Hotline to Murder (15 page)

“Mom, this is Tony,” Shahla said. “The one I told
you about.”

Shahla had called her mother from the Hotline and
told her they were coming.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Lawton,” Tony
said. He didn’t know whether it would be proper to shake hands with
her or not.

She immediately extended her hand, however, and
said, “Please call me Rasa. All my patients do. I appreciate you
working with my daughter.”

“You’re a nurse, aren’t you?” Tony asked.

“Yes, I work at Bonita Beach Memorial Hospital.”

“Mom, Tony’s going to drive to Las Vegas as part of
Joy’s murder investigation, and I need to go with him.”

Shahla was diving in without testing the water. Tony
expected Rasa to hit the ceiling, but she showed an amazing
calm.

“Please sit down,” Rasa said to Tony. “Would you
like coffee?”

Tony hesitated and Shahla said, “It’s American
coffee. The kind you drink.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Tony sat down on a soft couch that had two sections,
at a 90-degree angle from each other. Shahla kicked off her shoes
and sat down on the other section. She curled one leg up underneath
her.

“Your mother speaks English very well,” Tony
said.

“She does all right. She has trouble with her
articles.”

“Articles?”

“A, an, and the.”

“Where was she born?”

“In Teheran.”

“Iran,” Tony said. “I have a cousin who is married
to an Iranian.”

“She prefers to be called Persian.”

“How about your Dad?”

“He was born in Chicago.”

The soft couch made Tony realize that he was tired.
He found himself relaxing. Shahla had quit talking. He glanced over
and saw that her eyes were closed. At least she didn’t feel she had
to entertain him.

They both came to attention when Rasa returned with
a tray containing two cups of coffee and a glass of water for
Shahla. Tony declined an offer of sugar and cream and took a sip.
This would wake him up.

After they were served, Rasa sat in an armchair and
said, “Tony, tell me about trip to Las Vegas.”

Shahla started to speak, but Rasa interrupted her
saying, “I want to hear it from Tony. You will get your chance
after.”

“One of our former callers is a poet,” Tony said. “A
few days ago Shahla and I found a poem that had been slipped under
the door of the Hotline. Did she show it to you?”

“No,” Rasa said and looked at Shahla, who looked
only the tiniest bit contrite. “She does not show me anything.”

“Since it’s evidence, I felt the fewer the number of
people who saw it, the better,” Shahla said.

Rasa shrugged and said to Tony, “Go on with your
story.”

“It’s a well-written poem, and Shahla felt that the
only person she knows who might have written it was this former
caller, Paul, who lives in Las Vegas. We sent him an e-mail, and he
said he would like to meet us.”

“Me,” Shahla said. “He said he would like to meet
me.”

“Okay, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for Shahla
to go.”

“Is this not job for police?” Rasa asked.

“We don’t really have any evidence that he wrote the
poem,” Tony said. “It’s probably what my grandmother would have
called a wild goose chase.”

“I see,” Rasa said. “Okay, Shahla, tell your side of
story.”

“Tony’s a good guy,” Shahla said, “but he’s not a
poet. He doesn’t know how to talk to poets. He won’t be able to get
anything out of Paul. That is, if Paul will even talk to him.
Because he has one other problem. He’s not—a girl.”

“Is it dangerous, meeting this person Paul?” Rasa
asked.

“Not if Tony’s with me,” Shahla said. “We’re going
to meet him in a coffee shop in the middle of Las Vegas.”

“Do you agree?” Rasa asked Tony.

“Er, well, no, it shouldn’t be dangerous. As Shahla
says, it will be in a public place. But I still don’t think she
should go.”

“I don’t think so either,” Rasa said.

Shahla started to protest. Rasa held up her
hand.

“Tony, let me tell you little history,” Rasa said.
“Five years ago Shahla lost her father. She is my only daughter. I
have one younger son who is asleep, that is if Shahla did not wake
him by shouting when she came in. Shahla was very shook up by her
father’s death. It is taking her long time to recover.”

Rasa paused and took a sip of coffee. “Tony, don’t
let anybody tell you it is easier to raise girls than boys. As a
nurse, I see problems every day, not just with my own family. Girls
are harder. Just look at clothes they wear.”

