Victoria’s name glided through my brain, like a black albatross on silent wings.
I jogged home and got my gun, still buried beneath that couch cushion. I changed into black jeans and a dark-blue long-sleeve shirt, feeling idiotic, feeling scared, too. I thought about phoning the police, but that felt a little over the top. The IRS-agent-turned-PI who found heads, calling the cops on three women living in the dead mayor’s house based on nothing more than a hunch—I couldn’t do it. Odds were they wouldn’t listen to me, wouldn’t even send anyone over to have a look at the place, but they might detain me for questioning or psychiatric evaluation, and I couldn’t afford to let that happen. I had to go. Now.
I got a penlight from the kitchen and checked the load in the little .357. The cylinder carried Plus-P Hydra-Shok ammunition that could do an amazing amount of damage. I snugged it into a holster at the small of my back, donned a dark windbreaker to conceal the gun, and went out the back way again.
I walked down Ralston, over the freeway overpass, down to Sixth and turned east. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t have a clue. I did, however, have a feeling that Mortimer Angel was once again going to be a household name come Wednesday, and the thought was almost enough to give me an ulcer.
As usual, the Golden Goose had turned the night into day on North Virginia Street. It was just after midnight, but the sidewalk outside the casino, across the street from Sjorgen House, was full of touristy-looking people coming and going, on the prowl for Lady Luck. Two high-school-aged kids tore by on beat-up skate-boards, wheels tocking out a rhythm on the sidewalk. Low-slung cars cruised by, some of them with bass rumble issuing from open windows loud enough to cause brain damage.
I stood outside Edna’s yard looking at the house, but I felt too exposed to remain there for long, too easily seen by anyone who might be watching from behind those dark windows. If I stayed there, I might as well wear neon and set off a siren. I headed for the front door, then ducked around the side of the house, into the shadows.
The house rose up dark and silent, not a light on anywhere. Now what? Was Kayla in there? If she was, she was in trouble, if what had happened to Jonnie and Dave was any indication. If she wasn’t, then I was in trouble, because, I realized, I was going to get inside somehow and have a look around. I didn’t have a choice.
My hands trembled. When Jeri grabbed my shirt and yanked me up against the side of the house between two thick bushes, I nearly screamed.
“Quiet,” she hissed.
“Jesus H. Christ, Jeri!”
She pulled me down into a crouch. “Shut up!”
“What the hell are you doing here?” I whispered hoarsely.
“I could ask you the same thing, sport.”
“Kayla’s gone.”
Jeri stared at me. She had on black clothing. All I could see was a pale blob of face and her eyes, reflecting light. “Gone?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“And you think she’s here?”
“Maybe, I don’t know. I’ve got to find out.” I grabbed her arm. “Why’d you come back?”
“I had to.”
“Why, Jeri?”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t know. You changed clothes. What were you going to do, come in my house through a window and have a look around?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“I don’t know. Watch the place. See if she was still there.”
“I don’t want you stalking me.”
“Looking isn’t stalking. Well, maybe it is. It won’t happen again, I promise.” Her hands found my face, held me. Her voice went soft. “I mean it. I’m sorry, okay? But I had to know, Mort. I just had to know. I love you.”
I sighed. “That’s not helping. Not now.”
“Sorry.” Her hands fell away. “I saw you come out at your neighbor’s place and head downtown.”
“Terrific. I forgive you. Now go away, Jeri.”
“Uh-uh. I’m going to help, even if it’s for her.”
“No. Get the fuck out of here.”
“Make me.”
Perfect. Just what I needed. Getting rid of Jeri by force would sound like the crash of a C-130 full of Humvee parts. Short of clipping her without warning on the jaw, I doubted I could manage it, and if I didn’t clip her just right, I’d end up in the hospital, which wouldn’t do Kayla any good, either.
“Jeri—”
“No, partner. I’m in.”
“Je-sus, Jeri.”
“You keep saying that. I said I’m in.”
She meant it. Nothing would change her mind. Some things you just know.
“Now what?” she asked. “How do we get in?”
“I hadn’t worked that part out yet.”
“Good plan.” She stood, then started to creep out from between the bushes. “Let’s try doors first.”
I grabbed her arm again. “Go home.”
“Read my lips. No.”
Hell. I couldn’t even see her lips. I followed her to the back of the house, into darkness. The rear door was locked. I didn’t want to try the front door with all that casino light blasting over from the Golden Goose. No point anyway. It wasn’t likely to be unlocked.
We crept over to the single-car garage I’d seen behind the house the other day. A quick peek through a dirt-encrusted window with the penlight disclosed a dark-blue GMC Safari van. It would look almost black at night, say around Ithaca. I didn’t like that at all. Now, beyond any doubt, I was going to get inside that house, which probably meant Detective Fairchild and I would have another entertaining discussion sometime in the near future.
At the side of the main house, I gave Jeri a boost and she tried windows. I had to admit it was easier than testing them myself since I would have needed a stepladder. At the north side, near the front, one of them slid upward at her shove. It rasped quietly as she lifted it until it jammed tight in its frame, then I lowered her to the ground.
“I’ll go in,” I
