“She didn’t say.”
“Do you have the note she brought from Miss Sturgis?”
“Yes.” He reached in a file and pulled out a paper. It was undated and merely asked to have the urn given to the bearer. Wally pointed to the salutation.
“It’s addressed to `Josh’. Is that you?”
“That’s how I knew the letter was genuine. Only someone who’d known me twenty years ago would be familiar with it.”
“Or someone who’d done five minutes research,” Wally was unimpressed. “Who in the FBI gave you your original instructions for the cremation?”
“A Mr. Tieger.”
“Did you check with him before releasing the urn to Miss Fender?”
“Why, no. I didn’t think I needed to make a federal case of it. Ha, h...” He hurried on. “They were only ashes after all, no hidden drugs or diamonds. Who had a better right to them than Miss Sturgis?”
“Did you see how Miss Fender arrived here? By taxi or private car?”
“She had her own car. A white one I think.”
“What does she look like?”
“Well, I don’t...fortyish, I’d say, wore a quite stylish camel hair overcoat. Seemed very efficient. I...ah, get the impression you feel there may have been some sort of impropriety...?”
“Good thinking,” said Wally, putting on his alpine hat.
They parked the car at a Logan Airport meter and went to a lineless ticket desk in the terminal.
“I’d like a schedule of flights,” said Cilla to the clerk, “that left Logan Thursday morning between say ten forty-five and noon.”
“Two days ago?” The clerk raised his eyebrows.
“Yes. They may or may not be the same as your flights today. And that’s for all airlines, not just yours.”
“Do you have any idea how many...?”
“Yes,” growled Wally. “So let’s get started.”
“I know this isn’t a usual request,” softened Cilla. “A relative left on one of those flights; we don’t know where he’s gone. He’s not quite...” She made a circular motion with her hand next to her head.
“Oh, I see. That could be a problem. My aunt sometimes wanders off, but it’s always on foot so she can’t get far. But a plane! Give me a minute.” He took out a book and started making notes.
“Not quite what?” growled Wally at Cilla.
“Bald.”
“Here we go.” The clerk checked over the paper. “That’s quite a list. Don’t know how you go about narrowing them down.”
“Thanks. Neither do we.”
In a coffee shop Carver examined the list, then handed it to Cilla. “Assuming Hudson followed the Fender woman onto a plane, that he has not telephoned me indicates he is unwilling or unable to.”
Cilla closed her eyes tight for a moment. Then drew a breath. “Maybe I should call John Krestinski after all.”
“And say what? You’re following Hudson who’s following an FBI agent? He’ll invite us to butt out. Perhaps send someone to make sure we do.”
“And herd us back to Bartlett.” She looked down the list of flights. “But which of these flights did they take? We need more information.”
“That’s why I’m along. To do the thinking. We go to the airport garage and look for his car.”
He was right, but Cilla could have kicked him for the superior way his dry voice enunciated each word, as though she was five years of age and lost her balloon. It took a little over half an hour, but finally they found the Subaru on one of the upper floors.
“Since Hudson was following this Fender person, we look for a white car ahead of his,” pronounced Wally.
“No. Behind his,” said Cilla quietly. “There probably wasn’t any open parking space between him and her car or she’d have taken it.”
“Eh?”
“So he drives beyond and takes the first opening that isn’t so close to her car that she’ll see him.” Cilla looked around. “Someplace behind us, at least a dozen cars should be hers, unless someone picked it up.”
Wally glared at her but marched along with his hands clasped behind his back as they retraced their steps around a corner. Cilla called, “Here’s a white rental.”
It was a Dodge and had the shiny look of most rental cars.
“With your hippy past you must know all about breaking into cars,” said Carver.
Cilla turned the door handle. It opened. “Yes. Quite a bit.”
“Humphf. Hand me the keys.”
Cilla crawled in. “Surprise, surprise. They’re here.”
“You don’t park rentals at airports,” said Wally, once more the Kindly Master. He opened the trunk. “You turn them in,” he explained generously. “Unless she saw no reason to, as she’d never be back.”
“Wouldn’t they arrange for another agent to pick it up?”
“If it is hers, and if she is indeed connected with the FBI.”
Cilla paused. “You think she isn’t?”
“The car is still here.”
Cilla checked the carpet under the seats, put her fingers down their backs, opened the glove compartment. “There’s nothing here.”
“Nor here.” He closed the trunk and stood looking at it. “Damn.”
“Well, come on,” said Cilla.
“What...where?”
“To turn it in.”
The glare met only Cilla’s back as she started the car.
Cilla handed the keys to the uniformed man behind the counter.
“Mileage and gas?”
“3164 and it shouldn’t be down more than 3 gallons.”
“Henry.” The clerk gave the keys to a boy in a sweater and insulated vest.
“Let me have the slip. I want to put it on a different credit card.”
The man behind the counter looked up. “You paid cash, Miss Fender.”
“Of course. I’d forgotten...You must have taken my card imprint as deposit.”
The clerk’s eyes were blank. “As soon as Henry checks it out you’ll have your five hundred dollar deposit returned to you.”
