him. He jogged into the woods, then began to angle toward the house. He’d set up in the wood line to monitor Laws’s engagement with the persons on the premises.
Holmes toggled on a tablet to magnify the view and waited.
Through the mask of trees, Laws could be seen approaching the front door and knocking. The house was Tudor-style with a pitched roof, dormers, and timbers offset by the white cottage covering. It appeared perfectly suited for its secluded position, deep within the San Gabriel Mountain woods.
They waited.
Laws turned and looked around, but not in the direction of the vehicle.
He knocked again.
The door was opened several seconds later by an older woman, dressed in a housedress, apron, and sensible shoes, right out of a 1960s Better Homes and Gardens photo.
Laws smiled, held out his hand to shake, and waited.
The woman ignored it, however, and seemed about to close the door when—
The tablet came to life as YaYa’s equipment came online. A zoomed-in side shot of Laws and part of the woman’s face appeared along with audio. “But ma’am, I’m just a courier from Loyola Marymount.” He spread his hands apologetically. “I have a registered letter that I have to deliver to Mr. Van Dyke regarding an emergency meeting of the Board of Trustees.”
“Again, Mr. Van Dyke isn’t here at the moment. If you can leave it with me, then I can—”
Laws shook his head and frowned sadly. “That’s unfortunate. The board requires an immediate response. It’s why they sent me out here.” He glanced around and lowered his voice. “It has to do with a windfall they want to distribute among the board members. I don’t know any details, but it’s supposed to be a considerable sum.”
The woman was silent for a long moment, then said, “Wait one moment,” and closed the door.
Laws turned to where YaYa was sitting and gave a huge grin.
“Show-off,” Holmes said quietly.
Yank noticed that despite the word, his boss had a secret smile on his face. They were lucky to have Laws. Not only did he have a photographic memory, but he could also speak several languages. Yank was just happy to be able to speak a little L.A. Spanish, much less Chinese.
A minute later, the woman returned to the front door. She opened it. “Come in, Mr. Fogbottom. I’m sure you understand we get people wanting Mr. Van Dyke’s autograph all the time.” She smiled softly and stepped aside. “He asks me to keep them out.”
“I’m sure you do an excellent job, ma’am.” Laws stepped inside.
With no one outside, the image snapped off, but the audio continued, provided by Laws’s wire. “Sure glad he’s here. It was a long drive and that road—”
She chuckled. “Rim of the World. It keeps many from coming, thank the gods.”
Yank and Holmes glanced at each other.
“It also keeps me from getting down to L.A.,” she added. “I can’t stand those sheer drop-offs.”
“Me neither.” The sound of several footsteps on a hardwood floor.
“This is Mr. Van Dyke’s sitting room. If you’ll wait a moment.”
The sound of a single set of footsteps retreating.
Laws whispered, “East-facing window. Walls lined with floor-to-ceiling built-ins, except for one wall with pictures with movie stars and … is that Schwarzenegger?”
“Yes,” came a raspy voice. One could tell it had once been deep but now was edged with sickness.
“I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I’m not one to clomp around my own house like Ms. Murphy. Plus, these slippers don’t make much noise.” After a pause, “Ms. Murphy said you had something for me.”
“I do.” The sound of paper ruffling. “If I could see an ID, though, Mr. Van Dyke.”
Rasping coughs. “Look at the man in the pictures and look at me.” More coughs. “What you see is a younger, handsomer version. Plus, that young man doesn’t have my particular sickness.”
“Very sorry for your—illness, sir.”
“It comes and goes. Now the
Holmes toggled on a tablet to magnify the view and waited.
Through the mask of trees, Laws could be seen approaching the front door and knocking. The house was Tudor-style with a pitched roof, dormers, and timbers offset by the white cottage covering. It appeared perfectly suited for its secluded position, deep within the San Gabriel Mountain woods.
They waited.
Laws turned and looked around, but not in the direction of the vehicle.
He knocked again.
The door was opened several seconds later by an older woman, dressed in a housedress, apron, and sensible shoes, right out of a 1960s Better Homes and Gardens photo.
Laws smiled, held out his hand to shake, and waited.
The woman ignored it, however, and seemed about to close the door when—
The tablet came to life as YaYa’s equipment came online. A zoomed-in side shot of Laws and part of the woman’s face appeared along with audio. “But ma’am, I’m just a courier from Loyola Marymount.” He spread his hands apologetically. “I have a registered letter that I have to deliver to Mr. Van Dyke regarding an emergency meeting of the Board of Trustees.”
“Again, Mr. Van Dyke isn’t here at the moment. If you can leave it with me, then I can—”
Laws shook his head and frowned sadly. “That’s unfortunate. The board requires an immediate response. It’s why they sent me out here.” He glanced around and lowered his voice. “It has to do with a windfall they want to distribute among the board members. I don’t know any details, but it’s supposed to be a considerable sum.”
The woman was silent for a long moment, then said, “Wait one moment,” and closed the door.
Laws turned to where YaYa was sitting and gave a huge grin.
“Show-off,” Holmes said quietly.
Yank noticed that despite the word, his boss had a secret smile on his face. They were lucky to have Laws. Not only did he have a photographic memory, but he could also speak several languages. Yank was just happy to be able to speak a little L.A. Spanish, much less Chinese.
A minute later, the woman returned to the front door. She opened it. “Come in, Mr. Fogbottom. I’m sure you understand we get people wanting Mr. Van Dyke’s autograph all the time.” She smiled softly and stepped aside. “He asks me to keep them out.”
“I’m sure you do an excellent job, ma’am.” Laws stepped inside.
With no one outside, the image snapped off, but the audio continued, provided by Laws’s wire. “Sure glad he’s here. It was a long drive and that road—”
She chuckled. “Rim of the World. It keeps many from coming, thank the gods.”
Yank and Holmes glanced at each other.
“It also keeps me from getting down to L.A.,” she added. “I can’t stand those sheer drop-offs.”
“Me neither.” The sound of several footsteps on a hardwood floor.
“This is Mr. Van Dyke’s sitting room. If you’ll wait a moment.”
The sound of a single set of footsteps retreating.
Laws whispered, “East-facing window. Walls lined with floor-to-ceiling built-ins, except for one wall with pictures with movie stars and … is that Schwarzenegger?”
“Yes,” came a raspy voice. One could tell it had once been deep but now was edged with sickness.
“I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I’m not one to clomp around my own house like Ms. Murphy. Plus, these slippers don’t make much noise.” After a pause, “Ms. Murphy said you had something for me.”
“I do.” The sound of paper ruffling. “If I could see an ID, though, Mr. Van Dyke.”
Rasping coughs. “Look at the man in the pictures and look at me.” More coughs. “What you see is a younger, handsomer version. Plus, that young man doesn’t have my particular sickness.”
“Very sorry for your—illness, sir.”
“It comes and goes. Now the
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