When she opened the door, he came in fast, almost in a crouch, glancing past her, left and right, toward the living room, then toward the dining area, speaking rapidly, urgently. “Are you okay? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. What’s wrong with you?”
“Are you alone?”
“Not now that you’re here.”
He closed the door, locked it. “Pack a suitcase.”
“What?”
“I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here.”
“Elliot, is that a gun?”
“Yeah. I was—”
“A real gun?”
“Yeah. I took it off the guy who tried to kill me.”
She was more able to believe that he was joking than that he had really been in danger. “What man? When?”
“A few minutes ago. At my place.”
“But—”
“Listen, Tina, they wanted to kill me just because I was going to help you get Danny’s body exhumed.”
She gaped at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Murder. Conspiracy. Something damn strange. They probably intend to kill you too.”
“But that’s—”
“Crazy,” he said. “I know. But it’s true.”
“Elliot—”
“Can you pack a suitcase fast?”
At first she half believed that he was trying to be funny, playing a game to amuse her, and she was going to tell him that none of this struck her as funny. But she stared into his dark, expressive eyes, and she knew that he’d meant every word he said.
“My God, Elliot, did someone really try to kill you?”
“I’ll tell you about it later.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No, no. But we ought to lie low until we can figure this out.”
“Did you call the police?”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Maybe they’re part of it somehow.”
“Part of it? The
“Where do you keep your suitcases?”
She felt dizzy. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“But—”
“Come on. Hurry. Let’s get you packed and the hell out of here before any more of these guys show up.”
“I have suitcases in my bedroom closet.”
He put a hand against her back, gently but firmly urging her out of the foyer.
She headed for the master bedroom, confused and beginning to be frightened.
He followed close behind her. “Has anyone been around here this afternoon?”
“Just me.”
“I mean, anyone snooping around? Anyone at the door?”
“No.”
“I can’t figure why they’d come for me first.”
“Well, there was the gas man,” Tina said as she hurried down the short hall toward the master bedroom.
“The what?”
“The repairman from the gas company.”
Elliot put a hand on her shoulder, stopped her, and turned her around just as they entered the bedroom. “A gas company workman?”
“Yes. Don’t worry. I asked to see his credentials.”
Elliot frowned. “But it’s a holiday.”
“He was an emergency crewman.”
“What emergency?”
“They’ve lost some pressure in the gas lines. They think there might be a leak in this neighborhood.”
The furrows in Elliot’s brow grew deeper. “What did this workman need to see you for?”
“He wanted to check my furnace, make sure there wasn’t any gas escaping.”
“You didn’t let him in?”
“Sure. He had a photo ID card from the gas company. He checked the furnace, and it was okay.”
“When was this?”
“He left just a couple minutes before you came in.”
“How long was he here?”
“Fifteen, twenty minutes.”
“It took him that long to check out the furnace?”
“He wanted to be thorough. He said—”
“Were you with him the whole time?”
“No. I was cleaning out Danny’s room.”
“Where’s your furnace?”
“In the garage.”
“Show me.”
“What about the suitcases?”
“There may not be time,” he said.
He was pale. Fine beads of sweat had popped out along his hairline.
She felt the blood drain from her face.
She said, “My God, you don’t think—”
“The furnace!”
“This way.”
Still carrying the magazine, she rushed through the house, past the kitchen, into the laundry room. A door stood at the far end of this narrow, rectangular work area. As she reached for the knob, she smelled the gas in the garage.
She snatched her hand off the knob as if she had almost picked up a tarantula.
“The latch might cause a spark,” Elliot said. “Let’s get the hell out. The front door. Come on.
They hurried back the way they had come.
Tina passed a leafy green plant, a four-foot-high schefflera that she had owned since it was only one-fourth as tall as it was now, and she had the insane urge to stop and risk getting caught in the coming explosion just long enough to pick up the plant and take it with her. But an image of crimson eyes, yellow skin — the leering face of death — flashed through her mind, and she kept moving.
She tightened her grip on the horror-comics magazine in her left hand. It was important that she not lose it.
In the foyer, Elliot jerked open the front door, pushed her through ahead of him, and they both plunged into the golden late-afternoon sunshine.
“Into the street!” Elliot urged.
