It was now “your Nash.” Tom finally understood the depth of the pit he was in. Not wanting to believe it, he said, “How could they repair it so fast?”
“Did you ever look under the hood? There’s hardly anything there. A modern riding lawnmower has more parts. Anyway, electrically, it’s now just another Chevy. So it’ll even start in winter.”
Possibly it was a break now that the students, the elders, and maybe Harv and Marv all had him tied to the Plymouth. “I get the Nash back, huh? I guess I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Bring me Aunt Mildred’s signature, Tomahawk.”
****
The Nash ran more smoothly than it had before the engine fire. Or Tom was so deliriously happy to be out of the house that it seemed so. With the top down, the little car was bearable. He liked the way the air over the windshield tried futilely to displace a beard still too short to bend in anything less than a tornado. It was a gorgeous, hot day. Here and there a tree had started to turn color, signaling the imminent end of the Copper Country’s dreadfully short summer.
Rubber-necking to see one particularly brilliant maple in the rear view mirror, Tom saw a sleek gold car parked on a side street by the hardware store. It was a Pontiac Firebird and the back window had a big Michigan State sticker. This was Wyatt Stone’s car. But who had it? Had Wyatt survived the fire after all? Had someone found it and was stupid enough to drive it openly in the town?
Tom looked for a place to leave the conspicuous Nash and go on foot to check out the Firebird. He found a gas station lot at the next corner and parked at the back. Hurry! As he got out of the car he felt for Renada’s little gun, comfortingly tucked into his pants under a polo shirt worn loose.
He had taken six steps when the Firebird passed by. The driver was faced forward to the town’s one traffic signal as it turned green. The profile was in shadow, but could easily be Wyatt’s. Tom was at the Nash in two strides. He managed to make the lethargic light while it was still green and followed the gold car as it turned onto the road to Mildred’s place. Where was he going? There were only a dozen houses and a campground Tom had seen advertised. A Chrysler New Yorker met him, headed for town—it was Mildred. He had just missed her, but he didn’t care. He was focused on the Firebird.
But then he met another familiar vehicle: a big green Suburban, a Harv and Marv Sartorelli Suburban. To hell with the Firebird, he had to follow the Suburban. Where was he going to turn around? Mildred’s driveway right up ahead, of course.
He turned onto her lane and then into the little clearing where she’d had them put the Plymouth Sunday to turn around. He slammed the little car into reverse. He was pointed back to the highway and shifting into first when Mildred’s Chrysler entered the driveway and sounded its horn. Tom cringed as the black New Yorker skidded to a stop a few scant feet before him. Mildred and he both exited their cars.
She gave him a withering glare. “What in blue blazes do you think you are doing, Robert? I told Gary you people are to leave me alone.”
“Mildred, you’ve got to move your car. I’ve got to get out.”
“Why? Why the hell are you in my driveway? Have you got my silverware and TV set in that little trunk?”
He stood before her, unable to think of anything except where had the Suburban gone? Where had the Firebird gone? Damn it, but he was a loser.
She was in his face now, still shouting. “I’m talking to you, Robert Matthews. You’re on private property. What do you want? Why are you here with your stupid little soapbox racer car, you moron?”
Tom wondered how many Christmas cards this woman got each year. He found his voice and said, “I turned in here by mistake. I really have to go right away. Please, maybe you can back up and let me out?”
“Let you out? Why did you come in, that’s what I want to know. If I hadn’t forgotten my credit card and come back I suppose you’d be rummaging through my house. Did that firebug nephew Gary send you?”
He gave up. The Suburban and the Firebird were long gone. Maybe it hadn’t been the same Suburban. Maybe it hadn’t been Wyatt’s Firebird. Lots of people graduated from Michigan State. He realized he had little certainty whether or not the screwed-up kid had died in a fire. But s
omebody
had died. Who?
Mildred was glaring at him. “Will you, for pity’s sake, stop daydreaming and answer my questions? And what the hell have you done to your hair? Good Lord, you’re
one of those fancy boys. I knew they would start coming here if Tech started offering those liberal arts majors. But I would never have guessed you were one.”
Amazing. Gary was right, Aunt Mildred did like him, cared enough to fret about his sexual orientation. “I brought an offer on your property, the whole property.”
It calmed her. “That’s better, especially if it’s true. So since you’re bringing the offer I assume that little weasel, Gary, is afraid to come out here himself. He should be.”
