Wish List (14 page)

“Because he . . . pissed me off,” Ariel said smartly. “I don’t want to talk about Lex Sanders.” The laughter on the other end of the phone brought a deep flush to Ariel’s face.

“This ain’t no time to be gettin’ on your high horse, little lady. You might be needin’ some help and Lex Sanders is the man to help you. A fine lady like yourself is no match for Chet Andrews. Would you by any chance want me to fly back there to help out? I could bunk with Lex. I’d be glad to do it.” Again, his voice sounded so hopeful, Ariel hated to disappoint him.

“Can I take a raincheck, Mr. Able? I want to talk to the authorities first. If I feel I’m in over my head, I’ll call you. Do you like Hawaii?” she asked politely.

“I hate it. My missus loves it. She shops all day long. Buys me flowered shirts I won’t wear. Everything she cooks has pineapple in it. Don’t like pineapple. Never liked pineapple. Am never going to learn to like pineapple. You gonna be calling Lex? Maybe I should call him. Sometimes he needs to be reminded how to talk to a lady. Is he smitten with you yet? That might be what his problem is. He’s not real good with women. Better’n a son, I can tell you that.”

“I’ll let you know, Mr. Able. Thank you for talking to me. It’s very reassuring to know I can count on you. Have a nice evening.”

“He’s going to call Lex Sanders this very minute,” Ariel told Dolly. “I just know it. He’s one cranky curmudgeon. Wouldn’t surprise me to find out he takes the next plane. To bunk with Lex Sanders. The two of them are going to invade my life and try to take over. I can feel it in my gut. Well, it ain’t gonna happen,” Ariel said, sitting down at the table. “Let’s eat and let’s not talk about business.”

“Want to talk about the movies?”

“No!”

“Finances?”

“Absolutely not,” Ariel said.

“Friends?”

“What friends? Nobody’s called me in over a month. Out of sight, out of mind.” she sniffed.

“Why don’t we talk about what you’re dying to talk about? Lex Sanders. Remember when you had those bumps on your face and you didn’t want to be bothered with anyone or anything? Well, maybe he’s got a personal problem like that. Cut him a little slack, for heaven’s sake. Business relationships and personal relationships are separate things. C’mon, Ariel, you’re a professional. Don’t let him get to you. If you need him, ignore your pride, and if you have to suck up, do it. That’s my advice.”

“I think it’s going to rain this evening. My face is starting to ache and that always means rain,” Ariel said, ignoring Dolly’s advice. “I can’t wait to take a long, hot bath and just sit and relax this evening. I might even make a fire to take the chill off my bedroom. I’ve got a couple of good books I’ve been meaning to start. What are you going to do?”

“Iron. I might make some of that marshmallow pecan fudge that neither of us can live without. A double batch. My sweet tooth has been acting up all day. We can take some into the office for the girls tomorrow.”

“Dolly, load the shotgun and put it near the mantel. Just in case.” This last was said so casually, Dolly gulped her coffee and then yelped when it scalded her tongue.

“I can load it, but I don’t think I could shoot anyone. We’ve been through this a hundred times, Ariel. I went to the firing range with you, I learned to shoot so you would have a companion, but I know if the time came to . . . to . . . you know, I wouldn’t be able to do it. Maybe you should keep it upstairs.”

“We need to be prepared, Dolly. This is no time to play Pollyanna. I have my gun upstairs, but what good is it going to do you if you’re down here and there’s a break-in? I didn’t say you had to shoot. Usually the threat of a gun is all you need. You did well in the class, Dolly. You’re an expert marksman. I don’t know if this is any consolation, but I think men—you know, crooks and burglars—might be a little nervous if they see a woman with a shotgun. Any kind of gun, for that matter. Remember what that instructor said:
wave it around below belt level.
Picture this, Dolly. You shoot between some guy’s legs—how much damage and blood do you think there would be?”

“Buckets. I hate the sight of blood. We’d have to move out—I couldn’t clean it up.”

“And on that thought, I’m going to retire for the evening. I locked up when I came in. Great dinner, Dolly. The alarm system is activated. If you get nervous, come upstairs. ’Night, Dolly.” She hugged her lifelong friend and whispered, “Chet Andrews would have to be a fool to tangle with us. For one thing, he doesn’t even know where we live. Sweet dreams.”

