of the last night's pay-check.
'You look preoccupied,' the girl said.
I turned to her. 'Um, yeah. Well, we almost got killed together this
morning, how about telling me your name and having lunch
together?'
'Okay,' she said. 'The name's Vicki Pickford. Yours?'
'Danny,' I said unemotionally as we pulled away from the curb. I
switched the subject rapidly. 'What was going on this morning?
Did I hear that guy say that he was your legal guardian?'
'Yes' she replied.
I laughed. 'The name is Danny Gerad. You'll get that out of the
afternoon papers.'
She smiled gravely. 'All right. He was my guardian. He was also a
drunkard and an all-around crumb.'
Her cheeks flamed red. The smile was gone. 'I hated him and I'm
glad he's dead.'
She gave me a sharp glance and for a moment I saw fear shine
wetly in her eyes; then she recovered her self-control. We parked
and ate lunch.
Forty minutes later I paid the check out of my newly acquired cash
and walked back out to the car.
'Where to?' I asked.
'Bonaventure Motel,' she said. 'That's where I'm staying.'
She saw curiosity jump into my eyes and sighed, 'All right, I was
running away. My Uncle David caught up with me and tried to
drag me back to the house. When I told him I wouldn't go, he
dragged me out to the truck. We were going around that curve
when I wrenched the wheel out of his hands. Then you came
along.'
She closed up like a clam and I didn't try to get any more out of
her. There was something wrong about her story. I didn't press her.
I drove her into the parking lot and killed the engine.
'When can I see you again?' I asked. 'A movie tomorrow?'
'Sure ,' she replied.
'I'll pick you up at 7.30,' I said and drove out, thoughtfully
pondering the events that had befallen me in the last twenty-four
hours.
CHAPTER FIVE
When I entered the apartment the phone was ringing. I picked it up
and Vicki, accident and the bright workaday world of suburban
California faded into the half-world of phantom-people shadows.
The voice that whispered coldly out of the receiver was
Weinbaum's
'Troubles?' He spoke softly, but there was an ominous tone in his
voice.
'I had an accident,' I replied.
'I read about it in the paper ...' Weinbaum's voice trailed off.
Silence hung between us for a moment and then I said, 'Does this
mean you're canning me?'
I hoped that he would say yes; I didn't have the guts to resign.