“Can we go to the house?”
“I’m not making coffee for you.”
Minutes later, after motioning him into her least comfortable-looking armchair, she said, “Well, give it to me.”
He did, giving her the low-end numbers first as Gary had instructed him.
When he finished she snorted. “Gary has to be kidding, offering me a piece of a crackpot if-come gambling deal. And it saddens me that you’re dumb enough to bring that offer out here.” She was probably formulating her next insult when the telephone on the table next to her recliner rang. She picked it up with a sharp “Yes?”
Tom welcomed the interruption. He wasn’t going to be able to cut any deal for Gary today. He didn’t dare go back to California with Wyatt, Harv, and Marv running around New Range. What
was
he going to do? Where had the Suburban and the Firebird gone?
“Are you daydreaming again, Robert? I said it’s for you.”
“Pardon me?”
“It’s Beth, my grandniece, your landlady.” She motioned for him to come and take the telephone that was on a long cord, but not long enough for privacy.
“Hello,” he answered guardedly.
“Tom, Gary told me where you are. We need you back here right away.”
“Oh, God, is Wyatt there?”
“What? No, of course not, what’s wrong with you? I can’t talk about it on the telephone. Just come back now, Tom, now.”
“Okay, sure, I’m on my way.” He hung up and told Mildred, “I’m sorry. But I have to go.”
“You mean you’ve given me Gary’s full, final offer?” She looked astonished. “Tell that blockhead to go to hell.”
“I’ll try to reach him, talk to him some more. It’s, ah, too late for that today.”
“Too late, you got that part right. The man is a jerk. And you, if you want to dye your hair and grow some fairy beard, you stay away from my grandniece.”
It was too late for that as well.
Chapter Fourteen
Harold sat uncomfortably inside Wyatt Stone’s camping tent, waiting. Finally he heard footsteps. Wyatt pulled back his tent flap and froze in surprise. Harold waved him in. “Come in, keep your voice down and close that flap.”
“Is it you, sir? I mean, are you Mr. Harold?”
“You got it. Sit down.”
He did. “Sir, is Harold your first name or your last name?”
“You don’t need to know that, Wyatt. Did you find a cassette tape?”
“No, nothing.”
“What’s the latest on Hawk?”
“The whole town still believes he died in the fire. But it had to be that white-haired thug. I bet Hawk is snug in Beth’s B&B while I’m in this rented camping tent.”
“Who is Beth?”
“The beautiful landlady I told you about, Mr. Harold. They all go after the bad boys like Hawk. I could make her…well, never mind. Here I sit in a little tent.”
“Yeah, I see. This tent won’t pass as a base of operations. Can’t you get something better?”
“I can get an apartment in three days. A student, he’s some Mideast gulf state prince or sultan or whatever, is going home to take over his father’s job as their Supreme Court justice. The apartment is decorated pretty odd but it’s the best I’ve been able to do. For now, we’ll have to sleep here.”
Harold looked at the tent and shook his head. “The boarding house you had to leave, the one where Hawk was, I’ll stay there and learn what I can. Wyatt, we must get our hands on Hawk before Tony Sartorelli kills him. He’s hot for this Beth woman, right?”
“Yeah, the conceited son of a bitch thinks she’s interested.”
“Then we have to take her, and let him know we’ve got her. That’ll bring him to us.”
“Take her? Where?”
“At the airport I saw an ad for a houseboat for sale or rent. I need you to go and get it for us. We’ll keep her there.” He handed the tear-off ad from the airport bulletin board to Wyatt.
The boy squinted at the ad. Perhaps he was not wearing his glasses so as to look tough for his first meeting with his employer. “Can you do this, Wyatt?”
“I don’t know. Isn’t this illegal? Wouldn’t we be kidnapping her?”
“No. We’d be rescuing her so she doesn’t get hurt by Tony’s people. It’s the same for Hawk.”
“I don’t think we can control her. Beth is resourceful and tough. I think she’s German.”
“Yes, and I know from your uncle Lester that your family is part Swedish. I am too. We’re tougher than Germans.”
“You’re part Swedish?”
