last.
“There’s a key in the dragon planter on the back porch.”
“Terrific,” I said briefly. “No one will ever think of looking there.”
64 Josh Lanyon
“Are you going to do it?”
“What exactly am I doing? Retrieving a letter that has the location of your secret hideout?”
His voice wavered. “Why are you mad at me?”
“Because you knew --” My voice shook. I cleared my throat and said, “Because you knew about the body in Eaton Canyon. Because you’re involved in a goddamned murder --
and I helped you --”
He slammed the phone down.
I pressed Call Return. The number flashed on the screen. Up north somewhere, judging by the area code. I scribbled the number. Then I called Jake’s cell. It was busy. I pressed pound to leave a message.
“It’s me.” I explained briefly, recited Angus’s phone number. “He asked me to pick something up for him at his place. It’s eleven-thirty now. I should be over there by twelve, if you want to have a look around without a warrant.” I pulled the address out of my Rolodex, read it over the phone, and hung up.
* * * * *
The house was at the end of a cul-de-sac. One of those rectangular, L-shaped, ranch-style fixer-uppers that no one had bothered to fix up. It looked blue in the moonlight. The peeling shutters were blood-colored -- possibly brown in the light of day. The attached garage sagged wearily on its posts. Apparently Angus wasn’t a big fan of HGTV.
For laughs, I walked to the front and tried the door. It was locked. I decided that was a good sign. I went around to the side gate. It was also locked, fastened by a padlock on the other side of the tall wooden gate.
I weighed alternatives while keeping an eye on the neighbor’s house. The windows next door were dark, so either no one was home, or everyone was in bed. I didn’t fancy getting snagged for burglary by a Citizen’s Watch zealot. I suspected Angus might not stay around long enough to back my story.
It was a reasonably sturdy gate. I decided it could likely take my weight. I grabbed the top board and swung myself up. I balanced briefly, the fence groaning in alarm. I jumped, landing in tall grass and weeds.
That had been easier than expected. I went around the corner of the house. The patio was a cement slab with a metal canopy. There was a selection of withered plants in pots of various sizes. I didn’t need to use my flashlight thanks to the dramatic full moon, and the fact that the dragon planter had been painted in Day-Glo paint. Red eyes glowed eerily from the shadows. I poked around in the dirt and dead twigs, found the key, and opened the sliding glass door.
I stepped inside. The place stank of cigarettes, marijuana, garbage…
The Hell You Say
65
“Hello?”
The sound of my voice was startling in the emptiness of that house. I’d never been anywhere that felt so cold, so devoid of life.
I turned on the nearest lamp.
The room looked shockingly ordinary. No horned goat image painted on the walls, no altar festooned with black candles.
The shag carpet looked like Rice-A-Roni, and there was an assortment of furniture ready for the Goodwill, although, come to think of it, that was probably where Angus had purchased it. The coffee table was littered with music magazines and bills. There were several books on astrology, including a copy of The Devil’s Disciple by Garibaldi.
There was also a copy of The Satanic Bible. I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise at the sight of the ominous scarlet pentagram on that stark black cover.
After a moment I shook off my inertia, telling myself not to be an ass. I quickly shuffled through the papers scattered across the coffee table. No letters. I glanced around the room.
Not a single picture on the wall. Now that truly was weird.
I made tracks for the kitchen. It was disorderly, but not dirty, despite the persistent reek of garbage. A phone book lay open on the table. I glanced at the yellow pages: locksmiths. Was
“There’s a key in the dragon planter on the back porch.”
“Terrific,” I said briefly. “No one will ever think of looking there.”
64 Josh Lanyon
“Are you going to do it?”
“What exactly am I doing? Retrieving a letter that has the location of your secret hideout?”
His voice wavered. “Why are you mad at me?”
“Because you knew --” My voice shook. I cleared my throat and said, “Because you knew about the body in Eaton Canyon. Because you’re involved in a goddamned murder --
and I helped you --”
He slammed the phone down.
I pressed Call Return. The number flashed on the screen. Up north somewhere, judging by the area code. I scribbled the number. Then I called Jake’s cell. It was busy. I pressed pound to leave a message.
“It’s me.” I explained briefly, recited Angus’s phone number. “He asked me to pick something up for him at his place. It’s eleven-thirty now. I should be over there by twelve, if you want to have a look around without a warrant.” I pulled the address out of my Rolodex, read it over the phone, and hung up.
* * * * *
The house was at the end of a cul-de-sac. One of those rectangular, L-shaped, ranch-style fixer-uppers that no one had bothered to fix up. It looked blue in the moonlight. The peeling shutters were blood-colored -- possibly brown in the light of day. The attached garage sagged wearily on its posts. Apparently Angus wasn’t a big fan of HGTV.
For laughs, I walked to the front and tried the door. It was locked. I decided that was a good sign. I went around to the side gate. It was also locked, fastened by a padlock on the other side of the tall wooden gate.
I weighed alternatives while keeping an eye on the neighbor’s house. The windows next door were dark, so either no one was home, or everyone was in bed. I didn’t fancy getting snagged for burglary by a Citizen’s Watch zealot. I suspected Angus might not stay around long enough to back my story.
It was a reasonably sturdy gate. I decided it could likely take my weight. I grabbed the top board and swung myself up. I balanced briefly, the fence groaning in alarm. I jumped, landing in tall grass and weeds.
That had been easier than expected. I went around the corner of the house. The patio was a cement slab with a metal canopy. There was a selection of withered plants in pots of various sizes. I didn’t need to use my flashlight thanks to the dramatic full moon, and the fact that the dragon planter had been painted in Day-Glo paint. Red eyes glowed eerily from the shadows. I poked around in the dirt and dead twigs, found the key, and opened the sliding glass door.
I stepped inside. The place stank of cigarettes, marijuana, garbage…
The Hell You Say
65
“Hello?”
The sound of my voice was startling in the emptiness of that house. I’d never been anywhere that felt so cold, so devoid of life.
I turned on the nearest lamp.
The room looked shockingly ordinary. No horned goat image painted on the walls, no altar festooned with black candles.
The shag carpet looked like Rice-A-Roni, and there was an assortment of furniture ready for the Goodwill, although, come to think of it, that was probably where Angus had purchased it. The coffee table was littered with music magazines and bills. There were several books on astrology, including a copy of The Devil’s Disciple by Garibaldi.
There was also a copy of The Satanic Bible. I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise at the sight of the ominous scarlet pentagram on that stark black cover.
After a moment I shook off my inertia, telling myself not to be an ass. I quickly shuffled through the papers scattered across the coffee table. No letters. I glanced around the room.
Not a single picture on the wall. Now that truly was weird.
I made tracks for the kitchen. It was disorderly, but not dirty, despite the persistent reek of garbage. A phone book lay open on the table. I glanced at the yellow pages: locksmiths. Was
Similar Books