Upstairs in her room, Ariel shed her clothes in preparation for the long, leisurely bath she’d promised herself. As she moved, clicking on the gas-driven fireplace, turning down her bed, fluffing her pillows, the shepherd paced. When the dog was satisfied that Ariel was safe in the tub, she leaped on the bed, tugged at the two pillows that were hers, squirmed, and circled the bed until she had a satisfactory nest. The moment the scent of Ariel’s gardenia bath salts wafted into the bedroom, Snookie closed her eyes, one ear at attention, the other flat against her head.

Ariel sighed as she settled herself in the hot, steamy water. This is bliss, she thought. A bath, like a cup of fragrant tea, always made things bearable. She’d promised herself a leisurely soak with a good book. She cracked the spine before she started the first chapter of the best-selling espionage novel. Twice she extended her big toe to release hot water to which she added more bath salts. She was in the middle of chapter three when she felt the tension leave her neck and shoulders. Her toe worked the gizmo that opened the drain.

Snug in a cherry-red terry robe, she padded out to the bedroom, kicked at a mound of colorful cushions she kept near the hearth, and plopped down, the wish list from the closet and the private detective’s report in hand. At some point during her long soak, Dolly had brought up a tray with a pot of hot chocolate and several chunks of her famous marshmallow pecan fudge. Ariel devoured them immediately. She was licking her lips, wishing she had another piece, when the phone on the little stand by the hearth rang. She stretched, almost missing the antique French phone. “Hello.” Silence. She spoke again and then a third time before she hung up. She looked at Snookie, who was staring at her. She shrugged. “Wrong number.”

Ten minutes later the phone rang again with the same results. Five minutes later it rang again. It rang seven more times in the space of fifteen minutes. The moment her shoulders started to tense, Snookie was off the bed, circling the phone, the hair on the back of her neck straight in the air. She growled deep in her throat. “I guess we both know it’s not someone dialing a wrong number,” Ariel whispered.

Snookie nuzzled Ariel’s neck as she tried to crawl onto her lap, her huge front paws circling her shoulders. Ariel crooned to her as the dog tried to match the sounds her mistress was making. “C’mon, you can have the rest of this hot chocolate that is now only lukewarm. Do you want to go out on the deck?” The shepherd ignored the chocolate drink and didn’t run toward the French doors the way she usually did at the mention of the word
deck
. Ariel shrugged. “It stopped ringing. I’m going to unplug the phone. It’s probably some kid playing a trick. This is an unlisted number—Chet Andrews can’t possibly get this number. It’s okay, Snookie.” The dog settled down immediately.

Ariel sat for a long time, staring into space as she stroked the shepherd’s sleek body, her thoughts chaotic as she tried to make sense of what was happening in her life.

The small clock on the mantel chimed ten times. Ariel heaved herself erect, calling Snookie to the French doors. The shepherd liked the cool evening air. Ariel took that time to read the report from the private detective. She fully expected to see an address and telephone number for Felix Sanchez. She was so disappointed she wanted to cry and wasn’t sure why. With a cigarette clutched between her teeth, she read through the report, the smoke spiraling upward making her eyes water.

According to the report there were 67 males named Felix Sanchez ranging in age from ten months to 89 years. There were an additional 33 males named Felix Sanchez who no longer lived in either Mexico or California. Of the hundred males named Felix Sanchez, 17 had a dual citizenship. Nine of the 17 no longer lived in either Mexico or California. Eleven of the males’ birthdays, schools, and the parents’ domestic jobs fit the profile supplied. However, the report went on to say, the school burned and all records were destroyed. Several teachers in San Diego vaguely recall a student named Felix Sanchez. One elderly teacher in a retirement home said the boy she was thinking of returned to school in Mexico after his girlfriend’s military parents were transferred to Germany. Many years later, she said, the boy came back to tell her he was going off to college. She cannot remember where. She was the most promising lead. There is no record of a U.S. driver’s license. A social security number is essential to continue this investigation. A postscript was added in longhand at the close of the report.
I personally went to Mexico City to check the divorce and marriage records. I did the same thing here in California with no success. Please advise by phone as to how you wish me to proceed, if at all.

Ariel stuffed the pages back into the brown envelope. She’d known it was going to end like this. “Damn.”

