7th Heaven

by Kate Calloway

  "Why's that?"

  "It's not tall enough to keep anyone out who really wanted to get in, otherwise. I know he's a professor. Any idea what she does? This place cost some serious money."

  "As far as I know, she doesn't even work."

  Just then, we heard the sound of another boat turning into the cove.

  "Grab a fishing pole," I said, pointing Lizzie to the rear of the boat. I stuffed my binoculars under the seat and took one of the poles, casting a bare hook into the water before slowly reeling it in. The boat was a classic hand-crafted wooden v-hull in near-perfect condition, and I realized I'd seen it on the lake before. I'd never given the driver a second look, always gazing instead at the sleek, gleaming craft as I raced by. Now I could see the driver clearly. Professor Cathwaite was home from his daily lecture.

  "Just keep fishing and keep your back turned," I whispered. I knew how well voices carried on the water. Without being too obvious, I kept an eye on the professor as he docked. He had donned a blue captain's hat that might've looked silly on some, but seemed to suit him. He stood at the old-fashioned steering wheel in the bow and steered the boat with one hand, taking in his surroundings. He glanced in our direction, then guided his boat toward the boat-house. The metal door slid open automatically and closed behind the sleek boat, but not before I spotted a pair of Jet Skis and a red speedboat inside. A few minutes later, I saw him walking up the ramp toward the gated entry and immediately heard the sound of joyous barking. Big dogs, probably two of them, I thought. The professor did something that made the doors whoosh open automatically. Then he turned and took a long hard look at my boat before disappearing behind the closing doors.

  "He saw us," Lizzie said.

  "What's to see? Two people fishing in the cove." But my heart was pounding. For a moment, I could've sworn that Professor Cathwaite had looked right through me.

  "Maybe he recognized you from the lecture," Erica said.

  "Or the county park," Bart offered.

  We were back on my front deck sipping a half-frozen concoction that Lizzie had whipped up in my blender. It was some kind of daiquiri, but Lizzie wouldn't tell us what was in it. I let the tangy fruit flavor melt on the tip of my tongue, trying to guess. Mint from my garden. The banana on my kitchen table. Lime. Rum. God knew what else. Whatever it was, Lizzie was a genius. The barbecue was lit and Bart had promised to make his specialty, carne asada. He'd even bought the groceries himself, and the kitchen looked like a tornado had blown through. But I didn't mind. The only thing I like better than doing the cooking myself is having someone else do it for me.

  I took another sip of the daiquiri and asked Erica, "You think Hancock bought it?"

  "God, he was eating it up. When I told him my pen name, he actually stuttered. Said his mom read my books all the time. When I told him I needed to know how a cop spent a typical day, the first thing he wanted to know was would his name be in the credits."

  Bart was sitting up on his chaise lounge. "What pen name? You a writer?"

  Erica told him who she was but Bart looked blank. Erica laughed, then saw the look on Lizzie's face. She'd flushed, and her big brown eyes had grown huge.

  "You're Sheila Gay? No way! I can't believe it! I've read every single one of your books! I love them!" She was practically stammering.

  "Thank you," Erica said, used to the reaction but clearly still embarrassed by it. "So anyway, the great deputy went out of his way to show me his daily routine. Even took me for a tour in the sheriffs boat, and I got to watch him issue citations for real exciting stuff like lapsed boat registrations and nonfunctioning fire extinguishers. Since Booker was off on other business, it was just the two of us and once I got him talking, there was no stopping him. To tell the truth, I think he has visions of himself as the hero in my next book."

  Lizzie was still staring at Erica, shaking her head. Even Bart seemed impressed — by Lizzie's reaction, if nothing else.

  "So? What did you find out?"

  "Our hero likes to gamble. Sees himself as a high roller. Sees this deputy stint as more a learning experience than a lifetime vocation. Thinks Booker's a little uptight. Thinks Cedar Hills is totally backwoods. Says Oregon women are too fat for his liking, but very accommodating, if I know what he means. I kid you not. He winked at me as he said this, like I'm supposed to appreciate that. Anyway, I kept stoking the fire with little questions, just to keep him talking, and guess what I found out?" Her blue eyes were lit up with excitement and she leaned forward on her chaise lounge. "Guess where Deputy Dipshit plays cards every Friday night?"

