The Pendleton Omens - 12. Chapter 12

I bought Noah off by saying I’d move into his house that night. “You can’t get out of your apartment that fast,” he challenged.

“I’ll have everything here by midnight,” I promised. And I did.

I bought my landlord off with a couple of months’ rent.

“It’s like sixty days notice,” I told him. “Technically, I just have to give you thirty.”

He didn’t believe in leases. He was eighty-five and thought he was too old to tie people to long contracts. “I’ve outlived three of my children,” he’d told me. “What’s the point?”

I bought Owen off by saying I was getting out of his life for a couple of days.

“You could have given me warning,” he grumbled.

“I didn’t know.”

He still complained. But I could tell he was relieved.

I didn’t have to buy Jamie off. I was doing what she wanted. But I bought Sharon off by saying I wanted to go alone.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because it’ll be easier. I work faster alone.”

I was planning to be back in two days.

Sharon didn’t mind. She didn’t really want to take time off from work anyway. Her schedule was less flexible than mine.

Noah drove me to the airport. He still wasn’t happy I was going but was happy where I was coming back to. “You awake?” he asked as we got south of Springfield. The airport was partway to Hartford.

It was just past five. The plane left after seven. But security needed two hours.

“I’ll be awake,” I said. Though I was hoping to sleep on the plane.

And then what?

The next three days loomed like an unwanted operation. But I knew they’d be over before I knew it.

Noah kissed me in the car. I rubbed the dog’s head for luck. I felt light, but it was mostly because I’d left my gun at work.

“You’re sure?” Elena asked. “I can pull the permits.”

“Make it easier all around.”

I got through security in five minutes.

I ate a processed breakfast.

The flight was on time.

The attendants were friendly.

I didn’t sleep.

The layover was dull.

I ate a tasteless lunch. Then I got on a second plane.

The second flight was longer.

Amy met me at LAX.

She’d e-mailed her picture, and I’d sent mine. She was prettier. Long blonde hair, curled in at the ends where it hit her shoulders. Almost a model’s face. Intelligent eyes.

LA was bright.

“You’ll need sunglasses,” Noah warned. He traveled more than Sharon. I didn’t wear sunglasses. They were one more thing to lose. He gave me a pair anyway, and I put them on when I found myself squinting in Amy’s car.

“That’s some coat,” she said.

It was my heavy overcoat. I’d thought about leaving it in Noah’s trunk but didn’t trust the weather. Now I was overdressed. Slacks. Long-sleeve shirt. T-shirt. Crew-neck sweater. Heavy shoes. Wool socks.

“Hungry?” she asked.

“Not really.”

But I ate a second lunch. Outside. Practically on the beach. At a place called Gladstone’s, with much better food than I’d found at O’Hare. My sweater stayed in Amy’s car. I rolled up my sleeves.

“Is it always like this?” I asked.

“Nah, it’s been a cold winter.”

It was seventy-eight. And near the end of February.

Amy seemed stronger in person than she had on the phone. Though slightly shorter than her photo. Maybe that was my imagination. In the e-mail, she’d seemed like one of those tall California girls.

She was also in uniform – well, modified scrubs. And running shoes. I was used to women in heels. Even Elena wore low ones.

“Did I take you from work?” I asked.

“I’m not due till three. And I told them I’d probably be late.”

Over lunch, we talked first about Scoot. Then about practical things. Friends she’d called. What they’d told her. She gave me a list.

“That’s a copy,” she said. “Don’t worry about losing it.”

She was very organized.

After lunch, she drove me to Scoot’s. Leaving the airport, we’d stayed on side streets. Now she apologized. “The freeway’s the shortest. And it might not be bad.”

It was better than I expected. But anything might be after the stories I’d heard. And LA was surprisingly green.

“What’s that?” I asked, as we passed some kind of corporate headquarters that had swallowed the top of a mountain.

“The Getty.”

“The what?”

“An art museum. It’s kind of world famous.”

“Oh.”

I laughed, and she laughed with me. I wondered if I could get darker glasses because the sun still seemed very bright.

Scoot’s apartment was maybe five minutes from the freeway.

“I can hear the traffic,” I joked.

“That’s a different freeway. A little closer.”

She had trouble finding parking on the street. But she reminded me that Scoot had his own space. And I’d be using his car.