The kid didn’t believe him, but it was gospel truth. “Yes. My mother and aunt came from Sweden to Hollywood in the twenties to get discovered. My father is half Swede too.” Harold saw no need to explain that his aunt had
not
married a full-blooded Swede, but rather Tony Sartorelli’s father, who was half or quarter Italian. They had named their eldest child Olaf, but in a tough town like L.A. nobody was afraid of an Olaf. So his cousin had changed his name to Tony when he heard the siren call of organized crime.
“I may not be as tough as Beth.” Wyatt’s tone indicated to Harold that his resistance was weakening.
“Germans are just Swedes with a pushy attitude. Trust me; this thing will work great if we play it right. You’ll have time alone with her on the boat to get a good relationship started.”
“Oh, alone with Beth, I see. I wonder if the blond man I locked in the meat cooler was Swedish.”
“You got to get over that. Only you can save Beth Kessler. Of course, our job is still to keep Hawk alive, but now, I see that even more important is the safety of this beautiful and innocent woman. She’ll see that you saved her. She’ll be so grateful to you.”
“You think so?” Wyatt stroked his chin.
“Absolutely. Now go rent me a houseboat.”
“How will we stay in touch?”
“Call this California number. There will be an answering machine.”
“Call long distance to California when you’re right here? Isn’t that expensive?”
“I can afford it. Just think of you and Beth and all alone on that secluded boat. Wyatt, you must do everything possible to get the cassette for me. Lives depend on it, do you understand?”
“Lives.” His eyes widened. “Oh dear. Yes, I understand.”
“Do not listen to any tape you obtain. Just bring it to me. Now go.”
The boy nodded and left. Harold waited three minutes and headed for his rented car. Boats had big advantages. They were easy to defend. It was easy to keep people out of sight and politely inquire about a cassette tape. And the Sartorelli brothers were terrified of water.
****
As Tom parked the Nash, Gary rushed to it. He was limping badly, and his pant leg was torn.
Tom said, “Beth called me home. What happened to you?”
Gary pushed up a fat lip and adjusted the position of an upper tooth. “The elders stopped by for a progress report on the casino, but that isn’t why we called you. How did you do? Have we got a deal?”
“No, Gary, Mildred’s a bit miffed. Right now, if she were offered the hundred grand, a week of passion with the Chief in Las Vegas and your nuts in a pickle jar, I think she’d turn it down.”
“Oh. So we’ll have to give her a few more hours, then.”
“Yeah, it’ll take something like that.”
Beth ran up to join them. Whatever else was wrong, she was uninjured. She gasped, “Tom, I found a dead body, behind the house.”
Was the drinking causing memory lapses? “Yes, Saturday night, Angelo. I was here, remember?”
“No, Tom, there’s another one. Someone tried to get in the basement door but Robert did something wrong with his alarm. We think this man was electrocuted when he tried to pick the lock.”
“My God. It’s not Wyatt, is it? Because I’ve just seen what looked like his car.”
“No.” Beth shook her head.
Relief flooded Gary’s face. “Wow, you saw Wyatt? Then I didn’t kill him in the fire after all!”
Tom said, “I saw the car, not necessarily Wyatt. Who is dead here?”
“We’re pretty sure it’s one of Tony Sartorelli’s brothers.”
“Oh. Worse things could happen. Let’s go have a look.”
As they began to walk to the back of the house Gary stopped in front of the others. “Tom, did you see Wyatt’s car before or after you showed Mildred my offer?”
“It was before. Why?”
“Well, there you go then. You were probably not at your negotiating best after finding one of your assassins is still alive and all. Aunt Mildred may not have even understood everything. I say we go back out to her place, sweeten the original offer a little.”
“Gary, forget mining rights. We have a dead body behind my house!” Beth shrieked.
Her eyes looked wild, unfocused. Tom wanted to smell for scotch, but didn’t dare. He took her arm. “Right, let’s go look,” he said, just as Dani pulled into the parking lot.
She made her usual slinky feline exit, and then spoiled the effect by jerking to a halt. She crinkled her nose and exclaimed, “Wow. You three look like you crawled out of a car crash through the trunk. What’s happening?”
“Mildred is giving me a hard time about the mineral rights,” complained Gary.
“Someone’s dead on the cellar steps, electrocuted by Robert’s alarm,” Beth added.
“Wyatt may be alive,” cautioned Tom. “I saw his car. Maybe it wasn’t him that got caught in the fire.”
“Then I didn’t kill Wyatt?” Dani grinned from ear to ear, face flooded with relief.