  "Professor Cathwaite's," Lizzie and I said simultaneously.

  "Bingo. I asked what kind of cards and he turned real vague. I told him I loved to play poker and blackjack but that my favorite was Seven Card No Peekaboo. He said, 'See? We've got something in common. My favorite's called Seventh Heaven.' I told him I'd never heard of it and he said it was a new game, too complicated to explain. Then he turned on the siren and chased down a fisherman to check his license, and we never got back to the subject."

  "Somehow, I don't think it's cards they're playing at the professor's," I said.

  "What do you think it is, then?" Bart asked.

  "Don't know exactly." I thought about the title of Cathwaite's dissertation — Predicting Human Behavior: A Study in Probability and Personality Traits. Probability was a term used by gamblers. Cathwaite studied human behavior. He videotaped complete strangers and their reactions to stimuli he controlled. And what? Predicted the outcome? Bet on it?

  "Oh, shit." I said.

  "What?" The three of them watched as I stood up and went to the railing of the deck.

  "They're betting on human lives," I said. "I don't know the rules of the game, or what the stakes are, but that's what they're doing. I wonder which one of them is winning this one?"

  "You mean you think someone bet that Buck would cheat us?" Bart said.

  "Or that someone would attack Tommy?" Lizzie asked.

  "I don't know. My guess is the attack on Tommy wasn't foreseen. Something went wrong. But can't you see it? They sit around watching the video, predicting the way the subjects will perform."

  "Playing God," Erica said.

  "Seventh Heaven," Lizzie said. "It's perverse."

  "Yeah, but is it illegal?" Bart asked.

  "I don't think there's a law against taking a picture of a stranger," Erica said. "You take your video cam to the beach and catch someone strolling by, you're not breaking the law, right?"

  "Right. Lots of people use surveillance equipment," I said. "Convenience stores, banks, employers, insurance adjustors ..."

  "Private eyes," Erica chimed in, grinning at me.

  "Exactly. It just depends on where and how you use it."

  "What about invasion of privacy? The tape in my bar can't be legal," Lizzie said.

  "Neither is what I have in mind," I said, grinning.

  "What do you mean?" Bart asked.

  "I'm thinking a little quid pro quo might be in order. Time to find out just how Seventh Heaven is played and who the players are."

  "How do we do that?" Lizzie asked.

  We spent the rest of that lovely evening working out the details.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bart was the only one whose mission had yielded no results. After an entire day spent prowling the streets of Cedar Hills, he still hadn't seen a white car with a Triple A sticker on the bumper, nor had he seen any sign of Buck, who was presumably camping out on the ridge. He would've continued his search for the car on Thursday if he hadn't had to go back to work at the garage. I assured him that we'd know soon enough anyway, and told him to be ready for Friday. Meanwhile, Erica, Lizzie and I had our work cut out for us. Lizzie's job was twofold. She needed to let the Cathwaites know that she'd be doing the bartending at the party Sunday along with Kelly, and she needed to see if her sister-in-law could get me onto the catering crew. Meanwhile, Erica needed to persuade Newt to invite her to the party.

>   While they took care of business on their end, I worked on the technical details. I'd used taping and tracking devices in my line of work, but had never actually videotaped anyone using the kind of equipment we'd found in Lizzie's tavern. After several phone calls, I drove all the way to Eugene, bringing the video cam with me to a store called Boney's Cellar. It was a dingy little place tucked away on a side street, and though its brochure said it catered to law enforcement, I had the distinct impression Boney's real clientele ran more to the seamy side of the law.

  "Good piece," the goateed man said, examining the camera. He was stick thin, in his forties, with dirty ash-blond hair that hung limply to his shoulders and a scar on his right cheek that looked like he'd been shot in the face. He walked with a slight limp and I'd have bet good money that Boney was a Vietnam vet. "You want this to be remote-activated, right?"

