I tacked past my house at ten fifteen. Six news vans were parked along the street. Six of the bastards. I kept the porkpie pulled down over my brow, moustache in place. I faked a limp, keeping to the shadows, a modern-day Quasimodo in the dark.
I made it. No one leapt out to interview me even though I was a possible neighbor of the infamous Mortimer Angel. Fooled ’em all, I chortled darkly, but they had my house covered like a whore giving freebies.
Okay, maybe I was more sozzled than I thought. Even so, I knew I was going to have to make a nonstandard approach to my house, or make headlines again.
I circled the block, then ambled down Mrs. Knapp’s driveway and through her backyard, looking at the ground to avoid obstacles…and clotheslined myself on a strand of wire I’d put up for her last summer. Velma Knapp wouldn’t own an electric dryer if you gave her a new Maytag, right out of the box. She’s four foot ten, eighty-five years old, and what was a stretch for her was precisely neck high to me. The things you forget when you’ve had one too many brewskis.
I spent a minute on my back on the grass, which needed cutting, collected my thoughts, such as they were, then stumbled to the fence between my property and hers, lofted myself up and over and onto my back again on the other side, spent another minute getting my lungs to process air again, then wended my way to the house.
After a lengthy attempt to open the back door with my key upside down, I righted it, went in, and called out, “K,” but got no response.
I went through the house. She was gone.
I left the lights off to avoid causing an uproar out front, stripped and showered, washing off the day, then crawled into bed.
My bed.
Alone. At last. It felt good.
I figured I’d fall asleep right away, but no such luck. I smelled K, a fresh, perfumy scent, and I saw Greg on his desk, and I composed rambling speeches of apology or condolence to Ellen, and to his wife, Libby. And I worried about Dallas, how close she was to all of this, whatever it was, hoping it wouldn’t reach out and find her. I thought I should have been with her right then, every minute, until the guy or ghost or bogeyman in charge of hell in Reno was caught. But I’d phoned her from the Goose after talking with Maxwell and she’d told me she’d be fine over there at the Grand Sierra, that she wanted to sleep. Alone, Mort.
Okay, I could understand that.
But…what was going on?
I didn’t have a clue, not even a guess. Finding Jonnie Sjorgen and David Milliken had taken about as much expertise as a suicide stepping off the roof of a building and hitting concrete.
Great Gumshoe, hah.
* * *
A glance at my bedside clock told me The Tonight Show was about to come on. I risked the light from the TV and caught Leno’s monologue. Damned if I wasn’t part of it. Two jokes. Now that was a spooky feeling. You know you’re getting somewhere when you’re on Leno’s list, right up there with Clinton, Bush One or Two, Obama, Enron, either of the merry Bobbitts, any of that fun stuff of yesteryear.
The phone on my nightstand rang.
I stared at it. My number’s unlisted. IRS agents don’t encourage the public to call and harass. Finally I picked it up, knowing it would be a media scuzzball. Bribery had finally shaken my number loose and this was the first salvo. I said, “The number you have dialed is not in service—”
“Guess what, Mort? You were on TV, your name, I mean. Jay Leno mentioned you.”
A woman’s voice, but it wasn’t Dallas. “I saw it. Is this K?”
“No, it’s…oh. Yes. I guess. Is that what you’ve been calling me?”
“What else? The Mystery Blond in my Bed? Which I’ve had to resort to lately, come to think of it. It’s been more than a little embarrassing.”
“I’m sorry. Things are, well…weird right now, that’s all.”
“Tell me about it. The windows look sensational, kid. Or did I tell you that already?”
She paused. “Have you been drinking?”
“Now that you mention it, I had a drop or two, yes.”
“I…I heard about your nephew, Mort.”
“Who on this hungry little planet hasn’t?”
“I’m so sorry. I just wanted you to know.”
“Thanks.”
“And…well, that I’m okay, in case you…Anyway, I’m in a no-name motel out on East Fourth. The media outside your place was getting to be too much. And, I, uh, used the rest of the money you gave me for the room.”
“S’all right.”
“I’ll pay you back. I don’t know when that’ll be, but I will.”
“It’s not necessary. How’d you get out of the house without the hordes bringing you down like cheetahs and gathering around to feed?”
“I went over the back fence.”
Lot of traffic over that fence in recent hours. As I’d guessed, K was an athletic lady. Probably hadn’t landed on her back, either, with the wind knocked out of her. “What time?”
“About five this afternoon. I came back earlier, about three, but the police were all over the place so I couldn’t go in. I watched for a while then came back later. Then there was a guy skulking around in your side yard, one of those reporters, trying to peek in the windows. I thought he might’ve spotted me, so I took off right after he left. Your neighbor’s really sweet, though.”
Great. I could
