Alarums (11 page)

    'They were a big deal to your sister. I think she's frightened, and I don't blame her. I'd be nervous about staying there alone, if I were her.'

    Melanie's head turned. She stared at him across the joining beds. 'You just want to see her in a nightie.'

    'There's that, too,' he said, and smiled.

    Melanie didn't smile.

    Bodie scooted across the bed and kissed her. He whispered, 'Sleep tight,' then rolled over and shut his eyes.

    

    

    Waking up, Pen lifted her face off the warm pocket of the pillow. She felt wonderful. Then she saw where she was and remembered her father. A dark heaviness spread through her.

    
He'll be all right,
she told herself.

    
We'll see him tonight.

    And Melanie's here.
Thank God Melanie's here.
Going through this alone would've been so much worse. Maybe Dad'll be better when we see him.

    She pushed herself up and sat on the edge of the bed. She had slept in her clothes. Her slick, burgundy blouse was twisted around her torso. The weight of her body had pressed wrinkles into it. She straightened it, but the wrinkles remained.

    Maybe Bodie would drive her to her apartment so she could change before going to the hospital.

    The apartment. The phone calls.

    Fear began to knot her. She tried to push it aside. That business doesn't count, she told herself. Not with Dad in the hospital.

    But the fear grew.

    

    

    Pen quickly stood up. In front of the bureau mirror, she brushed her hair. Then she left the room and hurried downstairs. The living room was empty, but voices came from the den. As she approached, she heard Bodie speaking over the quiet dialogue from the television.

    '… a PhD in English literature. Which is probably a totally useless thing to have, but I fancy myself as a slightly eccentric professor in a patched jacket…' He smiled at Pen as she entered. He was slumped in an armchair, feet crossed at the ankles, one hand holding a Corona beer against his belt buckle.

    Joyce, on the couch, was sipping a glass of white wine. 'Don't stop,' Pen said to Bodie.

    'All through,' he told her.

    'You plan to be an English professor?'

    'Since I don't have any useful talents.'

    Smiling, Pen sat on the couch.

    'Let me get you something to drink,' Joyce offered. 'Wine would be great.'

    Leaving the room, Joyce said over her shoulder, 'Pen's a writer.'

    'I write mysteries,' she said. 'But I've only sold one so I'm… It was just a short story.'

    'That's terrific. As I understand it, the world's full of would-be writers who've never had anything published.'

    'Do you have any ambitions along those lines?'

    'Nope. I'd rather spend my time reading good stuff than writing lousy stuff. Do you have a normal job?'

    'I don't know how normal it is, but I'm a certified shorthand reporter. I spend most of my time trotting around to law offices to take down depositions.'

    'It must be a good source for story ideas.'

    She nodded. 'I've met some very strange people. The main thing, though, is that I can pick and choose assignments. I only work when I want to - which is most of the time because I do like to eat, pay my rent, little things like that.'

    'No desire to be an attorney?'

    'That'd be a full-time career. I don't have room for it.'

    'Wouldn't leave you time for your writing?'

    'Not enough. And I'd rather write.'

    'I'd like to read your stuff.'

    'It ain't Updike.'

    'Ah, but is it Hammett?'

    'No. It's pretty good Pen Conway, though.'

    A grin spread over Bodie's face.

    Joyce came in carrying a bottle of white wine and a glass. She filled the glass for Pen, gave herself a refill, and sat down. 'I guess I should start thinking about supper.'

    'Don't,' Bodie said. 'I'll save you the trouble, if everyone likes pizza. I know Melanie does.'

    'Where is Melanie?' Pen asked.

    'Still asleep. I was in LA a couple of years ago and had this great pizza at some place not far from here.'

    'That must have been La Barbera's,' Pen said.

    'Right, that's the place. Is it still around?'

    'Sure.'

    'Why don't I drive over and pick one up?'

    'Oh,' Joyce said, 'that's a lot of trouble.'