Snookie scratched the glass on the door to be allowed in. Ariel opened the door, slamming it shut quickly and bolting it. Now what was she to do? She was wide awake, and she was angry. Really angry. Do what you always do, Ariel, when you get mad. Eat. She headed for the kitchen. She wasn’t surprised to see Dolly sitting at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette. “Couldn’t sleep, huh? I thought I’d make myself a fried egg sandwich. With bacon and lots of ketchup. I’ll make it—I need to do something with my hands.”

“Oh, no, you make too much of a mess. Extra crisp, right?”

“Snap-in-two bacon. Nuke it.”

“So who was calling you all night? Bet it was rancher Sanders. Wants to kiss and make up, I bet.”

“Wrong. There wasn’t anyone on the other end of the line. I finally unplugged the phone. Probably some jerk getting his jollies thinking he’s scaring me.”

“More like Chet Andrews. Scare tactics.”

“If it was him, where did he get my unlisted number? It’s not even on file at the office, just the house phone. Now, if he did manage to get it somehow, that’s scary.”

Dolly covered the bacon with five layers of paper towels and slapped it into the microwave oven. “I read somewhere that the only people who can get through to an unlisted number is the fire department, and only in an emergency. I can’t remember where I read it, though. If you think about it, it makes sense. It’s possible that scum knows someone in the fire department.”

“Now, why doesn’t that reassure me?” Ariel snapped. “God, does that mean I have to hassle the fire department?”

“Unless you have a better idea. Make a list of people you’ve given the number to, and don’t leave anyone out.”

“I don’t need to make a list. I’ve given it to seven people. You make eight. Everyone else has the house number. Not one of those seven people knows Chet Andrews, and even if they did, they wouldn’t give him my private number.”

“Lex Sanders?”

“He hates Chet. Look what that scumbag has us doing. Blaming him, and talking about him at the same time. It’s a fear tactic, and we’re falling for it.”

The buzzer on the microwave sounded. “You could swat a fly with this bacon,” Dolly muttered.

“Terrorists prey on people like this. Make my yolk runny so it mixes with the ketchup. I think we’re over-reacting.”

“I’ve been making you fried egg sandwiches for thirty years. I know you like the yolk all messy and I know just how much ketchup to put on. And, I know you then like to dip the whole mess into black coffee. Tell me again why we took those shooting classes and why I had to take the basic course in martial arts. I already know why, even after I said I didn’t want to take those trucking lessons, I did. Tell me again, Ariel.” Dolly slapped the fried egg sandwich down in front of her boss and then plopped a cup of leftover dinner coffee next to the plate. She cut up Snookie’s egg and set it on the floor.

“We own a trucking company. It makes sense that the owner and her assistant know how to drive a truck. We might be needed in a pinch for short hauls. Who knows, there could be an epidemic of something or other and the drivers might get sick and then we’d have to pitch in. There could be a union strike or one of those wildcat things. It’s up to the owner to step in.

“Ooohhh, this is a good sandwich,” Ariel said as she wiped dripping egg yolk from her chin. “When I was a kid my mother used to make me eggs all nice and yellow in the middle with what I called brown lace around the edges. There are a lot of lowlifes and jerks out there. Every woman should know self-defense. You never know when you’ll need it. I have to admit, I’m pretty good at it, and so are you. Think of it as an insurance policy. You hate paying the premiums, but you’re damn glad you have it when it’s time to make a claim. That’s what self-defense is all about. C’mon, you can admit you liked pounding on those guys. It’s wonderful self-control, and it’s an image booster. If we ever come up against the bad guys, we can take them on and come out on top. Trust me on this, Dolly.”

“Which brings me to the gun part. I hate guns. Guns kill people.”

“People kill people, Dolly. A gun is not a plaything. A gun owner needs to know that going in. It’s not like we’re packing weapons in our everyday life, although there are times when I think we should. Again, they’re like insurance. If someone breaks in here, I’ll be damn glad I paid the premium. And if the time ever comes when we have to make a run, even though it’s against the law, we’ll be glad we have it. You do what you have to do in this life, Dolly. I could really go for a piece of blackberry pie. If you aren’t too busy, let’s have some this weekend. I say we go to bed now. Five-thirty will be here before we know it.”

Before she climbed into her turned-down bed and settled Snookie at the foot of it, Ariel hung her wish list back in the closet. Wishes were for children. Adults made their own dreams and were able to recognize the fact that no amount of wishing could take the place of hard work.