With a little luck, too, the drivers of both are the little old ladies of fame and legend, who will open their doors carefully and not put large dings in mine.
Susan found her purse where it had slipped off the seat into the passenger-side footwell, then got out of the car, carefully locking it.
Then she started to walk back between the rows of parked vehicles, the way she had driven in.
Halfway, she heard the sound of a door opening, and her name being softly called: “Susie!”
It was Jennie’s voice.
The vehicle was a four- or five-year-old Ford station wagon, a different car than the last time, but equally nondescript.
As she walked to the station wagon, the passenger door opened, but there was no light from the inside.
“Jennie?”
“Hi, Susie!”
Susan got in.
The car stank, a musty smell, as if it had been left out in the rain with the windows down, but there was an aroma, too, of baby powder.
Jennie was wearing a white blouse and blue jeans. She leaned across the seat to kiss Susan, and then immediately started the engine, turned on the headlights, and started off.
“You’re not running from anybody, are you?” Susan asked.
God, why did I let that get away?
“No. Of course not,” Jennie said.
“You took off like a shot,” Susan said.
Jennie didn’t reply, which made Susan uncomfortable.
“How’s the baby?” Susan asked.
“Take a look for yourself,” Jennie said, and pressed something into Susan’s hand. After a moment, Susan realized it was a flashlight.
“There’s something wrong with the switch,” Jennie said. “Switches. The one that turns on the inside light, and the one in the door.”
And I’ll just bet Bryan’s been fixing them, hasn’t he?
“Try not to shine it in his eyes,” Jennie said. “That wakes him.”
Susan understood from that that the baby was in the back. She turned and leaned over the seat. She could make out blankets, and the smell of baby powder was stronger.
I’d really like to have a look, but if I shine the light, he’ll wake up for sure.
She turned around.
“I’ll wait ’til we get where we’re going,” she said. “And have a good look at him.”
Jennie grunted.
“Where are we going?” Susan asked.
“Not far. Just the other side of New Hope,” Jennie said. “Bryan found a house on a hill. You can see the Delaware.”
“Where is he?”
“Working,” Jennie said. “He plays from nine to one.”
“Plays?”
“The piano. In a bar outside New Hope.”
“How long has he been doing that?”
“Couple of weeks. He used to go there at night and play for the fun of it. So the owner asked him if he would play for money. Off the books.”
“He doesn’t need money,” Susan said. It was a question.
“I think he likes to get out of the house,” Jennie said. “The baby makes him nervous.”
And I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if there were single women around this place where he plays the piano.
Matt Payne was lying on his back, sound asleep, his arms and legs spread, his mouth open, and wearing only a T-shirt, when the telephone rang. He was snoring quietly.
The second ring of the telephone brought him from sound asleep to fully awake, but except to open his eyes and tilt his head so that he could see the telephone half-hidden behind his snub-nosed revolver in its ankle holster on his bedside table, he did not move at all.
The telephone rang twice more, and then there was a click as the answering machine switched on, and then his prerecorded voice filled the tiny bedroom.
“If this is an attempt to sell me something, your telephone will explode in your ear in three seconds. Otherwise you may wait for the beep, and leave your name and number, and I will return your call.”
There was a beep.
And then a rather pleasant, if somewhat exasperated in tone, male voice came over the small loudspeaker.
“Cute, very cute! Pick up the damned telephone, Matt.”
Matt Payne recognized Peter Wohl’s voice. His arm shot out and grabbed the telephone.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Is it too much to hope that I’m interrupting something lewd, immoral, and probably illegal?”
“Unfortunately, you have found me lying here in a state of involuntary celibacy.”
“Mighty Matthew has struck out? How did that happen?”
“I strongly suspect the lady doesn’t like policemen. I was doing pretty well, I thought, before what I do for a living came up.”
“Sometimes that happens.” Wohl chuckled.
“What’s up, boss?”
“Golf is off, Matt. Sorry.”
“Okay,” Matt said. “I’m sorry, too.”
“Carlucci called my father last night and ‘suggested’ everybody get together for