“That doesn’t sound like the sort of vacation a rich beautiful woman would plan for herself.”
“Not unless she liked surfing. Or surfers. Anyway, she went.”
“When she came back,” Aragon said, “did she look like a woman who’d just spent a couple of weeks lying on a beach?”
“No. She avoids the sun and salt water because they dry the skin. Even when she sits on the terrace here she hides under an umbrella and a wide-brimmed hat and a robe big enough for three Arabs and a camel.”
“You’re sure about the camel?”
She smiled faintly. “All right, scratch the camel and one Arab. The general picture remains the same.”
“Where is Pasoloma?”
“I looked for it on the map once and couldn’t find it. But I think it’s fairly close to the border because they always took their car and Mr. Shaw refused to drive long distances.”
He figured that would put it somewhere in the northern part of Baja California. During the Lockwood case, he’d covered the area by car and he couldn’t recall even a small village by that name. Either Ellen Brewster had made a mistake — which seemed unlikely — or else Pasoloma wasn’t a geographical location at all but merely the name of a resort where people went to swim in the surf or lie on the beach or charter a boat for deep-sea fishing. If so, it was a peculiar choice for a woman who didn’t like any of those things. Maybe Pasoloma offered other enticements Mrs. Shaw hadn’t mentioned to anyone at the Penguin Club.
Aragon said, “Is there a phone booth around?”
“At the south end of the corridor. But you can use the phone on my desk if it’s for a local call.”
“It’s not.”
“Oh. Well.” She looked slightly annoyed, as though she considered listening to other people’s talk a privilege that came with her territory.
“I am going to call my wife,” Aragon said. “She works at a hospital in San Francisco and the call will be put through a switchboard. The operators all know my voice and are certain to monitor the conversation, so it won’t be very interesting.”
“Why tell me?”
“I wouldn’t want you to think you’re missing anything.”
The switchboard operator at the hospital recognized his voice.
“Dr. MacGregor’s on Ward C right now, Mr. Aragon. You want me to page her?”
“Please.”
“Hold on. Won’t take a minute.”
The minute dragged out to three. He put in four more quarters, and as the last one clanked into its slot he heard Laurie’s voice.
“Tom?”
“Hi.”
There was a silence, the kind there often was at the beginning of their calls, as if they were trying to bridge the distance between them and it seemed, for a time, impossible.
Then, “Laurie, are you there?”
“Yes.”
“Can we talk?”
“Business-type stuff only. I’m on duty.”
“This is a business call.”
“Really?”
“You’ve just been appointed my special assistant in charge of regenerative processes.”
“What’s the salary?”
“It’s a purely honorary position.”
“I figured it would be,” she said. “You’re a terrible tightwad.”
“Of course, if you’re not interested, there’s a roster of beautiful blondes whose qualifications I’ve been studying.”
“Tell them to get lost. Now, what exactly do you mean by regenerative processes?”
“I’ve been doing a rundown on rejuvenation clinics. Most of them operate outside the country because they use illegal drugs or unorthodox methods, shots of KH-3, monkey and lamb embryo glands, hypnotherapy, plasmapheresis, deep sleep, et cetera.”
“So?”
He hesitated. “I’d like you to find out if there’s one that uses goat glands.”
“Goat glands? Now what have you got yourself into?”
“The story’s kind of long and I’m running out of change. Will you do it?”
“I guess so. How do you know such a place exists?”
“Smedler’s wife heard about it at the country club. Do you think you can find out by tonight? I’ll be at the apartment from six—”
There was a sudden click and the long-distance operator’s voice: “Your time is up. Please deposit another twenty-five cents.”
“All I’ve got is two dimes. Will you—?” She wouldn’t. The line went dead. He spoke into it anyway. “Hey Laurie, I forgot to tell you I love you.”
The Admiral’s daughters came charging through the front door, pursued by the dust devils that were whirling down the road behind them.
Neither wind nor sun had affected Cordelia’s face, which remained as sallow and somber as usual, but Juliet had turned pink from her forehead all the way down to the pearl choker that emphasized the neckline of her favorite thrift shop dress. Everything about her seemed to be in motion at the same time, as though one of the dust devils had caught her and infected her with frenzy. She shook her head and giggled and moved her arms around so that her bracelets kept jangling, clank, clank, clank. Cordelia didn’t have on as many bracelets but she wore a ruby and silver necklace, jade earrings, a pair of ruby-eyed owl pins, a diamond-studded pendant watch, a gold wristwatch and half a dozen rings.
Cordelia gave her sister a kick on the ankle to calm her down and said to Ellen, “We are back. Notice anything different about us?”
“Your mother was here,” Ellen said. “She left half an hour ago.”
“You’re avoiding the subject. Besides, she never comes to this place anymore. She hates it.”
“Considers it gross,” Juliet added. “Hoi polloi.”
“You must notice something different about us. If you don’t, you’re not trying. Concentrate. Use your eyes.”
“And ears. That’s a clue. Use your ears. Listen.”
Ellen listened and heard clank, clank, clank, clank. “The bracelets? Has it anything to do with the bracelets?”
“Not just the bracelets,” Cordelia said sharply. “Everything. We’ve changed our image.”
“Cordelia read about it in a magazine.”
“I thought about it before I ever read it in a magazine. That was merely the clincher, an article on How to Change Your Image in Twenty-Four Hours. So we went down to the bank this morning and took our jewelry out of the safe-deposit box and we’re going to wear it from now on, everywhere we go, night and day, even in bed. We are sick of being plain.”
“No more plain.”
“You are looking at the new us.”
“The new us.” Beneath the excitement there was a note of anxiety in Juliet’s voice. “In bed, Cordelia? My earrings hurt already and I’m not even lying down yet.”
“Stop fussing. Nobody gets a new image for nothing.”
“Well, I don’t see why it has to hurt. Are you sure the article specified in bed?”
“It did.”
“I’m going to hate that part. It’s fine for you, you sleep flat on your back like you’re on an operating table having your gall bladder out. But I’m a side sleeper.”
“You’ll have to change. That’s what this is all about, change. You’re the new you now, so act like it.”
The new Juliet nodded. The old Juliet simply decided to cheat. Instead of wearing the earrings at night, she would keep them on her bedside table so that in case of an earthquake or fire she could put them on in a hurry. No one would be any the wiser, unless Cordelia got scared by a strange noise and came barging into her room in the middle of the night. Anyway, the new Cordelia might not be scared of strange noises.
Cordelia fingered the ruby and silver necklace. “You don’t recognize this, do you, Ellen? Ha, I knew you wouldn’t. You’re not a noticer the way I am.”