Laurel.”
Liddy maneuvered as I’d suggested, then stopped and turned off the engine. No cars were behind us on Laurel, nor, for the moment, were any coming from the valley toward Hollywood. We sat in the darkness for a few moments, listening for the sounds of footsteps, and watching for lights turned on in any of the nearby houses.
When we were satisfied that the neighborhood was asleep, Liddy whispered, “What now?”
“We walk up Rothdell and find Ingram’s little pseudo Swiss chalet.”
“Walk? That road looks as though it goes almost straight up.”
“It’s narrow, and I don’t know where it would be safe to park. Besides, if we have to get away fast it’s better to have the car down here, where we can get right onto Laurel Canyon.”
To reduce the amount of noise we made, we opened only Liddy’s driver’s side door. After she got out quietly, I handed her my gym bag, then climbed over the gearbox, and stepped down onto the cement beside her. Liddy closed the Rover’s door with only the faintest clunk and locked the vehicle.
Liddy whispered, “Did you bring those lock-picky things Mack gave you when you kept losing your keys?”
Even at this tense moment, I had to smile at that old memory. “No. I have another plan for getting into Ingram’s house.”
Walking as quietly as possible, we started up Rothdell. I was praying that we wouldn’t run into any foraging coyotes. The canyons were full of them, especially during a period of drought such as Southern California was currently experiencing. This was a fear I hadn’t mentioned to Liddy, who lived south of Sunset Boulevard, in the woods-less and coyote-free section of Beverly Hills.
Another potential danger we faced was running into some predawn dog walker who would be likely to know we didn’t live in this area. In case we did, I’d prepared a story to tell: We’re middle-aged fans of the Doors, looking for the houses in which our musical heroes had stayed. It wasn’t a very credible excuse for being there, but it was better than admitting we were planning to commit burglary.
Several houses up the steep lane I touched Liddy on the arm, signaling her to stop. I indicated a structure that resembled pictures I’d seen of Swiss chalets. Nothing else we’d passed looked like that residence. It was constructed of dark wood, with rectangular windows framed in white, each of which contained four to six small panes. The roof had three peaks. One faced front, a smaller one faced to the left, and the smallest was set toward the rear. All that was missing was a layer of snow blanketing the roof shingles, and a pair of skis leaning next to the front door.
As Eileen had described it, this was a one-and-a-half-story house, with the upper level set a third of the way back from the ground floor. Keith Ingram’s bedroom was up there.
Liddy whispered, “What do we do now?”
“You hide in the shrubbery at the front while I go around to the back of the house. If I don’t manage to get inside in three or four minutes, I’ll come back. If I set off the burglar alarm, run fast as you can back to your car and get in. Drive across Laurel, go a few yards down Kirkwood Drive, cut your lights, and wait for me.”
“What about the alarm system? He must have one.”
“I have a plan,” I said, with more confidence than I felt. “Do you have your cell phone with you?”
She patted the side pocket of her slacks. “It’s on vibrate.”
“Mine is, too. Call me if you see anyone coming up to this house.”
I put down my gym bag long enough to pull on the pair of Bill’s latex gloves Liddy had provided. We gave each other the thumbs-up sign.
Carrying the bag, I made my way through the darkness around to the back of Keith Ingram’s silent house.
There was just enough illumination from a streetlight in front of the next home for me to stay on the dirt path that led to the rear of the property. Eileen had alerted me to the fact that there was a wooden
Liddy maneuvered as I’d suggested, then stopped and turned off the engine. No cars were behind us on Laurel, nor, for the moment, were any coming from the valley toward Hollywood. We sat in the darkness for a few moments, listening for the sounds of footsteps, and watching for lights turned on in any of the nearby houses.
When we were satisfied that the neighborhood was asleep, Liddy whispered, “What now?”
“We walk up Rothdell and find Ingram’s little pseudo Swiss chalet.”
“Walk? That road looks as though it goes almost straight up.”
“It’s narrow, and I don’t know where it would be safe to park. Besides, if we have to get away fast it’s better to have the car down here, where we can get right onto Laurel Canyon.”
To reduce the amount of noise we made, we opened only Liddy’s driver’s side door. After she got out quietly, I handed her my gym bag, then climbed over the gearbox, and stepped down onto the cement beside her. Liddy closed the Rover’s door with only the faintest clunk and locked the vehicle.
Liddy whispered, “Did you bring those lock-picky things Mack gave you when you kept losing your keys?”
Even at this tense moment, I had to smile at that old memory. “No. I have another plan for getting into Ingram’s house.”
Walking as quietly as possible, we started up Rothdell. I was praying that we wouldn’t run into any foraging coyotes. The canyons were full of them, especially during a period of drought such as Southern California was currently experiencing. This was a fear I hadn’t mentioned to Liddy, who lived south of Sunset Boulevard, in the woods-less and coyote-free section of Beverly Hills.
Another potential danger we faced was running into some predawn dog walker who would be likely to know we didn’t live in this area. In case we did, I’d prepared a story to tell: We’re middle-aged fans of the Doors, looking for the houses in which our musical heroes had stayed. It wasn’t a very credible excuse for being there, but it was better than admitting we were planning to commit burglary.
Several houses up the steep lane I touched Liddy on the arm, signaling her to stop. I indicated a structure that resembled pictures I’d seen of Swiss chalets. Nothing else we’d passed looked like that residence. It was constructed of dark wood, with rectangular windows framed in white, each of which contained four to six small panes. The roof had three peaks. One faced front, a smaller one faced to the left, and the smallest was set toward the rear. All that was missing was a layer of snow blanketing the roof shingles, and a pair of skis leaning next to the front door.
As Eileen had described it, this was a one-and-a-half-story house, with the upper level set a third of the way back from the ground floor. Keith Ingram’s bedroom was up there.
Liddy whispered, “What do we do now?”
“You hide in the shrubbery at the front while I go around to the back of the house. If I don’t manage to get inside in three or four minutes, I’ll come back. If I set off the burglar alarm, run fast as you can back to your car and get in. Drive across Laurel, go a few yards down Kirkwood Drive, cut your lights, and wait for me.”
“What about the alarm system? He must have one.”
“I have a plan,” I said, with more confidence than I felt. “Do you have your cell phone with you?”
She patted the side pocket of her slacks. “It’s on vibrate.”
“Mine is, too. Call me if you see anyone coming up to this house.”
I put down my gym bag long enough to pull on the pair of Bill’s latex gloves Liddy had provided. We gave each other the thumbs-up sign.
Carrying the bag, I made my way through the darkness around to the back of Keith Ingram’s silent house.
There was just enough illumination from a streetlight in front of the next home for me to stay on the dirt path that led to the rear of the property. Eileen had alerted me to the fact that there was a wooden
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