The Claremont neighborhood, so beautiful in the daytime with its magnificent, dark, leafy trees, had an eerie cast at night. The cul-de-sac Patel lived on seemed even quieter and farther away from the city streets than it had during the day.
I pulled up to the house I’d cased a few hours earlier. A single dim light showed in a downstairs room, more likely to be an automatic night-light on a timer than a reading lamp for a current occupant. I sat in the Saab, its motor still running in case I decided to leave, and took some breaths. What did I hope to gain? Information, I answered. I cursed myself for not being a normal person who spent Thursday nights in front of the television with a favorite sitcom or hospital drama.
I drove up to the spot I’d been in earlier in the day and parked the car, again mostly hidden by the trees. I walked up to the front door this time, poised to ring the bell. A visitor, for tea. I told myself once again that this was not a dangerous scenario. What attacker sits and waits for his victim to ring his doorbell?
I’d told Elaine I was going out for ice cream but had left no note for Matt. I was afraid he’d see through any sentence I’d construct. If he woke up before I returned, maybe he’d believe Elaine.
And maybe they’d be having this conversation at my funeral services. Why did I continue to put myself in danger? I hated to think my motive was to win approval, an attitude that had dominated my childhood and young adult life. Growing up with a mother who would never be pleased can have that effect.
Look, Ma, I’d say, I got all As.
So? she’d say. You don’t do anything around here but study. Who couldn’t get As with your life?
But that was a long time ago. What was my excuse now? Was I so insecure in Matt’s love that I felt I needed to be heroic to win his approval?
Crrrash! A loud noise coming from the bushes by the side of the house where I’d been snooping this afternoon.
I froze. A raccoon, I told myself, going after the pizza boxes. A rational explanation from my brain, but my body took over, and I turned and ran down the path, back to the car. My heart pounded, and at once I saw the ridiculousness of being there alone. I made my usual bargain with the universe: If I would be spared, I’d never do this again.
I’d put the keys in my pants pocket. I pulled at them, but they were caught on some loose threads that I’d meant to cut. A little careful homemaking would come in handy at times like this, I thought. I managed to get the keys free and clicked the remote.
I didn’t hear a beep—and remembered that I hadn’t locked the car.
I dove for the driver’s side, jumped in, and pushed the lock button, at the same time wrestling with the key to fit it into the ignition. After an interminable amount of time, the key clicked in. I drove away without looking back.
At the first traffic light, I caught my breath and steadied my hands. I looked in the rearview mirror, but I knew I’d never be able to tell if someone was following me. All I saw was headlights, one set indistinguishable from another.
At the next light, I was stopped directly under a streetlight. An unfamiliar reflection from the passenger seat caught my eye.
I looked over to see a small white padded envelope.
Someone had entered the Saab on Woodland Road and made a deposit.
I stepped into Elaine’s living room with a quart of chocolate showers—Loard’s delicious version of chocolate chip ice cream—in one hand and an audiotape in the other. I found her and Matt across from each other. Elaine’s eyes were red; the nearby wastebasket overflowed with tissues. I suspected there was no Dr. Philip Chambers registered in a hotel anywhere in the Hawaiian Islands.
It might have been the first time in my life that I postponed ice cream in favor of an audio recording.
“You got this tape where?” Matt asked.
I put my finger to my lips and pointed to Elaine, who had pushed the PLAY button on her old portable tape recorder. I remembered the little black machine from the days when she’d record meetings to be sure she got work assignments and due dates right. I had fond memories of the time she’d been the lead editor for a program I worked for, making it legitimate for us to have long lunch meetings.
“Okay, Howard, it’s just you and me here, and we need to get some things straight. It’s almost the middle of June, and I need to find out what you want me to do, how far we’re willing to go, and so on.”
Elaine pushed the STOP button. “That’s Phil’s voice,” she said. She took a breath and held it.
“He wants to establish a record,” Matt said. “He’s giving us who’s there, the date, and the agenda. I’m guessing Howard didn’t know this was being recorded. Very smart.”