“We’ve just come from the funeral parlor,” growled Wally, putting an arm around Cilla. She froze at the feel of his bony arm through the heavy coat. “And then her purse was stolen. Girl’s gone all to pieces. Let me have the paperwork.”
“There isn’t any. Everything was cash. I’ll just need her signature for the deposit return.”
“I guess I didn’t make myself clear. Dora’s driver’s license was in her purse. I need its number to have it replaced. You obviously have it or you wouldn’t know her name.”
The man behind the counter studied Wally for a moment. “All she needs is her name.”
“And in her state it will take two weeks to get a new license. She was on the phone to them earlier. With the number they can fax a temporary permit.”
The clerk was undecided. He was obviously uncomfortable with the situation.
“Her flight takes off within the hour. She has to drive home from her airport. If by chance she is in an accident without a license, liability for whatever happens to her may well attach itself to you.”
He tightened his lips. Then, keeping the papers so Wally couldn’t see them, read, “FENDERT451N7.” He put the file out of sight and folded his hands on the counter as though saying, `if you think you’re getting any more out of me, think again.’
Wally wrote down the letters and numbers. “Let’s go, Dora.” He took Cilla by the arm and went out of the office.
“Hey, your deposit!”
“Keep it for your trouble,” said Wally, closing the door behind him.
“We don’t know the state,” said Cilla.
“Not yet. Let me have your cell phone.”
“I never use them. I don’t like people calling me whenever they want.”
Carter sighed and went looking for a telephone. Ten minutes later he turned to Cilla. “Let’s get moving. We’ve got a plane to catch, and the tickets are waiting for us.”<
br />
“To where?”
“Washington.”
“D.C.?”
“State.”
Cilla looked at him. “We might be gone days! I’d better call Kurt.”
“What will you tell him?”
“I don’t know...Whatever I tell him I’m telling Frances.”
“A problem developed with the order for your new lift.”
She thought a moment. “Production difficulties could have come up. I might have to fly to Germany,” She paused. “What will the FBI be guarding when we’ve all disappeared?”
“Come on. They’re boarding now. You can call later.”
“Do we know where in Washington?” Cilla asked as they broke into a trot.
“Olympia.”
“How did you find out?”
“Friend at Motor Vehicle,” Wally puffed. “The tech age!” It was said like an epithet. “Anybody can learn anything about anyone.”
Chapter 24
They drove by the house on North Garrison in their rented Buick. It was close to dark, yet no lights burned in the one-story ranch.
“Here it is.” Cilla studied the house from the driver’s window.
“Yes. Looks like they’re out.”
“Perhaps they were never here. Maybe she didn’t use her own house to hide Loni. For fear it could be traced.”
“That’s giving them too much credit. Three thousand miles. Who’d find them here?”
“We did.”
“We had somebody to follow.”
Cilla stopped the car at the end of the street, still in sight of the house, and turned to Carver. “That possibility must have occurred to them.”
The old man looked back down the street. They were parked over a block away, facing the gray ranch but behind two other cars. “I’d have someone in a nearby house to keep watch for strangers.”
“So we can’t arouse suspicion from anyone in the neighborhood.” Cilla bit a knuckle. “Do I sell girl scout cookies?”
“No one to sell to. We wait.”
An hour passed. And then two. Cilla ran the engine every fifteen minutes for warmth. She’d never minded cold herself, and the temperature couldn’t be lower than forty-five compared to the twenties they’d left back in New Hampshire. Wally had his arms tightly wound around his chest, but she knew he wouldn’t show weakness if he froze to death. There was no conversation. The only thing they had in common, thought Cilla, was Hudson, and Wally would deny they now had that. She bent her toes toward her shin to exercise the muscles. Wally had levered the passenger seat back and appeared to be asleep, though she knew he wasn’t. She’d learned patience at the ashram, but if Hudson was in that house just a hundred yards away...She focused her thoughts on Wally.
“Time we made a move.” Carver brought the seat upright. “I’m not going to spend the whole night in this damn car. It’s dark enough. We’ll leave the car here.” He climbed out, slapping his hands together. “And leave your bag here; I’ll take the keys.”
Cilla considered telling him to lock the car. No, they might need it quickly. There was nothing in it to take anyway.
They approached on the same side of the street as the house. There were still no lights. A fence ran along the side nearest them, and they crept between it and the house, peeking in windows. They’d almost made a complete circuit of the ranch when Cilla took Wally’s arm and pulled him into some bushes.
“What...?
“Someone’s coming,” she whispered.
A shape appeared at the end of the driveway, and, as they watched, went directly to the front door, opened it and entered. With Wally by the arm, Cilla retraced her steps to a window. Whoever it was turned on no lights, so they could see nothing. Suddenly there was a glimmer of light, not a lamp...“The front door! He’s leaving!” It was Wally’s turn to grab Cilla’s arm. Together they raced around the house. The headlights from a passing car caught the figure of a woman crossing the street. When the car had passed, the two walked quietly down the driveway. From behind a tree they saw the woman mount the steps of a blue house across the street.
“Hypothesis confirmed,” said Wally with satisfaction.
“They’re using both houses,” said Cilla.
“Or just one. I don’t think there’s anyone in this one. Looks as though she just came over to pick something up.”
