“Methinks a beast stirs in the night,” I said.
“Gives me a half-decent idea,” Jeri responded. She put a hand on the back of my neck and rubbed for a moment, then put the Porsche in gear and drove us back to Reno.
Jeri’s half-decent idea turned out to be fully indecent and took an hour and a half to implement in its entirety. And that was after the enchiladas had worn off enough that we could move in a reasonably athletic and flexible manner. The upshot was that we staggered out of bed at eleven forty-five the next morning and my eyes wouldn’t focus. I stood there blinking for half a minute, trying to get them going.
“Wow,” Jeri said.
“Synoptic, on target, and you managed to slip a little hussy note in there. Impressive.”
“And I’m starving again.”
“Me, too,” I said. “I could use a stack of homemade waffles.”
“Thing is, putting those little square indentations in pancakes is so goddamn time-consuming.”
“Waffles R Not Us?”
“You got that right.”
It took me three tries to figure out how to hold Jockey shorts to get my legs through the proper holes. Jeri watched for a while, then offered to help. “Just about got it whupped, kiddo,” I said. “Only got one more permutation left to try, but thanks anyway.”
“That’s a big, impressive word.”
“Being educated, I excel in wig birds. I mean, big words.”
“You need coffee.”
“Coffee would help. And which one of us stole my pants?”
Turns out, one of us had only misplaced his pants in the heat of a rapid undressing. That got sorted out and we arrived fully dressed at Ma’s office after we’d teamed up to make toast and omelets, put stuff in the dishwasher, retrieved my Toyota from the parking garage at the Golden Goose and parked it back at Jeri’s place.
Jeri had given Ma the address of the mysterious house the night before. Ma had come up with the name of the person who paid taxes on the place, which wasn’t the same as the owner. The actual owner was First Interstate Bank since the place was purchased less than a year ago with ten thousand down. But Leland, it turned out, who didn’t own 10 percent of the property, paid a hundred percent of the taxes, so FIB was making out like a bandit, as banks do.
“Owned by Leland Bye, Esquire,” I said. “What a surprise.”
“Uh-huh,” Ma said. “Could’ve knocked me over with a feather when I found out.”
“Guy’s had it less than a year, huh?” Jeri said.
“Nine months. Got it last December. Paid a hundred thirty-two five for it. Twelve hundred sixty square feet on a four-point-three-acre lot. Two bedrooms, one and a half baths, built in 1957.”
“As the wife of a presidential candidate, you’d think the Secret Service would know where Julia went and what she did on a fairly regular basis,” I said. “That’s if Harry has Secret Service protection at this point—which, someone chopping off his primary shaker like that, would be a hell of a black eye for the Service—and so soon after that Columbian hooker thing, too.”
Ma stared at me. “I don’t think he was under their wing yet. But if he was, would they consider something like Julia’s cheating to be their business? What I mean is, would they tell Harry or just keep an eye on her?”
Jeri said, “If I had to guess, I’d say the latter. Not sure they’ve quite gone Gestapo yet.”
“IRS is Gestapo, hon,” I told her. “We’ve got a lock on that. No one muscles in.”
Instead of cracking one of my ribs, she kissed me, so I must have done good that morning. “Such a facile little mind,” she said.
“I’ve just been damned with the faintest of praise.”
“Yup.”
“You two should get a room,” Ma said.
I looked at Jeri. “We could do that.”
She shook her head. “Nope. I’m saving myself for my wedding night.”
Ma cackled. “You two.”
I said, “Okay, here’s a thought. An out-of-the-way love nest is purchased. Two fairly good-looking people, both with a lot to lose, meet up when the urge strikes, as urges do. At that point no Secret Service is involved, everything is cool. Then a lying senator upsets the apple cart by suddenly deciding he’s qualified to be the leader of the free world. Julia finds herself in the spotlight. Now the media wants to check this babe out, look into her past, root through her underwear drawer, dig up enough dirt on her and Harry to fill Hell’s Canyon. Suddenly Harry’s cheating trophy wife is thrust onto the world stage. I wonder how that played.”
Ma screwed up her face. “Not so good, I’d say.” She knocked a cigarette out of a pack and lit up.
I checked my watch: 3:45 p.m. “How about we go cruise by the love nest, doll?” I said to Jeri.
“Doll, huh? You looking to get laid again, hotshot?”
“Pretty soon, yeah.”
“Je-sus, you two,” Ma said. “Get outta here.”
All was quiet at the nest. We rolled by at four thirty-five and scoped the place out. The Lexus was gone. No other cars were in sight. In daylight we could see how remote the house was. The nearest house was back up the road, a quarter mile away. Farther along, nearly half a mile away, a two-story house sat at the end of the lane. It looked as if Leland and Julia had valued their privacy. We hung a U-turn and came back. Jeri stopped near the cobra-chain mailbox, and we watched the place for a while.
After a while, I said, “Drive in, walk in, or keep watching since this is so much fun?” I settled my gun more comfortably in its holster.
She chewed on her lower lip. “How about we give it an hour, maybe two, see if anything moves. If not, then I say we drive in, see what’s what.”
“You’re the boss.”
We sat there with the engine ticking as it cooled. A breeze walked a few dead leaves across the road.
Minutes passed.