    'No more trouble than you making something for all of us. Besides, I've really got a craving for that stuff. It's the best pizza I've ever tasted.'

    'If you feel that strongly about it,' Joyce said. 'The least I can do is call in the order. What kind should we get?'

    'Melanie doesn't like mushrooms.'

    'How about salami?' Pen suggested.

    'Mushrooms on half.'

    'Sounds good to me.'

    Joyce took a sip of wine, then left to make the call.

    'Maybe you could give me directions,' Bodie said.

    'I can do better than that,' Pen told him. 'I'll go with you and act as navigator.'

    'I'd be glad to have you along. Maybe you'd better stay here, though. Melanie might come down while we're gone, and I don't think she'd like the idea that both of us went off without her. Besides, you might be needed as a referee.'

    Pen frowned.

    Bodie glanced over his shoulder as if to make sure that Joyce wasn't returning. 'Melanie wasn't too happy about finding that Harrison fellow here. She thinks there was maybe some hanky-panky going on.'

    'It crossed my mind, too,' Pen admitted.

    'Anyway, I don't know whether she'd say anything, but it might help the situation if you're around.'

    'I suppose you're right.'

    Bodie sat up straight and drank the last of his beer. 'So. How do I get to La Barbera's from here?'

    'Easy.'

    While she was explaining the directions, Joyce returned, opening her purse. 'They said it should be ready in half an hour.'

    'This is my treat,' Bodie told her.

    'No, really, I insist.' She took out a twenty-dollar bill. Bodie waved it off. 'No way,' he said, and Joyce didn't argue.

    When Bodie was gone, Joyce said, 'He seems like a very nice young man.'

    'Yeah. I'd say Melanie lucked out. She's been involved with some awful twerps.'

    'I wouldn't know about that.' Joyce sat down and took a sip of wine. She turned sideways, sliding a knee onto the couch and resting an arm on the back. 'I'm glad she's staying. It's awful that it took something like this to get her here, but maybe we'll finally have a chance to… mend fences. It would be nice if she could like me.' Joyce smiled a little sadly. 'Why couldn't she be more like you?'

    'Melanie sees things differently.'

    'Don't I know it? I'm young enough to be Whit's daughter, a cold-hearted gold digger and a slut.'

    'That about sums it up.'

    'I love Whit.'

    'You'd have a hard time convincing Melanie of that.'

    'I shouldn't have to,' Joyce said. 'But it would be such a relief if she could learn to accept me. We don't have to be buddies. Just… I can feel the chill. Even when she's trying to act pleasant, there's always this chill.'

    'I know.'

    'Like I'm a spider, or something, and she'd like to step on me.'

    

    

    Pen climbed the stairs and went down the corridor to Melanie's room. She knocked lightly on the door.

    'Who is it?'

    ' Me. ' She entered and shut the door.

    Melanie, on the bed, was covered to the chest. Her shoulders were bare.

    'I wanted to make sure you were awake. Bodie went to get pizza. He should've been back by now, but…'

    'Where'd he go?'

    'La Barbera's. He's been gone over an hour. Hope he didn't get lost.'

    'Did he go alone?'

    Pen nodded. 'I offered to show him the way, but he thought I should stay here with you and Joyce.'

    'Joyce,' she muttered.

    'Try and be nice to her, okay?'

    'Nice. Sure. What do you think Harrison was doing here?'

    'I don't think you should jump to conclusions.'

    'Did you happen to notice the master bedroom?'

    'No.'

    'Well, I did. The bed's been used.'

    'That doesn't prove much. If she had anything to hide, don't you think she would've tidied up after herself?'

    'That's what Bodie said.' Tossing the covers aside, Melanie crawled off the bed. She walked casually toward the corner of the room where her suitcase lay open on the floor. There were no tan lines on her skin. Apparently, she still believed in avoiding the sun. Areas of her back, buttocks and calves had a red hue from lying in bed.

