at the only intersection, that was the extent of the illumination in the town. Parker rolled to a stop beside the phone booth, cut the Dodge’s lights, left the motor running, and got out. He had a pocket full of change, which he took out while walking to the phone booth and put on the metal tray in there. He left the door open, so the interior light stayed off, only the light on top continuing to shine. When the blinker signal at the intersection was on, there was enough light to dial by; when it was off, he paused for a second with his finger waiting in front of the dial.
An operator came on to tell him how much, and he put the coins in during the phases of yellow light. Then there was a long silence punctuated by clicks, one ring sound, and Claire’s voice: “Hello?”
“It’s me. How are things?”
“Fine. How are you?”
“No visitors?”
“Nobody at all. Will you be back soon?”
“My friend died of a lingering illness. Very painful illness.”
A little silence, and then a small voice: “Oh.”
Only so much could be said on a telephone. “You ought to take a day or two off. Go to New York, do some shopping.”
“I don’t want to leave my house,” she said.
“This is serious!”
“So am I. Tomorrow I’ll buy a dog.”
“I’m talking about tonight.”
“I’ll be all right. I went out and got a rifle.”
Parker frowned at the phone. He wanted to tell her a house with all those windows, all those exterior doors, couldn’t be defended, not with a rifle, not with a dog. Not against two men who nail a man to a wall and burn him with cigarettes. But you couldn’t say things to a telephone that you wouldn’t be willing to say to a district attorney, so he tried to get his meaning into his voice instead of his words: “I think you ought to go away.”
“I know what you think,” she said, and then tried to soften it, saying, “I know you’re worried about me. But you just don’t know what this house means to me. I can’t go away from it, not after I just got into it. I won’t be driven away from it.”
There was a little silence then while he thought, until she said, “Hello? Are you there?”
“I’m here.”
He was thinking about going back, waiting for them to show up. His instinct was against it; when the opposition is coming at you, the best place to be is on their back trail, coming up behind them. But how could he leave Claire in the house alone?
The decision was hers. He had to handle it the way he knew was right, no matter what. He said, “What you do right now, you pack everything there that’s mine and get it out. Stow it all in one of the empty houses around there. But do it now, don’t wait till morning.”
“You don’t have that much here.”
“So it won’t take long. If anybody comes looking for me, you don’t fight them. Understand me? You don’t fight them.”
“What do I do instead?”
“Tell them you just run a message service, you only see me two or three times a year, when I give you some money for taking care of my messages. What you tell them, any time a message comes for me you call the Wilmington Hotel in New York and leave it for me in the name of Edward Latham. You got that?”
“Yes. But what—?”
“Give me the names back.”
“Is it important?”
“Yes. Those are the names to use.”
“Wilmington Hotel. Edward— I’m sorry.”
“Latham. Edward Latham.”
She repeated the name. “Is that all?”
“Don’t antagonize them. They’re very mean people.”
“I know how to be a little mouse,” she said.
“That’s good. I’ll get back there as soon as I can.”
“I know you will.”
“Clean my stuff out of there right away.”
“I will.”
He broke the connection, put in a dime, dialed 2125551212, got the Wilmington Hotel’s phone number from New York City Information, dialed it, pumped more change in the box, and got the desk clerk.
“I want to make a reservation for three days starting Thursday.”
“Name, sir?”