“Then Hudson’s in the one over there.”
“A little soon for that conclusion. But I think we’ve just seen Dora Fender. Hudson can’t be far away.”
They crossed the street. In the yard was a car, which in the dim light looked dark blue.
“Wally, you wait for me behind this car. I’m going to see who’s inside.”
Wally stiffened. “No indeed. If you think I’m...”
“You’re an old white man. You have neither youth nor Indian skills for skulking.”
For the first time since she’d known him, Carver was momentarily speechless. Cilla ran silently up the driveway. It was a two story raised ranch. There was no one in the front room, but in the kitchen, Dora - if that’s who it was - was talking to a girl whose back was to the window. As she watched, the girl turned slightly. Cilla gasped. It could have been herself sitting there! Without question it was Loni. She studied the girl with wonder, then calculation. In a few minutes she crept back to Carver to tell him what she’d seen. “There’s no one else on the ground floor.”
“Then he’s upstairs,” announced Wally.
“I need ten minutes with Loni.”
“You can get her to talk to you in that period?”
“I have an idea.”
“You do.” As though there was a better chance of acquiring one in a fortune cookie.
“I do.”
“Tell me.”
“Wally, they could leave at any moment. If I can bring it off you’ll know it.”
“I don’t want you fouling our chances of rescuing Hudson.”
“You either. Can you or can you not occupy Dora for a few minutes?”
“Of course I can.”
“How?”
Wally pressed his lips together. “We old WASPS are not completely without resources.”
E. Wallace Carver limped painfully up to the front door. His right leg had obviously been severely injured, and he held his right arm close to his side as though it too was damaged. He rang the doorbell. When there was no response he rang again. Nothing. With a stick from the yard, he pounded on the door. There was a scuttling of feet and the door opened.
“What do you want?” The woman’s eyes burned at him. “Why are you making all this racket?”
“Because I need the name of the owner of this property.” He sagged against the doorframe.
“Hey! What’s the matter with you?”
“I...need to sit down.” Pushing past the woman, he collapsed in a chair. Then he drew himself up as haughtily as his sitting position permitted. ”
“Madam, I need medical attention, but first, are you the owner? I have fallen on your ill-maintained front walk and may be permanently incapacitated. My attorney will require the name of the defendant. Is that you?”
“No! It isn’t my house! I live across...” Her eyes suddenly stopped their restless movement. “What do you mean, `defendant’? There’s nothing wrong with the front walk!”
“If you would care to examine it, in fact please do, you will find an automobile tire in the middle of it, or perhaps to one side since it may have moved when I fell over it. Again I ask the name of the owner please.”
“He isn’t here, and.what were you doing on his property anyway?”
“I was looking for the house number. I am unfamiliar with this street. You are undoubtedly aware that it is the responsibility of homeowners to keep their properties hazard free. Yours was not.” He coughed and clutched his chest, bending over in the chair.
“Hey! What’s wrong with you?”
“Your phone.” he gasped. “Need...an ambulance.”
“W
ell you’re not calling any...hey!” Carver slowly fell out of the chair onto the carpeted floor. “Shit!” The woman bent over and shook him. “Old man! Old man!” There was no response from Wally who’d stretched out on the floor with his eyes closed, breathing heavily. She stood undecided for a moment, then went to the telephone at the end of the room next to the stairs to the second floor. She dialed nervously.
“Frank, problem. Some old bastard tripped on a tire on the front walk and hurt himself...How do I know! It wasn’t there twenty minutes ago. He came in here wanting the owner’s name. And then an ambulance. Now he’s passed out on the floor...She’s okay. She’s in the kitchen and hasn’t heard any of this. Maybe you’d better come play doctor again...why, can’t it wait? Jesus, I can’t have him here that long!...That’s better. As quick as you can. Christ, he might die on me!” She hung up the phone and stood looking at Carver. He groaned and his eyes opened.
“What happened?” He sat up, wincing at the pain. “Did you call an ambulance?”
“Even better. I got a doctor. He’s busy on a call, but he’ll be over in twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes! While I’m lying here in agony?”
“An ambulance wouldn’t make it much sooner. We’re not downtown, you know...You want a glass of water, or some coffee?”
“No, no! Perhaps you’d help me over to the phone. My wife will worry about me.”
“Where’s your wife?” She got him to his feet, and he weaved his way unsteadily over to the instrument.
“At the hotel. We’re only here in Olympia overnight. I was trying to find some friends of ours. I spoke with them on the telephone a short while ago, but I’ve gotten lost locating their house.”
“And your wife didn’t come along?”
“They’re friends of mine, as a matter of fact a former lady friend of mine, before I met my wife.” He was interrupted by another siege of coughing. “She felt I should go alone,” he wheezed. He picked up the receiver and dialed a series of numbers.
“Hello, room 211 please...Marge? I’ve had a bit of a fall. I’m alright, but it will be a while...” The woman had turned to go to the kitchen. With a choking sound, Carver dropped the telephone on its rest and fell to the floor.
The woman stopped at the sound. “Again?” She ran back to him. Carver had both hands to his chest and was taking in short rasping breaths.
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