Shahla again looked ready to say something, but Rasa
continued, “It is difficult to be single mom. I try my best with
children, but it is hard. Shahla misses out by not having father
figure. She looks up to you. I know because she told me some things
about you, and she doesn’t talk about many of her friends. You are
not old enough to be father figure, but you are man, much more
mature than crazy teenage boys.”

Tony wondered where this was going. He glanced at
Shahla. She had a look of expectation on her face.

“I do not want Shahla to go, but I do not want her
to hate me, either. And I don’t want her doing things behind my
back. It is tough decision. I trust you, Tony, perhaps more than I
trust Shahla. I trust you not to hurt her and to keep her safe. If
I give permission, will you take Shahla with you?”

Now he knew why Shahla was willing to leave the
decision to her mother. She had her mother where she wanted her.
But Rasa had made some good points. And from the trust that she
placed in him, he knew that he would never be able to do anything
to hurt Shahla.

He looked at Shahla. She was nodding her head
vigorously. Tony swallowed his doubts and said, “All right, you can
go. But you have to go to bed right now. Because I’m picking you up
at seven o’clock tomorrow morning. Sharp.”

CHAPTER 18

Tony upshifted smoothly as he merged onto
the 105 Freeway eastbound from the 405 northbound. The 105 was a
godsend to the commuter who lived near the coast and commuted
inland—or vice versa. It was the newest of the L.A. freeways, and
Tony drove it constantly for his work. Only infrequently did he
think about the hundreds of people who had once lived along here
and had been displaced during its protracted period of
construction.

He glanced at Shahla, sacked out on the seat
beside him. She had fallen asleep almost as soon as he had backed
out of her driveway. So much for companionship. Remembering his own
days as a teenager, he knew that they often didn’t get enough
sleep. But he couldn’t play his radio or his CDs, which he would
have been doing if he had been alone. Maybe she was more trouble
than she was worth.

She was wearing her hair down, not in a
ponytail. Her jeans were cut higher than usual on her hips and her
top lower, closing the gap. The changes made her look older, and
Tony knew enough about women to realize that this was a calculated
look, to impress Paul. He admitted to himself that the more mature
Shahla was more appealing. But he must not get carried away. She
was still only seventeen.

***

“Where are we?”

Shahla’s sleepy voice jolted Tony out of his
reverie. The Porsche had been humming along on Interstate 15, and
he had been humming under his breath, in perfect synch with it. How
much better than the stop-and-go driving in town. He was only going
a few miles-per-hour over the speed limit. Speed wasn’t the issue.
It was—freedom. Besides, he felt responsible for Shahla’s safety,
especially after talking to Rasa. He felt very protective of her.
Almost like a father. Almost. He would have been going faster if
she weren’t with him.

“We’re approaching Barstow.”

“I’ve never been to Barstow.”

“Neither has anybody else who doesn’t drive
to Las Vegas from L.A. It’s not exactly the garden spot of
California.”

“I’m hungry.”

“We’re making good time. We’ll stop and grab
a bite to eat. How did you sleep?”

She gave him a smile. “I had a good sleep.
This is closer to the time I usually get up on Saturday.”

Tony downshifted as he cruised along an
off-ramp. The desert community had plenty of fast-food restaurants
and gas stations. It was designed for the traveler passing through.
But, surprisingly, quite a few people lived here, also. It was a
bustling place. What did the residents do? Besides cater to
tourists. He pulled into the parking lot of the first restaurant
they came to, in a space with campers on either side.

“It’s hot,” Shahla announced after getting
out of the car.

“No cooling ocean breezes in the desert,
like we get at the beach.”

However, the air-conditioning was cranking
away inside. They found a booth amid the weekend visitors, with
their hats and loud shirts. A waitress, who had been waitressing
for a long time and would continue more or less forever, took their
orders. Shahla ordered orange juice and an English muffin. Tony
ordered coffee and thought the muffin sounded good, so he also
asked for one.

After a couple of sips of coffee, Tony said,
“We need a plan for dealing with Paul. We should get there before
he does, which is good.”

