“And that could pinpoint where he was?”
“The general area where he’s calling from. It goes by area code. We’d know if he was in Tucson or Green Valley or in New Mexico—wherever. We could even track him if he’s moving, as long as he checks his e-mail.”
Laura looked at Buddy. “It would be on your wife’s computer, wouldn’t it?”
“Better than that,” Buddy said. “I’ve got his e-mails.”
Musicman knocked on the bedroom door late in the morning. “Summer? You okay?”
No reply. He didn’t blame her, the way he’d acted. What had possessed him?
“You’re going to have to stay in the bedroom while I’m gone. Screaming won’t help. A lot of people scream at each other around here, and everybody minds their own business. I just have a couple of errands, and then I’ll be back. Is there anything you want me to pick up? Ice cream? Soda?”
Still no answer.
“Once we get to know each other, I won’t have to take this kind of precaution.”
The hot air hit him as he walked outside. The El Rancho Trailer Court was bad enough at night, but in the summer sun it looked as if it had been left out to rot. It was an ideal place to go to ground, though, for several reasons. The people here minded their own business. They remained inside, trying to stay cool. No doubt most of them were drugged to their eyeballs. An added bonus: The El Rancho Trailer Court was a short shot to the freeway and the airport if he had to get away in a hurry.
One of the best things about El Rancho was its proximity to the Motel 6.
He pulled into the Motel 6 parking lot and took his laptop into room 17. Inside, he set it on the round table near the door and closed the drapes against the summer heat. He turned the television to CNN and the air conditioner on high. Then he logged on.
When he wasn’t on the road, he had to check it several times a day. He usually tried to find a cheap motel room—it didn’t matter what color the drapes were, as long as it had a phone jack.
Every time he logged on, he felt an incredible rush of anticipation. His heart beat faster, his fingers practically itched. Maybe it was because his mother had so looked forward to getting the mail every day, as if she thought there might be a grand prize or a love letter from an old lover—something special. It got to be kind of a game. They would walk out to the mailbox together, and she’d say, “I wonder what I’ll get today?”
Even if it was just a bill, she liked getting mail. It was always an adventure.
He was like just like her. Even though he got a lot of spam, it was still mail.
He’d been hoping to hear from his friend Marshall, who lived in Chicago and had sounded interested in the pics of Jessica Parris. But all that came up were more messages from Dark Moondancer.
He had mostly ignored Moondancer. He’d sold him the pics, and as far as he was concerned, that was the end of it. But Dark Moondancer was nothing if not persistent. He must have sent thirty e-mails in the last week. All of them telling him to come and bring his latest sweetheart. Cryptic, subtle. Stuff like “I’d love to meet your new girlfriend.” And “I have such a cozy, out-of-the-way place, far from the rat race.”
He opened the latest message. “
Memory Lane was the title of one of the photos he’d sent to Dark Moondancer. A forest glade. But underneath it was a dark secret—Jessica Parris in the band shell.
The idea of that cretin coming near Summer sickened him. The man was untrustworthy and dangerous. It wouldn’t be wise to put Summer into that kind of situation.
When he was through, he locked the door behind him and took his laptop back to the GEO. The room was so much cooler than the motor home, he’d debated bringing Summer here. Ultimately he’d decided against it. There was too much room for error. The motor home was a controlled area. He’d used it for all his girls, and had everything down to a science. You never wanted to do anything that could throw you off your game.
The GEO felt like an oven. The sour smell of cheap vinyl rose up around him. He started the car, yelped as his fingers touched the burning metal. He grabbed a gas receipt on the floor and used it to steer, narrowly missed running into a white panel van entering the parking lot. Feeling churlish, he flipped the driver the bird.
Hot air coming through the vents—the air conditioning sucked on this thing. But it was his get-away car. If it got too hot, he could always leave the motor home and take off in the GEO.
Laura had Buddy print up three copies of all the e-mails and started going through them.
“So Summer was CRZYGRL12.” She stared at Buddy. “Must have been a shock for you when that matchbook turned up.”
He looked at her stonily.
She decided to move on. “Let’s see what they’ve been saying to each other.”
Laura had to admit that Buddy had a good ear. He had imitated his daughter perfectly, and Lundy had not suspected a thing. The only problem: He’d come early to their meeting and something had spooked him.
Laura read samples of Musicman’s pitch:
“
She wanted to throw up—such a rasher of shit.
