I drove past the house slowly: I could hear the sounds of stereo music through open windows. Better not to know exactly what it was like inside. Sometimes a little mystery is best.
That evening after dinner I sat on the porch with Bill, trying to think of anything else I should run through his mind. As I kept drawing blanks, he was the first to renew our serial conversation:
“Something else,” he began.
“Yes?”
“Dan Martinez struck up his conversation with you by alluding to Luke’s attempts to locate investors for some sort of computer company. You later felt that the whole thing could simply have been a ploy, to get you off guard and then hit you with that question about Amber and Chaos.”
“Right.”
“But then Luke really did raise the matter of doing something along those lines. He insisted, though, that he had not been in touch with potential investors and that he had never heard of Dan Martinez. When he saw the man dead later he still maintained that he’d never met him.”
I nodded.
“Then either Luke was lying, or Martinez had somehow learned his plans.”
“I don’t think Luke was lying,” I said. “In fact, I’ve been thinking about that whole business some more. Just knowing him as I do, I don’t believe Luke would have gone around looking for investors until he was sure there was something to put the money into. I think he was telling the truth on that, too. It seems more likely to me that this might have been the only real coincidence in everything that’s happened so far. I have the feeling that Martinez knew a lot about Luke and just wanted that one final piece of information — about his knowledge of Amber and the Courts. I think he was very shrewd, and on the basis of what he knew already he was able to concoct something that seemed plausible to me, knowing I’d worked for the same company as Luke.”
“I suppose it’s possible,” he said. “But then when Luke really did — ”
“I’m beginning to believe,” I interrupted, “that Luke story was phoney, too.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“I think he put it together the same way Martinez did, and for — similar reasons — to sound plausible to me so that he could get some information he wanted.”
“You’ve lost me. What information?”
“My Ghostwheel. He wanted to know what it was.”
“And he was disappointed to learn that it was just an exercise in exotic design, for other reasons than building a company?”
Bill caught my smile as I nodded.
“There’s more?” he said. Then: “Wait. Don’t tell me. You were lying, too. It’s something real.”
“Yes.”
“I probably shouldn’t even ask — unless you think it’s material and want to tell me. If it’s something big and very important it could be gotten out of me, you know. I have a low tolerance for pain. Think about it.”
I did. I sat there for some time, musing.
“I suppose it could be,” I said finally, “in a sort of peripheral way I’m sure you’re not referring to. But I don’t see how it could be — as you say — material. Not to Luke or to anyone else — because nobody even knows what it is but me. No. I can’t see how it enters the equation beyond Luke’s curiosity about it. So I think I’ll follow your suggestion and just keep it off the record.”
“Fine with me,” he said. “Then there is the matter of Luke’s disappearance — ”
Within the house, a telephone rang. “Excuse me,” Bill said.
He rose and went into the kitchen.
After a few moments, I heard him call, “Merle, it’s for you!”
I got up and went inside. I gave him a questioning look as soon as I entered and he shrugged and shook his head. I thought fast and recalled the location of two other phones in the house. I pointed at him, pointed in the direction of his study and pantomimed the motion of picking up a receiver and holding it to one’s ear. He smiled slightly and nodded. I took the receiver and waited a while, till I heard the click, only beginning to speak then, hoping the caller would think I’d picked up an extension to answer.
“Hello,” I said.
“Merle Corey?”
“That’s me.”
“I need same information I think you might have.”
It was a masculine voice, sort of familiar but not quite. “Who am I talking to?” I asked.
“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you that.”
“Then that will probably be my answer to your question, too.”
“Will you at least let me ask?”
“Go ahead,” I said.
“Okay. You and Luke Raynard are friends.” He paused.
“You could say that,” I said, to fill the space.
“You have heard him speak of places called Amber and the Courts of Chaos.”
Again, a statement rather than a question.
“Maybe,” I said.
“Do you know anything of these places yourself?”
Finally, a question.
“Maybe,” I said again.
“Please. This is serious. I need something more than a maybe.”
“Sorry. ‘Maybe’ is all you’re going to get, unless you tell me who you are and why you want to know.”
“I can be of great service to you if you will be honest with me.”
I bit back a reply just in time and felt my pulse begin to race. That last statement had been spoken in Thari. I maintained my silence.
Then: “Well, that didn’t work, and I still don’t really know.”
“What? What don’t you know?” I said.
“Whether he’s from one of those places or whether you.”
“To be as blunt as possible, what’s it to you?” I asked him.
“Because one of you may be in great danger.”
“The one who is from such a place or the one who is not?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you that. I can’t afford another mistake.”
“What do you mean? What was your last one about?”
“You won’t tell me — either for purposes of self preservation, or to help a friend?”
“I might,” I said, “if I knew that that were really the case. But for all I know, it might be you that’s the danger.”
“I assure you I am only trying to help the right person.”
“Words, words, words,” I said. “Supposing we were both from such places?”
“Oh, my!” he said. “No. That couldn’t be.”
“Why not?”
“Never mind. What do I have to do to persuade you?”
“Mm. Wait a minute. Let me think,” I answered. “All right. How about this? I’ll meet you someplace. You name the place. I get a good look at you and we trade information, one piece at a time, till all the cards are on the table.”
There was a pause.
Then: “That’s the only way you’ll do it?”
“Yes.”
“Let me think about it. I’ll be back in touch soon.”
“One thing — ”
“What?”
“If it is me, am I in danger right now?”
“I think so. Yes, you probably are. Good-bye.” He hung up.
I managed to sigh and swear at the same time as I recradled the phone. People who knew about us seemed to be coming out of the woodwork.
Bill came into the kitchen, a very puzzled expression on his face.
“How’d whoever-the-hell-he-is even know you’re here?” were his first words.
“That was my question,” I said. “Think up another.”
“I will. If he wants to set something up, are you really going?”
“You bet. I suggested it because I want to meet this guy.”
“As you pointed out, he may be the danger.”
“That’s okay by me. He’s going to be in a lot of danger, too.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I’m not so happy with it myself. But it’s the best offer I’ve had so far.”