“But the peacetime corps is a lot of dull routine, and after the last fiasco we’re not going to see any real commitment of ground forces for some time. Not much point being a soldier without a war. So we thought we’d get out and see how the other half lives.”
“What’ll you do?” Tyler asked.
“As little as possible,” Jack smiled.
“Right now, we’re busy playing tourist. Left Camp Pendleton on Monday, took the Hearst Castle tour at San Simeon, came up through Monterey and Big Sur, stayed a few days in San Francisco. Just seeing the sights.”
“Hanging loose,” Jack said.
The waitress brought the drinks.
“To fortunate encounters,” Nora toasted.
“Hear, hear,” Jack said.
“And thanks for helping us,” Tyler said.
Abe smiled. “Our pleasure.”
They drank. After a few swallows, Jack sighed loudly. “Ah,” he said. “That do hit the spot.”
“You ladies are from Los Angeles,” Abe said. “What brings you up here?”
“Just…” Tyler started.
Nora broke in. “We’re hunting up one of Tyler’s old flames.”
Why did she have to say that? Tyler felt herself blushing. “Well, we were in the area anyway for a conference in San Francisco. We just thought we’d look him up, see how he’s doing.”
Abe looked at her. Was that disappointment in his eyes? Or just interest, curiosity?
Tyler shrugged. “We used to be…very good friends. I haven’t seen him in five years.”
“Hoping to rekindle things?”
She stared down at her margarita. “Something like that, I guess.”
“He’s supposed to be living up in Malcasa Point,” Nora said. “That’s about an hour more up the road. We’ll be spending the night there.”
“Now there’s a coincidence,” Jack said. “So are we.”
Abe looked at his friend and raised his eyebrows.
“Remember in the car? Not half an hour ago. I say, ‘How about stopping the night at that Malcasa Point?’ And you say, ‘Sounds good to me.’”
“That’s right,” Abe said.
“Maybe we’ll run into you gals up there.”
It was Abe’s turn to stare at his drink. He turned the bottle slowly, looking down its neck.
“Who knows?” Jack continued, grinning broadly. “It’s a small world.”
“And a very small town,” Nora added.
“If we just should happen, somehow, to run into you gals, maybe we might buy you dinner.”
“Maybe they’d rather we didn’t,” Abe said.
Tyler scooted down in her seat. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “I might…have other plans. I mean, if I find Dan.”
“If she finds Dan,” Nora said, “I’ll be all alone in a strange town with nothing to do.”
“We’ll take care of that,” Jack told her.
Nora squeezed his thick forearm. “You’ve got a deal. Look, why don’t you guys follow us up so you won’t get lost, and we’ll have us a fancy Marine escort if we run into more weirdos?”
“You bet,” Jack said.
CHAPTER SIX
Brian, sitting on the edge of a bed, saw Janice stride past the front of the rented Mercedes. She saw him watching through the window, and smiled. She had changed into a sleeveless yellow sundress, sashed at the waist, its breeze-blown skirt pressed to her thighs. She carried a stack of white towels. From the crook of her elbow hung a tote bag. “Here she comes,” he said, and took a sip of his martini.
Gorman rushed to open the door. With a slight bow, he said, “Entrez.”
Janice stepped in. Balanced on one foot, she used the sole of a white sneaker to push the door shut behind her. Gorman lifted the towels from her arms. He set them on the dressing table, and smiled at her like a gracious host. “Pull up a bed, my dear.”
“Thanks,” she said in a thin voice. She sounded very nervous. She gave Brian a quick, tight-lipped smile, and sat on a corner of the other bed, her knees pointed away from him. After lowering her bag to the floor, she sat up straight and rigid. She smoothed the skirt against her thighs. She licked her lips. “Is…are the rooms okay?” she asked, glancing from Brian to Gorman.
“They’re charming,” Gorman said. “Would you care for a cocktail?”
She nodded, her bangs stirring against her forehead. “Sure, okay.”
“Should we card her?” Brian asked.
She let out a quiet, uneasy laugh. “I confess. I’m only eighteen.”
“Close enough,” Brian said. “Just don’t tell on us.”
This time her laughter was not so strained. She turned her head to watch Gorman pour two fingers of martini into one of the motel tumblers. He set down the glass shaker, skewered an olive with a cutlass toothpick, and plopped it into her drink. He handed the glass to Janice, freshened Brian’s drink and his own, then swung out a chair and sat facing her. He raised his glass to eye level. “Let me propose a toast. To Beast House, our partnership, and our imminent prosperity.”
They clinked the rims of their glasses, and drank. Janice took a small sip. She grimaced and smiled, then tried another sip and nodded as if this one was an improvement.
“Too much vermouth?” Gorman asked.
“No, it’s fine. Just fine.”
“Now shall we, as they say, talk turkey?”
“Fine.”
“I’ve given much thought to your proposal of a fifty-fifty split and while it does seem rather steep, there would, as you pointed out, be no book without your cooperation. It is, after all, your idea. And you are the one, after all, in possession of the diary. Therefore, I’ve concluded that your request is reasonable.” Her eyebrows lifted, disappearing under the curtain of bangs. “That means you’ll go for it?”
“That means I’ll go for it.”
“Great.”
“Brian?”
Brian set aside his drink and snapped open the latches of an attaché case beside him on the bed. He raised the top, removed a manila file folder, and slipped out two neatly typed papers. He handed both sheets to Janice.
“I took the liberty,” Gorman explained, “of writing up an agreement. It spells out, basically, that I’ll be sole owner of the copyright, that you’ll be free of any liability in connection with the proposed work, and that you’ll receive a fifty percent share of the proceeds from any and all sales. It also stipulates that your participation in the project shall be kept secret. I added that for your benefit, since you seemed to believe you might be in some danger if your involvement became known.”
Nodding, she read the top sheet. When she finished, she slipped the other one over it.
“They’re identical,” Gorman said.
She scanned it. “Well, they look fine to me.”
Leaning forward, Gorman held out his gold-plated Cross pen. “If you’ll sign and date both copies…”
She pressed the papers against her thigh, and scribbled her signature and the day’s date at the bottom of each contract. Both had already been signed by Gorman Hardy two weeks ago.
“One’s for you and one’s for us,” Brian said. She handed one of the sheets to him. She returned the pen to Gorman. She folded her copy into thirds, and slipped it into her tote. Reaching down beside a folded sweater, she pulled out a thin, leatherbound volume. A brass lock-plate was set into its front cover, but the latch hung loose by the strap on the back.
“The diary?” Gorman asked.
“It’s all yours.” She gave it to him, and took a hefty swallow of martini.
Gorman opened the book to its first page. “‘My Diary,’” he read aloud, “‘Being a True Account of My Life and Most Private Affairs, Volume twelve, in the year of our Lord 1903. Elizabeth Mason Thorn.’ Fabulous,” he muttered, and riffled through the pages.