The woman stopped at the sound. “Again?” She ran back to him. Carver had both hands to his chest and was taking in short rasping breaths.
“My heart,” he gasped.
“You have pills for it?” Her look was not sympathetic.
“In my pocket.”
“Which one?” She knelt on the floor next to him.
“Left.”
She dug her hand into his overcoat pocket. “There’s nothing in here.”
“Must be the right then.”
He was lying on his right side, and it took some effort to get him rolled over on his left.
“There’re no pills in this one either.”
“Ohhh. They’re back at the hotel.”
“Then you’ll just have to lie there until the doctor comes.”
Carver said, “Maybe you could help me to a bed upstairs.”
“No!...the rooms aren’t insulated up there.”
“I don’t mind cold.”
“You’re in a weakened condition. I’m not going to have you catching pneumonia too.”
“Then a pillow? The floor is hard.”
With an exasperated snort, she got to her feet and went up the stairs, returning in a minute with two pillows, which she put under Carver’s head. “There!”
Wally wrapped his arms around his chest. “I need a blanket. It’s drafty here.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake!” But she went, and a few minutes later two light blue blankets were wrapped around him. She turned toward the kitchen. “And
Wally sat up. “I’ll be dead in twenty minutes. If you won’t call an ambulance I’m going to leave.” He started to his feet. “At least I’ll die in the open air.” He got on his knees, collapsed on the floor and tried again.
“Here!” The woman had been watching this scene with mixed feelings. If the old buzzard could make it out of the house, so much the better. But if he died first, his body would be a real nuisance. She squeezed her head under his shoulder to help him stand. He got on his feet weaving, and the two staggered around like a dance team trying new steps. She finally got him to the door; he was half way out it when he gave a cry and fell back on the floor with a crash.
“You stupid old...”
Carver was again struggling to get to his feet. “Make it...this time.”
“What’s going on?” Loni had a towel wrapped around her head and cold cream on her face.
“This...gentleman had a fall. Help me get him out.”
“But if he’s hurt, Dora, shouldn’t we...”
“He’s fine. Take his other arm. What are you doing with that towel?”
“I decided to wash my hair. Are you sure he’s okay?”
“I’m fine,” gasped Carver looking anything but. “Just get me down the steps.”
They reached the bottom with difficulty. There Wally grasped Dora’s hand. “You have been kind. Perhaps I won’t sue. One last request, I’d like to take you up on that offer of a glass of water.”
Dora could see the end of the problem and rushed back into the house.
Wally straightened up. “Any problem?”
“No. She’ll meet you at the car. Hudson’s here. He supposedly had an attack.”
“These people are definitely not FBI.”
“So Hudson’s probably drugged.”
“Upstairs. There’s no one else here. I’ll bang Dora on the head and get Hudson out. Her friend Frank is coming, probably within fifteen minutes.”
“No. The reason Hudson is here is to find out why we’re living with bodyguards. And that’s what we’re going to do.”
“You think you can get up to him?”
“Of course. My room’s up there. I’ll flick the lights twice when I find Hudson. Dora feels she’s sold Loni on the `attack’ and the `doctor’.
“You had no problem with the changing?”
“It was a hard sell. What tipped it is Loni really doesn’t like Dora.”
“What will you...oh, thank you. Just a sip or two and I should be able to make it.”
“Where’s your car?” demanded Dora.
“Down the street.” Carver gestured in the opposite direction from the Buick, turning away from Dora as he appeared to drink. With this group, he was taking no chances. “That’s better. Just a sip was all I needed.” He handed the glass back to Dora. He turned his coat collar up and hobbled down the walk.
“Let’s get inside, Loni.” In the dim lighting outside the front door, she looked at the girl curiously. “Why did you decide to wash your hair all of a sudden?”
“Back east I used to wash it every day, sometimes twice a day. I got my blouse wet though. I’m going up to change.”
“Don’t be long. Dinner’s almost ready.”
Cilla stopped at the top of the stairs to see if Dora was following, but she was alone on the second floor, and there were pot and pan sounds from the kitchen. It wasn’t a large house, three bedrooms across the front, the doors open on two; both were empty. She went to the third. It was locked; one of those doors where the lock is part of the knob. Supposedly you could open them with a credit card, if she had a credit card, and if the door didn’t open inward, so when closed it fit snugly into the jamb or molding or whatever you called the piece of wood it was up against. She knocked quietly.
“Hudson?” she whispered. No response. “Hudson?” a little louder. Still nothing. It wasn’t a particularly solid door. With something to brace against she might be able to kick it in. And blow any chance of learning something from Dora. She went back to the other bedrooms. Remembering the reason she’d given Dora, she found a different blouse. Dora was shorter and wider than Loni and herself, so she had little difficulty picking the right clothes and room. She found a scarf, which she wrapped around her head in place of the towel.
She heard the front door open and close and voices. She went toward the stairs. The sounds were low, and she couldn’t make out what was being said. It was no better from a few steps down. In fact the voices were fainter; they’d gone to the kitchen. Feeling less than confident, she quietly though positively walked down the stairs and toward the kitchen, just as though she lived there. There was no door to the kitchen - she and Loni had had to change clothes in the minuscule half bath that adjoined it - so she could hear without getting close.
“Does it make sense to you?”
“None of it
“Eight years I’ve lived in Olympia, and nobody’s ever come to my door with a heart attack. Just when we got these two...you shouldn’t have let him go.”
“And if he died? What do I do, chop him up and flush him down the john?”
The man spoke more quietly. “Maybe. We’ve got one to get rid of anyway.” Cilla shivered at the casual lack of emotion in the man’s voice.
“I don’t like it, Frank. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“You going to need Harv?”
“No.”
There was silence for a minute. Cilla hurried for the stairs, but there were no sounds of movement so tiptoed back.
“...take me ten minutes.”
“And then what? It scares me, Frank.”
“Come up with another idea.”
“We could go to my sister Phoebe’s.”
“In Arizona?”
“Sure. Phoebe’s in Mexico. We’ll tell the princess he just wandered away.”
