“The girl he called Tippy, am I right?”
Tyler nodded.
“Tippy?” Nora asked.
“Short for Tippecanoe,” she explained. “Tippecanoe and Tyler, too.”
“That’s Dan. Always one for the nicknames. I was always Barbie Doll. I lived down in number one, back when he was here. He used to have me up for pizza. Oh, he made luscious pizza.”
“My recipe,” Tyler muttered. She felt an ache like homesickness. “I showed him how to make it.”
“Oh, I’m drooling at the thought of it. How I miss his pizza.”
“I could send you the recipe.”
“Would you?” She snatched Tyler’s hand and squeezed it. “You’re such a dear. It’s no wonder at all Dan was that stuck on you. He’ll be tickled to death to see you again. You will be…?”
“Then you know where he is?” Nora asked.
“Why, sure.”
Tyler’s heart lurched.
“He left here…oh, better than two years ago. I moved right in. My old apartment was so cramped, it was like living in a closet. This is two bedrooms, you know. Gives me some space to spread out. A girl needs her elbow room.”
“Is Dan still in Mill Valley?” Nora persisted.
“Oh no. He took a job on the force up at Malcasa Point. Said he wanted to get out of the Bay Area, though I can’t imagine why. You know Malcasa? No? Let me tell you, it’s the sticks. I can’t feature anyone living there. But different strokes, am I right? Not even a decent restaurant, much less a movie theater. I doubt there’s a shopping mall within fifty miles. When I say sticks, I mean sticks. But that’s what he wanted and that’s what he got.”
“Malcasa Point?” Nora asked.
“Hang on a sec, I’ll get the address.” As she stepped over to a lamp table, she kept talking over her shoulder. “I’ll admit, now, I haven’t heard from him in a year or better. Got a card from him last Christmas—no, that was two Christmases ago, not long after he moved. Seemed to like it fine up there.” She took an address book from the lamp-table drawer, and came back. “I sent him a postcard from Naples this past December. Spent the holidays there. Oh, a marvelous city, Naples.” She flipped through the pages of her book. “Ah, here we be. Jenson, Dan. Ten Seaside Lane, Malcasa Point.”
Tyler’s hand trembled badly as she scribbled the information on a notepad. “Why don’t you give me your name? Is it Lawrence?”
“Righto. Barbara Lawrence. That’s Barbara with three a’s, not like Streisand. Can you imagine, Barbra? Sounds like a steel brassière, am I right?”
“When Dan wrote to you,” Nora said, “did he say anything about being married?”
“Not a word. Single, far as I know.” She winked at Tyler. “Now you will send me that recipe, won’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
“How far is this Malcasa Point?” Nora asked.
“Oh, you can make it in, I’d say, maybe three hours. That’s if you don’t dawdle. You go straight up the Coast Highway, on a good piece past Bodega. You have a map?”
“In the car.”
“Well, you can’t miss it. Now, make sure you give Dan regards from Barbie Doll.”
“We’ll do that,” Tyler assured her.
“And for the love of Mike, whatever you do up there, don’t miss the Beast House tour. Tacky tacky. You’ll love it. It’s a scream.”
CHAPTER TWO
After five minutes on the narrow, twisting Coast Highway with its cliff only yards away and the ocean far below, Tyler fastened her seat belt.
“Might be better off without it,” Nora told her.
“You’re right.” She opened the buckle. “It’d hinder my leap.”
“I’m just glad we’re on the inside lane.”
“We won’t be, coming back.”
“Let’s take an inland route.” Nora picked up the map and studied it for two or three minutes. “Maybe take one-twenty-eight over to one-oh-one.”
“Whatever,” Tyler said. “We can worry about it when the times comes.”
“I think we’d better plan on spending the night in Malcasa. It’ll be mid-afternoon by the time we get there.”
“Let’s just play it by ear.”
“Wonder what it’s got in the way of motels.” She opened the glove compartment and pulled out the Automobile Club tour guide for California and Nevada. “Let’s see here. We already know there’re no decent restaurants, much less a movie theater.” She flipped through the pages. “Here we go. Los Gatos, Madera, Mommoth Lakes. Whoops, no Malcasa Point. Maybe we won’t spend the night.”
“Every town has a motel. There must be at least one.”
“I hope so. Nothing Triple-A-approved, though. Maybe a fleabag or two. Let’s see what the little burg’s got in the way of attractions.” She turned toward the front of the book. “Malcasa, Malcasa,” she mumbled as she searched. “Ah-ha! It’s actually here, can you believe it? Malcasa Point, altitude thirty-four feet. Such height! Hope I don’t get nosebleeds. Only one entry for the place. Beast House. Not to be confused with Animal House.” She chuckled at her little joke, then began to read aloud from the guide book. “Beast House, 10 Front Street. Claimed to be the scene of several grisly murders, this Victorian relic was built in 1902 by the widow of the notorious outlaw, Lyle Thorn. Featured are displays of the murder scenes with lifelike wax figures depicting the victims. Tours daily ten till four; closed holidays. Adults four dollars, under twelve, two dollars.’ Maybe we can take it in while we’re there.”
“Barbie Doll thought highly of it,” Tyler said.
“Right. Tacky tacky.”
In the rearview mirror, Tyler saw a Porsche closing in fast. She held her breath as it swung out and roared alongside. It shot by. It swerved back into the lane, missing their front bumper by inches, just in time to avoid a head-on with an approaching station wagon.
“Asshole,” Nora muttered. “Porsches, VW bugs, and pickup trucks. Gotta watch out for ’em. They’ve all got maniacs behind the wheel.”
“Not to mention the big rigs,” Tyler said. “At least there’s none of them along here. Nothing like an eighteen-wheeler tailgating you.”
“They’re murder. Somebody ought to build a truckers museum and fill it with wax figures depicting their victims.”
“Call it Peterbilt House.”
They stopped for lunch at a restaurant overlooking the water of Bodega Bay. Nora drank Dos Equiis with her plate of fried clams. Tyler, nervous about the twisting road ahead, had a glass of Pepsi with her cheeseburger.
“Look familiar?” she asked, nodding at the expanse of glinting water beyond the window.
“Should it?” Nora asked.
“Remember The Birds?”
“The film?”
She nodded, and bit into her burger. Juice dribbled down her chin. She mopped it off with a napkin. “Yeah,” she said. “Way across there? That peninsula’s where Rod Taylor lived.”
“No kidding?”
“Remember? Tippi Hedren took a motorboat across to it, and that bird divebombed her?”
“Sure. So that’s where it happened. I’ll be damned. I saw that film three or four times.”
“The schoolhouse is around here someplace, I think.”
“How about the Bates Motel?”
“Wrong movie.”
“That’s probably up at Malcasa Point. The one Triple A won’t approve.”
“Actually, it’s at Universal Studios.”
“I know that, dimbo. Just making a little joke.”
On the way out of Bodega, they drove past a small, wood-frame schoolhouse. “Bet that’s the one they used,” Tyler said.