    They forced Pen to remember the coroner's slides.

    Post-mortem lividity.

    
Dad. What if he…

    The hospital would have called.

    'You always were pals with that bitch,' Melanie said, squatting beside the suitcase.

    'She's all right.'

    Melanie found panties. She stood up, stepped into them, and turned to face Pen. She looked like a bizarre stranger: her sunless skin, her black hair, her black choker, her black lace panties. ' Harrison does get around,' she said.

    'Cut it out.'

    'I guess you and Joyce have quite a lot in common.'

    'For God's sake, Mel.'

    Melanie laughed softly. Shaking her head, she turned away and crouched over her suitcase.

    The redness behind her shoulders had faded a little.

    'I guess I should wear something decent for the hospital,' she said.

    'Unless we make a stop by my apartment on the way over, I'm stuck with what I've got on.'

    'Bodie thinks we should be staying with you.'

    'The offer's still open,' Pen said.

    'Do you want us to?' Melanie took a frilly white blouse from her suitcase and put it on.

    'You'd probably be more comfortable here,' Pen admitted. 'Besides, you already told Joyce you'd stay.'

    'That can be changed.'

    'No. It wouldn't be nice.'

    'Bodie thinks you're afraid to stay there alone.'

    'How flattering.'

    'Are you?'

    She shrugged, but Melanie's back was to her. 'A little bit, maybe. Nothing I can't handle.'

    Melanie lifted out a black skirt.

    'We're not going to a funeral tonight,' Pen said.

    'Not tonight.'

    'You're really going to wear that?'

    'Bodie likes me in black.'

    'Oh. That's different.'

    'You approve, then?'

    'I approve.'

    

    

    Bodie shook his head, rolled his eyes upward. 'What happened? Disaster. God save me from the streets of Los Angeles. It all started when I couldn't get over into the right-hand turn lane from San Vicente onto Wilshire. That resulted in quite a detour. When I finally did get to the restaurant, they didn't have our pizza. Apparently, something got screwed up with the phone order - they lost it or something. So I had to reorder and wait around while they made it.' He blew out a long breath. 'At any rate, here I am. An older man but wiser.' As they ate the pizza, they agreed that it was well worth his trouble.

    By six o'clock, they were done eating.

    That left an hour and a half before time to set out for the hospital.

    Joyce went upstairs to bathe and change her clothes.

    In the living room, Pen sat in an armchair. Melanie and Bodie took the couch, sitting close together, Melanie's hand on his leg. They talked. But there was no talk of Joyce or Harrison or Dad, as if the subjects were taboo.

    Pen's uneasiness grew as the time passed. She had difficulty sitting still, and her chest had a tightness that made breathing a struggle. Finally, she got off her chair. She lay on the floor, knees upraised. That seemed to help.

    'Are you all right?' Bodie asked.

    'Just nerves,' she said.

    'Maybe you need a Valium or something,' Melanie said.

    'Don't think so.' She rubbed her face. 'I could use a good snootful, though.'

    'You've had a pretty good snootful.'

    'Hardly. A few glasses of wine do not a snootful make.'

    'Pen thinks that she can't be a writer without being a drunk.'

    'I'm not a drunk. Tonight, however, I might prefer it.'

    'What's stopping you?'

    'I don't want to make an ass out of myself staggering into the hospital.'

    Joyce entered the room. She wore a white pullover that looked like cashmere, a gray jacket and matching pleated skirt, hose and high heels.

    Joyce and Melanie, both in skirts. Me in my white jeans. Great, Pen thought.

    She should've asked Bodie to run her over to her apartment after dinner so she could put on a dress.

    
So who cares?
she asked herself.
Who am I out to impress, the nurses? Dad isn't likely to notice. And if he does…

    She pictured him awake, sitting up in bed, breathing for himself, the tubes and wires disconnected.

    
Don't get your hopes up.

    They would've called.

    'Are you feeling all right?' Joyce asked, staring down at her.