  "Right. I just need the other parts that go with it."

  "You lost them?" he asked, raising one pencil-thin eyebrow.

  "Kind of."

  "The thing is, if someone else still has the other parts, they can activate this, you know? So you're gonna have to change the settings. Don't know if I've got something compatible in stock or not." Boney ducked down under the counter, pushed a button that made a back panel swing open and disappeared behind it. I took the opportunity to browse the store. The only other customer was dressed in battle fatigues and smelled strongly of body odor. He was checking out a pair of night vision goggles that made him look like something out of a horror movie. I moved toward a less threatening aisle and scanned the shelves. There were all kinds of interesting devices — a stun gun designed to look like a cell phone, a knife that shot out of a wristwatch, a hollowed-out walking cane that doubled as a shotgun. I had trouble picturing myself using any of them. The bad guy comes in and I decide the best thing to do is stun him so I say, "Just a second, I have to make a call on my cell phone"? I was saved from further imaginings when Boney returned to the counter with a black and chrome box and a broad smile.

  "Success!" he said. "It's not the exact match, but it's compatible. Watch. Here's what you do."

  He showed me the basics — how to set the camera and monitor on the same frequency, how the camera was sound- and action-activated and how to connect the monitor to my VCR at home. "You can actually watch the action from the monitor itself, but it's pretty small, and if you want to hear sound, you'll need to use the VCR and hook up to your television."

  He explained that the tape in the camera was continuous, retaping over itself at the end of its ninety-minute revolution. The monitor could be used to view the live action and/or record the events onto a blank videotape, making it possible to save the footage I wanted.

  "You can set the mike for close or distant range, too. It's important to know which one you'll need. If you set it for close and then they move out of range, you won't be able to hear what anyone's saying. The most important aspect of this device is knowing where to place it. You want inside or out?"

  "In," I said.

  "The best is behind a two-way mirror, but you probably don't have one of those." He looked up, hopeful, but I shook my head. "Well, inside a stereo speaker is good. Ever hold speaker cloth up to your face? You can see through it pretty good, but of course no one would think to look through it, would they?"

  "Probably not," I admitted. "But wouldn't the sound from the stereo drown out whatever you're taping?"

  "If the music is turned up, yes, that could be a problem. But how often do people really have their stereos blaring? Usually not that often, especially if they're talking, which is generally when you want to tape, right? But let's say the music is turned on. You've still got the picture, right? At the very worst, you might have to do some lip-reading."

  I nodded, wondering if there would be speakers in the Cathwaites' game room. I was positive that there was one room in the house where the gaming club convened for their weekly rendezvous. The trick was to find it, get inside, hide the video cam and get out without being detected. Too bad they didn't make something to make me invisible, I thought. If anyone would have such a thing, it would be Boney.

  Several hundred dollars later, I managed to get out of the store with only a few more gadgets than I'd come for — a neat false-bottomed purse that would hide the camera nicely until it was needed, and four headset walkie-talkies that would be put to good use Friday night. On the drive back to Cedar Hills, I went over the plan, checking for loopholes, thinking up worst-case scenarios and concocting backup plans just in case.

  That night Erica called me and gave me the latest. Newt had invited her out for Saturday night. She'd declined, of course, saying she was busy but available either Friday or Sunday. He said he was busy Friday but how would she like to join him Sunday afternoon for a party out on the lake?

  "Good work," I said.

  "If he tries to kiss me, I'm going to vomit. God, I can't believe I'm doing this."

  "Think of Tommy," I said. "Speaking of which, did you see him today?"

  "Just for a few minutes. No change, Cass. The nurse on duty wasn't very optimistic. At least there's no infection. I did run into someone else there, though."

  I felt my pulse race a little, knowing instinctively whom she'd met, but I waited for her to say it.

  "She looked good, Cass. Maggie told me to give you her best. I hope you don't mind, but I mentioned Bart and that he might be getting in touch with her. She was very receptive. I must say, she didn't act very surprised to see me."

