Double

“Yeah. Let me tell you, I never appreciated what my mother went through all those years. Thanks for telling me about Elaine. I’m sorry she’s dead. She was kind of strange, but she was a real nice lady.”

“I thought so too.” When he started to follow me to the door, I added, “Don’t bother, I can let myself out.”

As I passed through the shabby living room, the boys looked up in surprise, and after I’d gone outside, I heard one say, “She’s not staying. They always stay, don’t they?”

Again I shuddered at what might be in store for my brother’s kids. Much as I loved John, I knew he was as ill prepared for the role of single father as Rich James was.

The next address, for the Rick listed in Elaine’s red book, was downtown on Seventh Avenue, between Broadway and C Street. It was a fairly nice section, with a number of the new high-rise buildings that all seemed to contain banks, and smaller structures housing specialty shops that catered to the daytime population of office workers. The number I was looking for turned out to be a renovated brick storefront sandwiched between a delicatessen and a hairdressing salon. A stylistically lettered sign announced it to be the HOUSE OF SLENDERIZING AND MASSAGE.

Of course, I thought, remembering the stationary bicycle and set of weights in Elaine’s TV room. She hadn’t stayed in such good shape without a great deal of effort. Probably she’d come over here to work out. But why, I wondered, had she come all the way downtown, rather than to an establishment closer to the Casa del Rey or her home in Chula Vista? Surely they had health clubs there.

And, more important, who was Rick? A masseur? Her exercise instructor? I supposed, from the description Wolf had given me, that the man in the bar at the Casa del Rey could have been either. But since the health club had a CLOSED sign in the window, I wasn’t going to get any answers to my questions tonight.

I waited at the curb in front of the place, hoping someone might be inside in spite of the sign, but couldn’t make out any lights. Then I took out the red book and looked up the address for my last prospect, Rich Woodall. He lived quite far out of town, north of El Cajon, near Lakeside, but I decided to check on him anyway.

The area near Lakeside was full of rocky, barren hills and tree-covered hillocks, all of which looked deserted and uninviting in the rapidly fading light. Woodall’s street, Lost Canyon Drive, was a winding, unpaved road that led up onto a heavily wooded hillside. I followed it for about a quarter of a mile before I spotted a Spanish-style stucco house surrounded by palm trees and partially screened by a big pyracantha hedge covered with red berries.

I parked close to the hedge and went up the walk, my hopes fading when I saw there were no lights on inside the house. In spite of that, I rang the bell, but it chimed emptily and there was no answer. Squinting at my watch, I saw that it was already nine. I was reluctant to give up and go home after coming all this way, but it seemed I had no choice. I’d have to return tomorrow.

Suddenly there was a loud rattling sound. It reminded me of those old-fashioned noisemakers we used to have at Halloween — tin cans that wound up on a handle and, when released, gave off a hollow clacking. The noise was repeated and then the night became still again.

As near as I could tell, the sound came from behind the house. There was a driveway that ran alongside, and I followed it, reminding myself of what trouble I’d got into the last time I’d strayed into a backyard. Still, it had been a strange sound, and for all I knew something could be wrong back there.

The two-car garage was straight ahead, its door closed. To the left, where I assumed the yard should be, was total darkness. I reached into my purse and took out my small flashlight. Switching it on, I shined it around until it illuminated a stucco wall with pieces of jagged glass embedded in its top and a partially open gate. I went over and pushed on the gate.

It swung inward to blackness that was even thicker than in the driveway. I waited for my eyes to adjust, and finally made out several large rectangular shapes, perhaps the outline of a grape arbor like the one in my family’s yard. Stepping through the gate, I shined the light around again. Startled yellow eyes glared at me.

There was a swift snarling noise. I shrank back against the wall, almost dropping the flash. The snarling went on, and then the rattling noise began again. I heard a flapping, like wings, and then from my other side came a whining, feral and dangerous. I felt a prickling at the nape of my neck, and my heart began to race. Getting ready to run, I jerked the light over there.

The whiner had beady eyes and a big black nose. An animal that resembled a raccoon, but wasn’t, enclosed in a sturdy iron mesh cage. It froze when the light hit it.