“I thought we’d sit at separate tables, and
I’d talk to him while you keep an eye on us.”

“No way. I don’t want to be separated from
you. And I need to hear everything he says.”

“You’ll scare him.”

“No I won’t. I’ll be your…brother. Don’t you
think we could pass as brother and sister?”

“In a dim light, maybe. But let me do the
talking.”

Tony chuckled. “You’re really a control
freak, aren’t you?”

“I’m just trying to protect you, Tony. You
don’t know poetry. You might say the wrong thing.”

“I thought I was supposed to protect you.
That’s what your mom wants. And speaking of, you must really have
her buffaloed to convince her to let you run off to Vegas with a
character like me.”

“Quit running yourself down. And she
exaggerates. I’m a good daughter. Especially compared to some of
the others. One of the girls at school won’t live at home. She
lives with a friend and communicates with her mom mostly by
e-mail.”

“Whew. No wonder I’m not married.”

“You’ll make a good father.”

“That’ll be the day.”

***

They made a nonstop run from Barstow to Las
Vegas. Shahla, now fully awake, became quite talkative, commenting
on the desert scenery, talking about her plans for college and
life. She was in the process of filling out applications to
universities. Tony reflected that she was doing a lot more planning
than he had done at her age—maybe than he did now.

“Have you written a lot of poetry?” Tony
asked her at one point.

“I started writing poetry when I was eight
or nine. Mom sent me to my room for a time out, and I didn’t have
anything better to do so I wrote a couple of bad poems. I’ve been
writing poetry ever since. I’ve had some published in the school
paper and a few other places. I’ve also written articles for the
paper.”

“You’re so busy. When do you find time to
write?”

“Oh, when I’m sad. Or depressed. Or happy. I
can write pretty much any time. I have a notebook full of
poems.”

They parked in a lot in downtown Las Vegas,
near Fremont Street, and walked several blocks to the Tortoise
Club. It was a typical downtown casino—loud and flashy, but without
much substance beneath the facade, as Tony knew from experience. A
good way to lose your money in the slots or at the blackjack tables
slowly, with minimum bets, without the distraction of shows.
Perfect for the businesslike gambler who didn’t have a large stake.
And the small gamblers were out in force today—the retirees who
came on buses and lost their Social Security checks before
returning home to their empty lives.

Tony steered Shahla into the coffee shop,
away from temptation, a half hour before their appointment, and
they sat down at a table, both of them on the same side, facing the
door. A quick glance at the other tables convinced them that Paul
had not preceded them here. Tony suggested they order lunch.

“Can we drive by some of the big hotels on
the way back?” Shahla asked between sips of a soft drink.

Tony didn’t know whether her excitement was
at the prospect of meeting Paul or from the effect Las Vegas had on
people. It was probably a combination. He had avoided Las Vegas
Boulevard on the way in because traffic on it was so
miserable—worse than in many parts of Los Angeles.

“Why not? We’ll give you a look at plastic
city. They’ve recreated some of the great places in the world
here—Paris, Venice, New York, Egypt. You just have to remember that
it’s all fake.”

“Don’t be so cynical. This is all new to
me.”

Paul didn’t appear at 1:30, the scheduled
time. Tony wondered whether he was going to show up. They finished
their lunches and continued to nurse their drinks.

“How much time should we give him?” Shahla
asked. She sounded restless, as if she would rather be sightseeing
than playing detective.

“We’ve driven all this way. Let’s give him
until two.”

At five minutes of two a tall young man
walked into the coffee shop, or rather eased his way in.
Considering his dominating height, he looked a little timid, as
though he wasn’t sure how the world would treat him. Skinny as a
broomstick, he wore thick-lensed glasses and had sandy hair that
stuck out at odd angles. He had on a T-shirt with some writing on
it and carried a notebook.

“That’s him,” Shahla said. She raised her
arm and waved at the man.

Tony wondered how she could be so sure, but
he spotted them and came toward their table with a shambling step,
looking relieved. Maybe it was because they weren’t monsters.

“You must be Paul,” Shahla said, standing up
and extending her hand. “I’m Sally. And this is my brother,
Tony.”