  Which made perfect sense, I thought. Maggie had always insisted that deep down I was still in love with Erica. But there was no point in mentioning that now. I changed the subject back to safer topics.

  "Did you get in on the catering job for Sunday?" Erica asked.

  "Lizzie's still working on it. The sister-in-law had to check with her partner. They'll let me know Saturday. Lizzie made me out to be this gourmet chef, I think. Told her sister-in-law I was the lead judge in the chowder contest, and stuff like that. Now they're going to expect me to cook. I just wanted to get in and serve a little food. Oh, well. At least Lizzie's in as the bartender. Bart still hanging out at your place?"

  "Yeah. I think he's afraid to go home. He's feeling guilty about letting Buck stay up there looking for the gold, but part of him is enjoying the hell out of it. Talk about a love-hate relationship. I think he really is going to call Maggie, though. I told him I thought he should."

  "I'm glad, Erica. Thanks. Any sign of whoever was following you?"

  "No, but I can't help feeling like I'm being watched. Today when I got home, I had the weird feeling someone had been in here. Nothing seemed moved or anything, but I don't know. Maybe it's having Bart around. Actually, I'm glad he's here."

  "Well, keep watching. Any sign of trouble at all, I want you to get your ass over here."

  "Is that an invitation, Cass?"

  I was glad Erica couldn't see my blush. "You know what I mean."

  She sighed. "Unfortunately, I do. I don't suppose you'd want to come over here? Play cards with Bart and me?"

  I laughed. "Thanks, but I'll pass. I've still got some details to iron out. See you tomorrow, though."

  "Cass?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Sooner or later we're going to have to talk, you know."

  I let the silence build, then sighed. "I know. Goodnight, Erica."

  I hung up the phone and closed my eyes, letting myself think back ever so briefly to the kiss, Erica's tender lips on mine, my whole body tingling, wanting her with every fiber of my being. It was still light out, so I walked down to the dock for some fresh air. Across the cove a boat bobbed on the quiet water, colorless on the dusk-colored lake. I'd taken my binoculars up to the house and it was too dark to see whether someone was fishing or just soaking up the last warmth of a sun-filled day. As I watched, the boat coughed to life, turned and chugged around the bend, out of sight. Had I scared them off? Or was I just being paranoid? The little hairs on my neck were sound aslee
p. Everything was all right. It was probably just a couple out necking in the cool of the evening. But then why did I have the vague, unsettled sensation that someone was watching me? I hurried back up to the house, locked the doors, pulled the blinds and did what any self-respecting private eye would do in that situation. I made brownies.

  I could tell before I even opened my eyes Friday morning that the weather had changed. For one thing, my right ankle ached where I'd pulled some ligaments playing basketball in high school. Also, the bedroom was darker and I'd overslept. I peeked out through the mini-blinds confirming what I already knew. Rain was in the forecast. If it was raining, would they call off the card game that night? Or worse, Sunday's party? My mind raced, trying to think of how to proceed if our plans were ruined because of the weather.

  As gloomy as it was outside, I felt buoyant. I found myself whistling in the kitchen as I made coffee, thinking of excuses to see Erica earlier than our planned rendezvous at the county dock. I could make cinnamon rolls and take them over for breakfast, I thought. It would be safe with Bart there. And the three of us could go over the plans one more time.

  Still undecided, I whomped up the dough, then hurriedly showered and dressed while the rolls baked in the oven. They might not even be there, I thought, carrying the steaming buns in a basket down to my boat. Which was fine. I'd sit out in the middle of Rainbow Lake with the mist falling down around me and eat them myself, sipping from the Thermos of coffee I'd brought. In fact, by the time I got to Erica's place, I was almost convinced I should do just that. But I told myself I was a coward, secured my boat to her dock and hauled my goodies up the ramp before I could change my mind.

  She answered the door in a white terry robe, loosely belted and sexy as hell.

  "Where's Bart?" I asked, peeking over her shoulder.

  "I think guilt got the better of him. He said he was going to go look for Buck. What's in the basket?"