We let ourselves into the lobby. It was locked, but Amy had the key. She also used Scoot’s mailbox key to take in his mail. Then we walked up to the second floor.

“There’s an elevator,” she said. “But I try never to use them.”

“Why?”

“Earthquakes.”

The Number One reason to avoid California.

The apartment was larger than I expected, though not as bright. A living room-dining room with a short balcony off the dining area that looked over the parking lot. A dead-end kitchen with no windows, just across from the dining table. Two bathrooms. Two bedrooms, one turned into Scoot’s office. His actual bedroom was the darkest, maybe due to the heavy blinds. The office had more light.

“I hate to leave you this soon,” Amy said. “But you can’t trust traffic, and I’ve got to go.”

“You have some time free tomorrow?” I asked.

“I work the same shift.”

“Breakfast? Lunch? When do you eat?”

“Probably in between. Maybe noon? Let me call you.”

She had my cell number. I walked her to the door, which was off a longer balcony. This one overlooked a pool.

“It’s not heated,” she warned. “No one can afford that anymore.”

I wasn’t thinking of swimming.

“Though it might not be that cold. Especially during the day.”

She made sure I had the apartment and other keys, then we went down to Scoot’s car. I would have recognized it. He’d bought it in college, and he and Carla had driven it west. For the first year, he kept Massachusetts plates. “Just in case,” he’d said.

But he loved California. “It’s great. You’ve got to visit.”

And now I was here.

As long as we were in the lot, I checked to see if the car started.

“I should have thought of that,” Amy apologized.

It started fine. There was a credit card clipped to the visor.

“Strange place to leave it,” I mentioned.

“That’s not a credit card,” Amy explained. “It opens the gate.”

Only from the street side. Inside, it was triggered by weight.

After Amy left, I let the car engine run and looked in the glove compartment for the registration. Flashlight. Car manual. Sunglasses. Aspirin. Pens. A couple of broken pencils. Maybe a half-dozen deposit envelopes for a bank. And a laminated dashboard card for studio parking, with Scoot’s name and a number on it. There were also a few bottles of warm water on the passenger-side floor, and a book of maps under that seat. But no registration.

“Maybe it’s in his desk,” I said, before realizing I was alone. I was tired.

I killed the engine and checked the trunk. A couple of wadded T-shirts. A sweatshirt. A pair of running shoes. Running shorts. Dirty socks. Some camera cables and a tripod. Also, a set of cheap jumper cables, a first-aid kid, more maps from across the country, and a folded tarp. I recognized the tarp. I’d given it to Scoot for his first car, six or seven years ago. Before that, it spend ten years in my own trunk.

Back in his apartment, I locked the door, turned around, and just kind of stood there, staring. I didn’t know where to start first. It was after three, which made it after six at home, but it felt like midnight. That was from stunt-moving out of my apartment. And staying up too late after I’d finished. Getting up early.

I pulled out my phone, automatically dialed Sharon, then clicked off before her phone rang. I dialed Noah. A new priority.

He wasn’t there. I left a message. “Here. Safe. Ground steady.”

I redialed Sharon and left a similar message. I thought about trying both their cells, then didn’t bother. I skipped calling Jamie, figuring she was busy, then left a message at the station for Owen.

I’d figured Scoot had a spare bed in his second bedroom. But it didn’t look like it. I tried the couch, but it didn’t open, and it looked too slick to sleep on anyway. Some kind of fake leather. I hadn’t even thought about a motel, and we didn’t pass any coming from the freeway. There was a Marriott, maybe ten stories tall, and I thought about checking in there. Then I figured, Nah.

I wanted a shower, but that seemed an invasion of Scoot’s bathroom. Though it was no worse than sleeping in his bed. I thought to shower in the second john, off the hallway near the office. Then I discovered it only had a tub. I sat on Scoot’s bed to untie my shoes and discovered it was a water bed, just like Noah’s. At least, I’d gotten used to sleeping in one.

As long as I was that close to lying down, I took off my shoes, dropped my phone, watch, and wallet on the closest night table, and fell asleep. It was easy enough, and maybe that’s why Scoot kept the room so dark. The last thing I remembered was thinking how funny it would be if he came home and found me. Like The Three Bears.