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
“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.”
“Well 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
“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.
