Overload (62 page)

the two toward the house. As he did, Nancy realized they were fire

extinguishers.

The man made two more journeys between the VW and the house, each time

carrying in two more red fire extinguishers. Six altogether. After the

final pair he stayed in the house for about five minutes, then re-emerged

and drove away.

Nancy wavered about following, then decided not to. Afterward she sat

wondering: Why would so small a house need so much fire protec-

265

tion? Suddenly she exclaimed, "Shiti" She had not thought to note the VW's

license number, which she could have done easily. Now it was too late. She

chided herself for being a lousy detective and thought maybe she should have

followed the van after all.

Time to go, anyway? She supposed so. Her hand went to the ignition switch,

then stopped. Something else was happening at 117- Once more she reached

for the binoculars.

A woman had come out of the house; she was young, slight in build, and

carelessly dressed in faded jeans and a pea coat. She glanced around her

momentarily, then began walking briskly-in the opposite direction from the

parked Mercedes.

This time Nancy did not hesitate. She started the car and eased out from

her parking space. Keeping the woman in sight, she followed slowly, warily,

pulling into the curb occasionally so as not to overtake her quarry.

The woman did not look back. When she turned a comer, Nancy waited as long

as she dared before doing the same. She was in time to see the woman enter

a small supermarket. It had a parking lot and Nancy drove onto it. She

locked the car and followed inside.

The supermarket was averagely busy, with perhaps twenty people shopping.

Nancy caught sight of the woman she had followed-at the far end of an

aisle, putting cans into a shopping cart. Nancy got a cart herself, dropped

in a few items at random from nearby shelves, then moved casually toward

the other woman.

She appeared even younger now than she had at a distance-little more than

a girl. She was pale, her fair hair untidy, and she wore no makeup. On her

right hand she had what looked like an improvised glove. Clearly it covered

some kind of deformity or injury for she was using only her left hand.

Reaching out, she selected a jar of Mazola Oil and read the label.

Nancy Molineaux maneuvered her cart past, then abruptly turned, as if she

had forgotten something. Her eyes met the other woman's. Nancy smiled and

said brightly, "Hi! Don't we know each other?" She added, "I think we have

a mutual acquaintance, Davey Birdsong."

The response was immediate and startling. The young woman's face went ashen

white, she visibly trembled, and the Mazola Oil fell from her hand,

shattering on the floor.

There was a silence lasting several seconds in which nothing happened

except that a pool of oil spread rapidly across the shopping aisle. Then

the store manager hurried forward, clucking like a worried hen. "My

goodness! What a mess! Whatever happened here?"

"It was my fault," Nancy said quickly. "I'm sorry and I'll pay for what was

broken."

The manager objected, "It won't pay for the cleaning up, will it?"

"No," Nancy told him, "but think of the exercise you'll get." She

266

took the arm of the other woman, who was still standing transfixed, as if in

shock.

"Let's get out of here," Nancy said. Unresisting, abandoning her shopping

cart, the girl in the pea coat and jeans went with her.

On the parking lot, Nancy steered the girl toward the Mercedes. But as the

passenger door was unlocked and opened she seemed to come alert.

"I canT Oh, I can't! I have to get back to the house." Her voice was

nervously high-pitched, the trembling, which had stopped as they emerged

from the supermarket, began again. She looked at Nancy wildly. "Who are

you?"

"I'm a friend. Look, there's a bar around the block; I saw it on the way.

Why don't we go there, have a drink? You look as if you need one.11

"I tell you I can't!"

"Yes you can, and you will," Nancy said. "Because if you don't, I'm going

to phone your friend Davey Birdsong this afternoon and tell him . . ."

She had no idea how she would have finished the sentence but its effect was

electric. The girl got into the car without further protest. Nancy shut the

door alongside her, then went around to the driver's side.

It took only a few minutes to drive to the bar and there was parking space

outside. They left the car and went in. The interior was dark and smelled

of mildew.

"Christ!" Nancy said. "We need a seeing-eye dog." She groped her way to a

corner table, away from the few other people already drinking. Ile girl

followed.

As they sat down, Nancy said, "I have to call you something. What?"

"Yvette."

A waiter appeared and Yvette ordered a beer, Nancy a daiquiri. They were

silent until the drinks came.

This time the girl spoke first. "You still haven't told me who you are.,,

There seemed no reason to conceal the truth. "My name is Nancy Molineaux.

I'm a newspaper reporter."

Twice before, Yvette had exhibited shock, but this time the effect was even

greater. Her mouth fell open, the drink slipped in her hand and, if Nancy

had not grabbed it, would have gone the way of the Mazola.

"Take it easy," Nancy urged. "Reporters only eat people when they're

hungry. I'm not."

Ile girl whispered, having trouble with the words, "What do you want from

me?"

"Some information."

