“They’re gonna spot me if I keep this up,” Ma said.
“Drop back and turn off,” Jeri said. “Use a blinker. Let them see you turn. I’ll take him.”
By then Holiday and I were a quarter mile behind Jeri and catching up fast. It wasn’t a through street so we were going to run out of pavement after a while.
“Fun,” Holiday said.
“Damn near a riot,” I replied. “Just remember Wexel is dead and Reinhart’s hand was FedExed from Oregon.”
Far ahead, I saw the brake lights of Bye’s Lexus come on, then he turned left off the road. Headlights revealed the skeletal arms of a few dead trees, a broken-down pole fence, a ragged line of waist-high weeds. A hundred yards off the road, a dark single-story house was nestled in a grove of willows.
Jeri drove past the place, kept going.
“Slow down,” I told Holiday. “Go by at twenty-five.”
I squinted at an address on an old mailbox, but couldn’t read it. The post was one of those welded chain-link jobs that look like a cobra. Bye’s Lexus had stopped beside the house, lights on, aimed at an old single-car garage. As I watched, the lights went out.
“Keep going,” I told Holiday.
A quarter mile down the road we passed Jeri’s Porsche parked with its lights off. Jeri was outside, waiting for us. We went by and Holiday cut the lights before making a U-turn and coming up behind the Porsche.
Jeri walked over. Holiday powered down her window.
Jeri leaned in. “I’m gonna go check the mailbox for an address. And I want to see if lights come on inside or if I can hear anything in the house. Mort, you coming?”
“Try to keep me away.” I opened the door.
“Be careful,” Holiday said as I got out.
“No need. Got my pit bull and my gun.”
Jeri and I walked up the road toward the house. In my ear, Ma said, “What’s going on, guys?”
“Checking the house, Ma,” Jeri said. “I’m gonna get this thing out of my ear. I need to listen to the night. Leave yours in, Mort.”
Lights came on in the mystery house, twin yellow rectangles in the night. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
We reached the mailbox. Jeri turned on a tiny flashlight on her key ring, shielding its glow from the house with a hand.
“Number 4062,” she said. “Remember that. And we’re on Old Aspen Road, in case you didn’t know.”
I didn’t, of course. I hadn’t taken note of the street sign when we came in, so I still had stuff to learn. “Does that mean there’s a New Aspen Road around here somewhere?”
“Not necessarily. Think about it.”
Man, I hate smart-asses.
We watched the house for several minutes. Lights were on in a room facing the street. The place was silent. I shivered in the dark. Soon it would be October; nights were starting to get chilly.
“I’m goddamn starving,” Jeri said.
“You didn’t get anything at the Goose?”
“How could I? Ma and I didn’t know when those two would up and leave. How about you and Holiday?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Humor me. I can enjoy food vicariously.”
“We’ll see about that. She and I had stuffed mushrooms and Dungeness crab cakes.”
“I was wrong, you were right. Take it back.”
“No take-backs, honey bun.”
“You two have a nice talk? You were up there for two and a half hours.”
“Yep. The conversation roamed wild and free.”
“I’ll bet.” She looked toward the house. “It’s pretty dark out here. How about we walk up this driveway a ways?”
“Got my gun with me, sugar.”
“Well, try not to use it. Anyway, was that a yes?”
“A little way, maybe. Not sure what you think we’re gonna see, and there’s a chance we’ll get caught, so . . . how about we don’t.”
“Do you always think like that? Out loud and circular?”
“You should’ve heard me in the IRS. I could panic a husband and wife like nothing you ever saw.”
She sighed. “Actually, I think you might be right. I can’t see us getting close enough to peek in windows. I wish I knew what they were saying and doing in there.”
“You’re the one who saw them kissing.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So there’s a grotesque saying about a beast with two backs that might apply right about now.”
“Heard that one. I’ve never liked it either.” She was quiet for a moment. “Jeez, I’m goddamn starving, Mort.”
“Another saying I’ve heard recently.”
Two minutes later, the lights in the house went out. We waited, but no one came out to the Lexus. The night stayed quiet.
“Maybe we oughta come back later,” Jeri said. “It’s not like we’re going to knock on the door and say we’re out of gas and can we use their phone to call triple-A.”
“You gotta admit, this is an interesting juncture in the evening. Wife of lying presidential hopeful in what looks like a tryst with a lying, cuckolding lawyer.”
“Adjectives, Mort.”
“Just sayin’.”
“Okay, let’s go. I’m about to eat my own arm. I won’t make it back to Reno without food, so where’s a good place to eat around here?”
The four of us ended up at Pancho and Evita’s, a Mexican food place worth coming back to every month or so. Stuffed mushrooms only go so far, and Dungeness crab cakes are tasty but even more smackeroos per calorie. I had the three-enchilada plate and, since either Holiday or Jeri was going to drive me back to Reno, I had two Corona beers, straight from chilled bottles. Everyone else had this or that Mexican dish, so it was like a fiesta in there, about what I’d expected when we first drove up.
Ma and Holiday took off, so Jeri and I found Old Aspen Road and tooled on down in her Porsche at twenty-five, found the cobra mailbox. Lights were off in the house, but a sliver of crescent moon
