Thinking Kelly might have suffered a relapse, I bounded down the stairs to take the call. 'Hello.'
'Mr. Beaumont, I'm glad you're there.'
'What is it? What's wrong?'
'Have you seen Tanya?'
'Tanya!' I heard the rising irritation in my voice. I was worried about Kelly, and here he was asking me about Tanya Dunseth. 'I haven't seen her anywhere. Why?'
'There's a mandatory meeting here at work. We're all required to show up. Anyone who isn't present is liable to be fired. I offered Tanya a ride in earlier when I brought Amber, but she said she didn't need one. She isn't here, and no one has seen her, but I know she doesn't want to lose her job. Would you mind running out to the farm to see what happened? Maybe a car broke down or something. They won't call roll until just before the meeting ends at twelve. If she's here by then, I'm sure it'll be fine.'
If I were as hard-nosed as I'd like, I would have said, 'Forget it.' I would have told Jeremy that Tanya Dunseth's problems had nothing to do with me. But the kid had a heart as big as all outdoors. I couldn't very well turn him down.
'All right,' I agreed crossly. 'I'll go check.'
Back upstairs Alex, wrapped in a thick peach-colored towel, was out of the bathroom. 'What's going on?'
'I've got to go out to the farm for a few minutes,' I said.
'How come?'
'Because Tanya's AWOL from the meeting, and Jeremy's afraid she'll be fired. He wants me to bring her to the Elizabethan before they finish taking roll, although if she's on her way to the slammer, I don't know why anyone should worry about her losing her job.'
'Go ahead and go,' Alex said, giving me a playful push toward the door. 'Hurry.' Obviously, she was feeling better. She offered me a quick kiss on my way by, and I took it happily.
I hurried out to the car, but as I drove past the Ashland Hills, that old incurable stubborn streak reasserted itself. Here I was, one more time, rushing around trying to save Tanya Dunseth from herself. How about doing something for me for a change? I thought. Why not stop off long enough to pick up my faxes? Maybe Alex and I could run up to Medford that afternoon and order the high chair and car seat.
It was only eleven. If I arrived at the farm a minute or two later, it wouldn't make any difference. I could still have Tanya at the Elizabethan long before they took attendance.
I swung into the parking lot, expecting to see Ralph's car, but I didn't. However, a maid's cart stood parked outside his room, blocking open the door.
With a nod to the maid, I darted inside, collected the stack of faxes, and stuck them in my pocket. Without even bothering to look through them, I hurried back to the Porsche and headed for Live Oak Farm.
When I pulled into the yard, a blue Mazda Miata with Washington plates was parked directly in front of the steps. What the hell was Guy Lewis doing here? I wondered uneasily.
After parking between the Mazda and the house, I jumped out of the Porsche and locked it, all in one motion. Then I bounded up a set of newly completed steps. In the course of several days, I had been to Live Oak Farm a number of times. Always before, Sunshine had been there to greet and/or fend off new arrivals. This time the old dog was nowhere in sight. Despite rising midmorning heat, the house seemed unusually deserted and forlorn with the windows closed and the doors shut. It felt odd. I was filled with a sudden sense of foreboding, as though the house were somehow sitting there holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
The push button for the bell had been removed and the wires taped. I knocked. No one answered. I knocked again. Still nothing-no sound of movement inside, no barking dog.
Finally, I reached down and tried the knob. It twisted easily in my hand, and the door swung open. 'Hello,' I called. 'Anybody home?'
As soon as the door opened, I smelled it and knew what it was. Gas. And not just any gas, either. Liquid propane. The whole house reeked of it.
My first thought was to get away. I lived with propane for years out at Lake Tapps, and I know how volatile that heavier-than-air compound can be, how treacherous if let loose into the atmosphere. I don't remember turning or going back out through the door. Without noticing how I got there, I found myself standing in the middle of the porch with my heart pounding frantically in my chest.
And that's when I remembered seeing the propane tank, around back near Amber's enclosed play yard. I remembered all about those tanks well. There would be a shutoff valve on top.
I raced to the end of the porch, hitched my legs up over the rail, and dropped to the ground, landing heavily on my heels. I touched down hard enough to know I'd have to pay for my folly later, but right then, my only thought was to get to that shutoff valve as fast as I could.
I pounded down the side yard. As I passed the basement door, a feeble male voice cried out, 'Help! Please help me!'
My God, someone was in there-trapped in the basement. But the only thing I could do-the only thing to do- was to run on past, and hope to God that I made it to the shutoff valve in time for both of us.
CHAPTER 17
As I struggled to twist the stubborn shutoff valve, my mind sifted through the smidgen of information I could remember about liquid-propane gas, about what it is and how it behaves. LP gas remains liquid only when contained within highly pressurized tanks. After passing through a regulator, it is converted into gas that can then be used to run everything from outdoor barbecues to family clothes dryers.
While still contained in a tank, the mixture, too rich to burn, is relatively harmless. But once released, it grabs hold of any and all neighboring oxygen molecules to create a much leaner and much more volatile mixture. In that condition, even a single spark can set it off. When it goes, it burns at a temperature of 3,500 degrees.
Any fire can be frightening, but 3,500 degrees present a daunting possibility. The very idea scared the hell out of me.
Because propane is heavier than air, it tends to flow like moving water when let loose, pooling in gaseous clouds in low-lying areas, but responding to thermals and drafts as well. I knew that if the upstairs of the house was permeated with the stuff, the basement would be full of it. Propane isn't poisonous, but it displaces oxygen. Not only was the person in the basement in danger of being blown to bits, he was also at risk of suffocation-even if no explosion occurred.
When I finally finished closing the valve, I knew I had lessened the danger somewhat. At least the gas concentration couldn't grow any worse. But that was small consolation. Being killed in a small explosion offers no appreciable advantage to dying in a larger one.
'I'm coming,' I called as I ran back through the side yard. 'Hang on.'
I listened, but there was no answering response. Turning off the valve had occupied only a matter of seconds, but it was possible I was already too late.
I looked despairingly at the solid wood of the basement door where Gordon Fraymore's crime-scene tape had all been removed. My heart fell when I saw the official-looking padlock was still safely in place. If I tried breaking it, would I risk an explosion-detonating spark? I sniffed the air.
Propane itself is odorless, so an evil-smelling sulfur-based compound, ethyl-something-or-other, is added as an odorant at a ratio of about 1 to 80,000, giving the gas its distinctive, carrion-like stench and making it readily detectable. Even outside the door I caught a whiff of the stuff. If the smell was everywhere, so was the propane. Beads of cold sweat trickled down the inside of my shirt, watering the hairs that pricked erect beneath my collar.
I tugged tentatively on the padlock and was astonished when it fell open in my hand. The top had been sawed in half and then repositioned in a way that made it look as though it were still intact. With a single motion, I pulled it off the hasp and threw it down in the grass behind me before wrenching open the door. Immediately, a cloud of propane filled my nostrils as gas trapped in the basement caught the updraft and boiled up into my face.
