years of playing the market,” Mel answered, going back to open the trunk. “We’re upstairs.”
Brett came around from the front of this own car and eyed Stephanie up and down with a knowing nod. “Oh yeah?” he said, looking at Mel. “Going into town tonight to see who’s around, huh? Or maybe gonna work on my project.”
“Stephanie, meet Brett. Brett, this is Stephanie. She had to be towed and I gave her a ride back from Obee’s. She lives in the flats over on Garcia.”
“Hi.”
“Hello, Brett. I’ve heard a lot about you already.”
“From him? Don’t believe any of it.”
Mel tossed across the box he had collected. “There’s the part for your carb. Now quit staring like that, Brett, and grab one of the bags. The ice cream will be vanilla sauce already.”
They went upstairs, and Mel began unpacking the bags while Brett stowed the items away. Stephanie went through the lounge to the picture window. “Oh, I love this place,” she called back. “You’ve got such a great view of the bay from up here. I wonder if Eva and I could find something like this.”
In the kitchen, Brett caught Mel’s arm as he was about to place a jar of grape jelly in the refrigerator. “Who’s Eva?” he hissed.
“Did you grow these plants over by the window?” Stephanie’s voice asked.
“They were here when we moved in,” Mel called back. He lowered his voice. “Her sister. Maybe you’ve seen her around. They look the same.” He saw the mean look coming into Brett’s eye and couldn’t resist it. “As a matter of fact, I’m going to a party with them tonight across on Santa Rosa—It’s a pity you’re tied up.”
Stephanie’s voice called again, “What’s this? It looks like a part of something optical.”
“I’ll be there in just a second.” Mel closed the refrigerator door and began walking toward the door.
Brett grabbed his shirt and jerked him back again. “What!” he whispered. “There’s another one that looks just like her? And you’re taking both of them?”
“Well, it’s more like they’re taking me—”
“Now wa-a-a-it, a minute. I thought we were supposed to be buddies. You’re right. This other thing will turn into a circus. I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Oh, come on, now, Brett,” Mel taunted. “Wouldn’t that be letting the team down?”
Brett glowered maliciously. “How many times have I fixed you up?” he said rapidly, keeping his voice down. “You could drop off the groceries that Donna wanted when you take Stephanie home, and I’ll call Marty and tell him something’s come up.”
“What am I supposed to do with the bug-bite lotion?”
“Hell, I’ll pay you for the goddam—”
Mel laughed and went back into the lounge. “Do you think Brett could come along too, maybe?” he asked Stephanie. “He’s at a loose end and doesn’t have anything to do tonight. How would Eva feel about making it a foursome?”
Stephanie looked at Brett thoughtfully for a few seconds, then smiled. “I think she might like it,” she replied. “Where’s the phone? I’ll call her, and we’ll see what she says.”
CHAPTER 7
The terminal at Boston’s Logan airport was crowded and noisy, with flight delays adding to the confusion. As had come to be the case everywhere, the service at the desks was for the most part indifferent. Under the year-old Inflation Control Act, pay raises couldn’t be awarded without government approval to staff who did a good job, while the earlier Occupational Security Act prohibited their being fired if they did a bad one. The result was what it could only be when whatever people did or didn’t do no longer made any difference to their future.
After his call to General Plasma Dynamics that afternoon, Mel had called all the airlines in turn and established that the only arrival scheduled for 7:40 p.m. was United Flight 86 from Denver, which was the right city and sounded promising. The name Stephanie Carne was not on the passenger list, but considering the circumstances likely to surround somebody who was supposed to be dead, that hadn’t really surprised him. As he made his way across the floor toward an arrivals indicator, he was assailed by the usual mix of fund-raisers, activists, and crazies.
“Would you like to give something for starving children?”
“Thank you, but no.”
“Could you spare a minute for Jesus?”
“No, thanks.”
“Help save the cheetahs?”
“No.”
“Electricity is poisoning the atmosphere.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Spare a dollar for a cup of coffee?”
“Go away.”
“Are you for strong government?”
“Fuck off… please.”
Amazingly, the indicator showed the flight to be due on time, arriving at Gate 14. That still left him with over twenty minutes to kill. After the cold outside, he decided that a stiff brandy would be in order.
There was a packed bar at the end of the concourse. Mel squeezed through the throng at the counter to order himself a double measure of Courvoisier, and carried his glass over to the last remaining empty seat at one of the tables by a wall. The others around the table were a young couple with a sleeping baby and a pile of bags by their chairs, looking tired; a man absorbed in a book; a middle-aged woman staring determinedly into the distance; and a man in a black felt hat and heavy overcoat, with a bulbous nose lined with a network of fine purple veins. He looked like what Mel thought bookmakers at racetracks ought to look like, even down to the eyes that were shifting constantly, as if weighing up the situation and calculating odds. Mel kept his gaze on his glass as he sat down, not being in a mood to invite attention.
He had needed the brandy for more than just warmth. The shock of what had happened that afternoon still hadn’t left him.
After getting the flight number from United, he had called the coroner’s office in Denver. A deputy corner confirmed that Stephanie Carne had been found dead in the bedroom of her home, two days previously on November 7, a Tuesday. She had been shot once in the head. The death certificate had been prepared but not issued yet, and the final report would take a while. However, no indication of foul play had been found, and the woman that Mel spoke to had sounded confident that the verdict would be suicide while the balance of the mind was disturbed. But he, on the other hand, was equally confident that it was Stephanie who had called him. And yet somebody identified as Stephanie had been found dead in Stephanie’s home. He could only guess that the body had been Eva’s. If so, what had Eva been doing in Denver—on election day of all times? She had become so immersed in her work with the Constitutional party in California that Mel had practically lost touch with her for almost a year. But strangest of all, if Mel had been asked to choose from all the people on earth, Eva would have been the last person he’d have picked as a candidate for committing suicide.
“Who found the body?” he had asked the deputy coroner.
/> “The people downstairs called the landlord after they had heard the radio playing all day but hadn’t seen Ms. Carne at any of her usual times. The landlord came to check, and he called the police.”
“And he identified her?”
“Yes, Mr. Shears. So did the medical supervisor from the place where she worked.”
“None of her family members were brought over from California?”
“That didn’t seem necessary. Also, it wouldn’t have been an exactly pleasant experience for them… if you understand what I mean. The gun was fired in contact with the head.”
“Yes, of course…”
“As I said, there is no reason to suspect anything irregular. She was very depressed and had been showing signs of stress, apparently… Hello, Mr. Shears, are you still there?’… Mr. Shears?”
“I’m here.”
“Is there anything else I can tell you?”
“Er… no. That’s all.”
“You’re welcome. I’m sorry about the news.”
“Yes, thank you.”
Mel gulped his drink as he found himself able to think coherently for the first time since the afternoon. The delayed reaction that had been numbing his mind was wearing off, and the full realization was finally getting through to him. Eva dead? His mind began wandering back over the years since that day he first talked to Stephanie. He had met Eva that same evening…
“Can I interest you in some economy merchandise?” a voice murmured close to his ear, bringing him back from his reverie.
“Pardon?”
The bookmaker was leaning across in his chair at Mel’s elbow. Mel noticed that he was wearing a tortoise lapel pin—the Constitutional party emblem. “I can always tell an okay face. Economy merchandise—strictly cash, no receipts, no taxes. We got toiletries and cosmetics. We got menswear. We got jewelry. We got electronics, appliances, kitchenware, tools… There’s a van out in one of the parking levels with samples. Care to come over and take a look? Top quality. Get you thirty percent off the best retail.”
The Mirror Maze Page 5
