In studying her possibilities for survival, she concluded she must somehow attract attention from the outside to the apartment. The physical setup, though, was against her. The windows were nailed fast, and those in the living room hung with curtains too heavy to see through. Only ten feet beyond was the brick wall of the next building. Since the apartment was on the rear, only an occasional person passed by. In the kitchen itself Dan kept the Venetian shades drawn, which was logical since the sun struck that side until midafternoon.
As a result of her bank training, she examined every possibility carefully. If she had known about electricity, she could have shorted a wire, blown a fuse, and brought someone into the apartment. But she hadn’t the faintest idea how to induce a short.
The next possibility that had occurred was to start a fire. She watched for a chance to drop a match into the kitchen wastebasket but Dan kept her under close observation. Then, three days ago, she reshaped the idea. She left a roast in the oven, turned the flame to five hundred, and propped the oven door open slightly with a knife. As she left the kitchen, she closed the door. She had hoped the roast would burn, the smoke fill the kitchen and seep out the back window, and a passer-by call the fire department. But Dan, always alert, smelled the smoke before it had accumulated sufficiently. Instead of opening the outside door to air the kitchen, he turned on the exhaust fan, and they sat in the smoke until the fan slowly carried it out. “What you trying to do, get the fire department in here?” he asked with that uncanny instinct for seeing through a matter. But while he might besuspicious, he could not be sure. Accidents like that did happen. After that, however, he checked the burners before they left the kitchen.
And then last night this stray cat had offered her another chance. By now someone had found the watch. The question in her mind was, would they identify the watch? Surely the newspapers had carried her description and what she was wearing. Surely her father had given them the photograph taken at a bank picnic only a month ago, and she had had the watch on her left wrist at the time. She had no idea, though, what the newspapers had printed. Dan and Sammy clipped out stories relating to the crime before passing the papers to her. Twice when news broadcasts came over about the holdup, they switched to other stations.
And another fear ate into her. Would the newspapers carry the story if the watch were found? If they did, she was dead. Literally dead. Surely the police would realize this. But then again, maybe the cat’s folks would tell the newspapers.
As if he were reading her mind, Dan asked,“What time you got, sweetheart?”
She went about the chore of turning the bacon with a steadiness that belied the grab of her heart. “I don’t know. I’ve misplaced my watch. When I got up this morning, it wasn’t on the night table. I must’ve put it down somewhere.”
Sammy’s voice came over from the living room. “You’re getting old, Jenkins.”
“She’s not that old,” Dan said softly, and to her, “You don’t just lose a watch in a three-room apartment.”
“I’d lose my head if it weren’t screwed on.”
Dan was not to be diverted.“You try real hard to find it, huh? Right after breakfast you start looking, and you keep looking until you find it. We wouldn’t want you to lose your watch, would we, Sammy?”
Sammy laughed.“You don’t think we swiped it, do you, Jenkins?”
Dan was smart. She wondered how long it would take him to think back to the cat.
12
Patti applied her make-up swiftly and expertly. She had told Greg she would come over to his house when she was ready for their date. Ingrid, she had said, would be having friends in and it might be awkward if he called for her. She couldn’t have him accidentally discovering Zeke.
On her way out, she looked in on Zeke and D.C. Zeke smiled and rose quickly from the chintz chair.
“He won’t get hurt, will he?” she asked. “I mean, if there’s any shooting?
“
Zeke sobered.“I promise you I won’t let anything happen to him. We’ll wait until he’s out of the place before we move in.”
He was sincere. No matter what he thought of the party in question, he would take every possible step to safeguard him. The Bureau would expect no less. An agent must never permit his personal feelings to influence him in his relationships with people, which he guessed included cats since all cat lovers took the cats’ point of view that they were people.
She experienced a warm glow. Just talking with Zeke Kelso was as comforting as stepping into the sun on a day when golden aspen leaves were falling. He was totally unlike Greg. He moved and talked slower, as if he had no place to go and was in no rush to get there. And still, he gave an impression of quiet determination and singleness of purpose that would carry him plodding over any mountain.
Dropping to the bed, she rubbed D.C.‘s ears. He looked up at her with adoration, and twisted his head about so he could lick her wrist. This was his girl. He hadn’t reared her, as he had Inky and Mike, but he was just as fond of her. When the others forgot, she remembered his dinner. And she was quieter. In times of stress he could climb into her lap and be assured of a haven where he could rest body and mind.
“I won’t be home until about eleven,” she said, “but Inky and Mike will be here, and if there’s anything you want they’ll take care of it. You’ll find them very dependable.”
He thanked her, and watched as her trim, sharply delineated figure glided out the door and turned left.
In the dining room she stopped before the mirror above the chest for one final check. She had had only one slice of meat for lunch, and some unborn peas, which her Uncle Bob would have said were a great waste of pea potential. And she swore they showed in a neat little pad on her right hip. She remembered then to get two frozen dinners out of the deep freeze for Mike and Ingrid. Zeke had had dinner, so he said, prior to arriving.
In the living room she stopped very still on discovering Inky crying, then dropped quickly beside her on the divan, taking her into her arms. On the record player in the far cor ner“The Unfinished Symphony” was approaching its conclusion.
“Hon, what in the world?” Patti asked.
“It’s so beautiful,” Inky managed to say. “So beautiful.”
Patti stood up quickly, letting Inky drop.“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ingrid Randall, act your age. Why do you play it if you know you’re going to cry?”
“I felt like crying. I just felt like it ? and it’s so beautiful I can’t help it.”
Honestly, that kid. Her record collection included Beethoven, Bob Newhart, Wagner, Pat Boone, Verdi, Ella Fitzgerald, Julie London, Debussy.
Inky continued,“I guess I’m going to have to go to the dance with Eddie. I thought sure Tommy was going to ask me. His sister said he was but I can’t wait much longer. Oh, sis, why can’t a girl ask a boy? Why must it always be the boy?”
“It’s man’s last stand in a changing world. Something like Custer’s.”
She was about to leave when she remembered how shattering these crises could be. Turning back, she said, “Look, hon, sometimes a real sensitive guy has a hard time getting up enough courage to invite a girl. Why don’t you ask him casually if you’re going to see him at the dance? You know, be subtle in a sledge hammer sort of way.”
Ingrid’s tears vanished. Going out the door, Patti said, “See you about eleven. Take good care of the FBI agent. I’m not sure he’s safe around D.C.” As she closed the door, she added, “Or you either.”
She hurried down the path to the sidewalk, conscious that Mrs. Macdougall was watering the roses again. No wonder they didn’t bloom. They were always going under for the third time. Patti called out hello, and Mrs. Macdougall nodded in a robot kind of manner. She hadn’t smiled in a quarter of a century and had no intention of shattering precedent. She said something that Patti didn’t hear. Overhead there was the roar of sound chasing jets around.