“If you want to leave now, I’ll be glad to take you.”
“I’ll get John Thompson to drop us off.”
Mervyn started for the door before Boce could change his mind. But Boce said, “Hold on. I’d better see if Harriet wants to go.”
Harriet, face flushed, hair in wisps, was in the process of pouring herself another glass of wine.
“She’s settling in,” said Mervyn, edging toward the door.
“Yeah. Maybe so. But on the other hand—”
“On what other hand?” asked Mervyn in irritation.
“I need a set of wheels tomorrow. For maybe half an hour. I’ll take the convert, if you’re not using it?”
“Yes, yes, anything. Put some gas in it. Last time you used it I had to coast to the service station.”
“Right.” The accountant was once more all jolly good humor. “Good night, old man, happy dreams, drive carefully.”
Mervyn departed, his relief at being able to leave Boce and Harriet Brill soured by the knowledge that once more the fat man had outwitted him. Monday, for sure, he’d sell the car.
Susie was not waiting in the Volkswagen. Mervyn was not surprised. He backed around, started down the hill.
A hundred yards down, his headlights picked up Susie’s slender figure. She was marching along with the determination of an Amazon. Mervyn stopped the car and opened the door. Susie climbed in.
Mervyn said in a mild voice, “I suppose it’s useless to inquire into the reason for your peculiar behavior?”
Susie answered in an even milder voice, “I’m in the process of learning things about myself. The way I act under peculiar conditions. Peculiar conditions seem to call forth peculiar behavior.”
Mervyn puzzled over the remark. It seemed almost a covert challenge, as if Susie was daring him to ask for an explanation.
The silence became oppressive, so Mervyn asked. “What are you going to do this summer?”
“I’m not going to Tahoe.” Susie and Mary had half-seriously considered taking summer jobs at one of the Lake Tahoe resorts. “I’ll probably sign up for summer session.”
She looked at him for the first time since she had got in the car. Mervyn could not read her expression in the dark — but, for that matter, he seldom could do so in the full light of day. “What about you?”
“I’ve still got my thesis,” Mervyn answered. “I suppose I’ll concentrate on that.”
“No classes?”
“None till fall.”
They reached the bottom of the hill and Mervyn slowed down. He drove south along Perdue Street to the Yerba Buena Garden Apartments. Susie jumped out, thanked him briefly, ran up the stairs to the balcony, and along the deck to Apartment 12. Mervyn proceeded to his own apartment. As he opened his door he glanced back and saw Susie in the process of opening her door, looking down over her shoulder at him. Then the door closed behind her.
The next morning Mervyn was awakened by a rattling of the doorknob and vigorous pounding. Groaning, he looked at his clock: ten minutes to ten. He swung his legs out of bed and shuffled to the door.
The noisemaker was John Boce, dressed in suntans and glossy white windbreaker. He had on a long-billed blue baseball cap and dark glasses. Before Mervyn could speak, he raised a monitory hand. “I regret the intrusion, Mervyn. I come about the Chevrolet. You have practically convinced me that it’s a sound investment.”
“Take it,” growled Mervyn. “Take it and go away.”
“Exactly,” said Boce. “Where is it?”
“Where is it? Where it always is — out in the back garage.”
“I’m afraid not.”
Mervyn stared. “What are you talking about? It’s got to be there.”
“Well, it isn’t. Go look for yourself.”
Mervyn donned slippers and bathrobe and went with the accountant through the gate at the rear of the court. The long shed that served as garage for the apartments was open. Three cars were housed here, none of them the mint-green convertible.
Mervyn walked to the street and looked up and down. No convertible in sight.
“Did you lend it to anyone?” asked John Boce suspiciously.
“No.”
“When was the last time you saw it?”
“I don’t remember exactly. Thursday or Friday, I suppose.”
“Better report it stolen.”
“Who’d steal a beat-up old crock like that?”
“This,” said Boce in a measured voice, “is the car you’ve been trying to sell me.”
Mervyn ignored him. “Whoever took it must have known about the trick ignition switch.”
“Which of your friends would be most likely to steal your car?”
“Any of them. All of them.”
They returned to Mervyn’s apartment. Mervyn started the coffeepot. While he waited, he went to the telephone and called several of his acquaintances. No one had seen the convertible.
“This is a fine how-de-do,” Boce said, with a suspicious glance at Mervyn. “Unless you’re putting me on.”
“No,” Mervyn answered wearily. “You conned me fair and square. I’d resigned myself.”
“Could Mary Hazelwood have taken it?”
“I’d hardly think so.”
“It’s possible. She knew about the ignition switch.”
“She wouldn’t have taken it without telling me. It’s been stolen.” Mervyn took up the telephone, called the State Highway Patrol and reported the loss. “That’s that.”
The accountant poured himself some coffee. “It’s a loss I feel as deeply as you.”
“Even deeper, since you weren’t troubled by maintenance costs.”
“Come now, Mervyn. As you know, I was on the point of buying the car.”
“I wish we’d completed the transaction last week.”
Boce shook his head. “Mervyn, this is a quality in you I can’t admire. Think big, man! What else is there in life but bringing happiness to others?”
“It’s great, I agree. If others bring happiness to me. Instead, they steal my car.”
“You’ll get it back. In the meantime I’ve got this ravishing creature waiting, and no wheels.”
“If it’s Harriet, why not use Harriet’s car?”
“It’s not Harriet and I don’t dare borrow her car. Not any more. I used my sick uncle in San Francisco once too often. She telephoned and found he’d gone to Las Vegas for the weekend. Something I couldn’t explain. So here I am, relying on you.”
“In other words, you want the Volkswagen.”
“I don’t see how you can say no under the circumstances.”
“It’s hard, I agree,” said Mervyn. “I don’t have a leg to stand on, except that I want to use it myself.”
“I thought you were working on your thesis.”
In the end, protesting and complaining, Mervyn tossed over the keys. John Boce jingled them with satisfaction. Mervyn muttered, “I must still be half asleep. How about leaving me a gallon or two of gas?”
The big man heaved himself to his feet. “Say no more. John Boce’s generosity is proverbial.”
At nine o’clock on the morning of June eighteenth, Mervyn’s telephone rang.
“Hello.”
“This is Sergeant Erickson, State Highway Patrol. Mr. Mervyn Gray, please.”
“I’m Mervyn Gray.”
“Mr. Gray, we’ve found your Chevrolet convertible.”
“In one piece?”
“Apparently. Hasn’t been stripped, anyway. Somebody must have taken a joy ride. It turned up on the outskirts of Madera.”
“Madera?”
“That’s right. Just this side of Fresno.”
“That’s a hundred and fifty miles!”
“You’re lucky it wasn’t San Diego.”
“I guess you’re right. What do I do now?”
“You can pick it up any time. We’ve towed it to the Sterling Garage in Madera, at Fourth and Willow. Bring identification and proof of ownership, and she’s yours. There’ll be a day or two storage charges.”