,267

Yvette moistened her lips. "Like what?"

"Like, who else lives in that house you came out of? What goes on there?

Why does Davey Birdsong visit? That's for starters."

"It's none of your business."

Nancy's eyes were becoming accustomed to the gloom and she could see,

despite the flash of spirit, that the other woman was still frightened.

She tried a random shot. "Okay, I guess I should have gone to the police

in the first place and . . ."

"No!" Yvette half rose, then fell back. Suddenly she put her face in her

hands and began to sob.

Nancy reached across the table. "I know you're in some kind of trouble.

If you'll let me, I'll help."

Through the sobbing: "Nobody can help." A moment later, with an obvious

effort of will, Yvette stood up. "I'm going now." Even in her acute

distress, she possessed a certain dignity.

"Listen," Nancy said. "I'll make a deal. If you'll agree to meet me

again, I won't say or do anything in the meantime."

The girl hesitated. "When?"

"Three days from now. Right here."

"Not three days." Again the mix of doubt and fear. "Maybe a week."

It would have to do. "All right. A week from today, next Wednesday -same

time, same place."

With a nod of agreement, Yvette left.

Driving away, Nancy was unsure whether she had handled the situation well

or badly. And what the hell was it all about? Where did Davey Birdsong

and Yvette fit in? Nancy's reference to the police during her

conversation with Yvette had been an offhand, impulsive remark. Yet the

girl's near-hysterical reaction suggested that something illegal was

going on. If so, what kind of illegality? It was all frustrating, with

too many questions, too few answers-like trying to assemble a jigsaw

puzzle without the slightest notion of what the end result might be.

14

For Nancy Molineaux, another piece of the jigsaw fell into place next

day. It concerned the vague, overheard rumor-which Nancy hadn't

believed-tbat Birdsong's p&lfp was seeking financial help from the

Sequoia Club.

Despite her skepticism, she had put out feelers. One produced results.

,268

A mailroom employee of the Sequoia Club, an elderly black woman named

Grace, had once asked Nancy Molineaux's help in obtaining city-subsidized

housing. At the time, all it bad taken was a single telephone call and use

of the California Examiner's influence to get her near the top of an

official waiting list. But Grace had been grateful and insisted that if she

could ever return the favor, she would.

Several weeks ago Nancy called her at home and mentioned the p &

lfp-Sequoia Club rumor. Would she try to discover, Nancy asked, whether

there was any substance to it and, if so, whether anything had come of p &

lfp's request?

A few days later she received a report: As far as Grace could learn, the

rumor was untrue. She added, though, "Something like that could be secret,

with not more than two or three at the top, like Prissy Pritchy [which was

what the Sequoia Club staff called Roderick Pritchett) knowing about it."

Today, Grace had used her lunch hour to go to the Examiner Building and

make her way to the newsroom. Nancy happened to be in. They went into a

soundproof glass cubicle where they could talk. Grace, who was heavily

built, overflowed a tight, brightly colored print dress and wore a floppy

hat. She was carrying a string bag and reached into it.

"Found out something, Miss Molineaux. Don't know if it has to do with what

you wanted, but here it is."

"It" was a copy of a Sequoia Club memo.

Grace explained: Three outward-bound envelopes, all marked Private and

Confidential, bad come through the mailroom. That was not unusual. What was

unusual was that one of the envelopes had arrived unsealed, probably

through a secretary's carelessness. Grace slipped it aside and later, when

she was unobserved, read the contents. Nancy smiled, wondering bow much

other mail got perused the same way.

Grace had used one of the Sequoia Club's Xerox machines to make the copy.

Nancy read the confidential memo carefully.

From: Executive Director

To: Members of Special Executive Committee

For your information, the, second donation to B's organization from the

contingency fund, and agreed to at our August 22 meeting, has now been

paid.

It was initialed "R.P."

Nancy asked, "Who was the envelope addressed to?"

"Mr. Saunders. He's a board member and . . ."

"Yes, I know." Irwin Saunders, the well-known lawyer-about-town, was a

Sequoia Club wheel. "How about the other two envelopes?"

"One was to Mrs. Carmichael, our chairman. The other was addressed to Mrs.

Quinn."

269

That would be Priscilla Quinn. Nancy knew her slightly. A snob and

socialite,

Grace asked anxiously, "Is it what you wanted?"

"I'm not sure." Nancy read the memo again. Of course, "B" could mean

Birdsong, but it might also mean other things. For example, the mayor,

whose last name began with "B," beaded an organization called "Save Old

Buildings," which the Sequoia Club supported actively. But in that case

would a memo be "private and confidential?" Perhaps. The Sequoia Club had

always been closemouthed about its money.

"Whatever you do," Grace said, "you won't let on where that came from?"

"I don't even know you," Nancy assured her. "And you've never been here."