RV looked all right, he could see in through the side windows that it was still full of the boxes, just as he’d left it. Turning, he surveyed the fusty room with its faded brown wallpaper and ragged curtains. Some send-off for a trip that they’d meant to be fancy. A trip she’d meant to be an upscale vacation, spending the money they’d pocket from their neighbors’ treasures. They’d set it up so well. And she had to go and ruin it.
Ever since they’d moved into that neighborhood they’d been friendly with the neighbors, had made it a point to be. Three other couples they’d gotten along with well, they’d made a good group. He sat down on the bed, drinking his coffee.
He wondered if, when his face had healed and things cooled down, he could return home, keep on in the same vein with the neighbors and no one the wiser. Act grateful for his friends’ condolences about her leaving him, exchange sympathy with them about their mutual burglaries, keep right on enjoying their company. They’d had some fun parties, the eight of them. Potlucks, card games, cookouts. He wondered if he could get away with that as smoothly as they’d pulled off other jobs, in other cities. She’d say that what someone didn’t know would never hurt them.
He missed her. Why the hell did she have to be so clumsy? He thought again that he could have called the paramedics. But that wouldn’t have saved her, she was dead seconds after her head hit the tile coping. He could have called the cops, told them she fell, but who would have believed him? Believed he didn’t push her, that he hadn’t murdered her even if it had been her fault?
He had to quit thinking about it. It was over, she was gone. Buried where no one would ever think to look. He had to get on with it now, and he could sure use the money, would need it if he decided not to go back. He didn’t know how that would play out, that would depend on what the cops found, on what he read in the papers-if it was all reported. If the damn cops didn’t hold something back, trying to trap him.
Biggest problem was, he’d laid no groundwork in the neighborhood for her leaving him, he hadn’t planned on this. He hadn’t dropped hints that they might be having problems, and she would have no reason to say that. He’d made no big withdrawal from her account for the cops to discover, as if she planned to leave him. No secret plane reservations on her Visa. He’d have to say it was a spur-of-the-moment blowup, that they’d had their little tiffs but he’d never dreamed she’d get mad enough to leave, to just walk out on him. Have to say they’d kept their differences to themselves, that they’d had a far worse argument than usual. By the time he got up to Washington State he’d have worked out the details to make it look reasonable. He’d have to do this tedious stuff on his own, now, working out all the picky details.
Last night after changing the tire, after pulling away in the dark, leaving his lights off until he was clear of the cops below, he’d felt physically ill at their presence down there. Heading toward the highway he’d felt ice cold, and his stomach had been churning. Who the hell had called the cops? What had someone seen? Had they seen him? Seen the RV? Right now, was every CHP on the highway watching for an old brown RV that wouldn’t be hard to spot?
Rising, he went into the tiny bathroom where he showered, trying to keep the hot water off his face. It stung like hell, and he didn’t want it bleeding any worse. He wasn’t hungry but he thought he’d better eat. Maybe some break fast would make him feel better. He badly wanted to see a newspaper, see if the burglaries were in it. Molena Point wasn’t that far away.
Before checking out, he tried the TV but by the time he turned it on there was no more news, it was all daytime programs, as murky as the oily dregs in the coffeepot. He finally found a local channel with some news. He watched that for nearly an hour but there was no mention of Molena Point. His stomach awash with coffee, he knew he had to eat.
Leaving the room, he walked past the elevator to where a window was open at the front of the building, stood looking out through the greasy curtains, up and down the street. He could see nothing like a restaurant, not even some kind of hole-in-the-wall grocery that would have packaged snacks and newspapers. Maybe better to hit the road, find somewhere to eat on his way to the city. Approaching San Francisco, there’d be plenty of restaurants.
Returning to the room, grabbing the small duffle that he’d brought in with him last night, he walked down the one flight, stopped at the desk to pay his bill. The clerk was young and pudgy; she avoided looking at his face. When he told her he might be back that night, she wanted him to make a reservation, and that made him laugh. As if they were expecting a big crowd, were booked solid with upscale tourists or some medical convention. The quality of this place, they couldn’t count on a convention of second-rate hookers. Paying his bill in cash, which the clerk didn’t question, he went around to get the RV.
No, nothing had been disturbed. When he slipped in, locked the driver’s door, and went to look in the back, the boxes and furniture and rolled rugs were just as he’d left them. Starting the engine and moving out to the street, he stayed in the scuzzy neighborhood, driving the narrow streets looking for someplace for breakfast. Once he’d eaten he meant to return to Highway 1, stay on the coast, away from cops and traffic. As soon as he’d taken care of business in the city, dumped the RV and bought a car, he could move north on any route he chose, he wouldn’t be recognized then. Meanwhile, the day was clear and bright, the sea reflected the sun cheerfully, and he might as well enjoy the ride. After a week or two, he’d decide whether to go back and say she’d left him, or to keep moving.
36
THE THREE CATS watched from Ryan’s truck as Dallas and John Bern emerged from the pit with the wrapped body on a stretcher and lifted her into Bern ’s van. She was fully covered by the body bag, and the cats were relieved not to have to look on her face in death. They wanted to keep their own picture of Theresa, her eyes laughing down at them, her hands gentle and warm as she stroked them, her round cheeks pink with health and life. They didn’t want to remember her sunny face as the waxen face of a corpse.
As the coroner’s van pulled away, Dallas followed in his dusty Blazer, leaving the house encircled by crime tape. Max had already left to return to court and then to pick up Charlie, to head for the morgue. As soon as everyone else was gone, Ryan stepped to the bed of her truck and pulled aside the tarp where the cats were huddled.
“Come on, you three,” she said gently, reaching to stroke sad little Dulcie. She looked into their eyes, so miserable. There was nothing she could say to ease their pain over this woman she’d never met. While Charlie knew the four couples well, she didn’t know them at all. “I’ll take you home,” she said softly, “if that’s where you want to go. Come up front with me, where it’s warmer.”