Hotline to Murder (27 page)

Shahla dropped to the floor and quickly
crawled in front of the door, until she could reach the security
stick, beneath the drapes. She replaced it in the track of the
sliding door. Then she got up and ran back to the stairs, dodging
furniture, and turned off that light. Next she turned off the light
in the bathroom. She leaned against the wall, trying to get her
breathing under control. No way was she going outside in the
dark.

One of the pieces of furniture stored in the
room was a couch. Once again in the dark, she carefully felt her
way to the couch and sat down. She would spend the night here. It
was large and soft, and she felt somewhat protected by it. A noise
outside made her jump. It sounded like the howl of a cat. After a
few seconds of panic, she determined that it was probably just
that.

Her mother would be worried about her. That
couldn’t be helped. She hoped the caller wouldn’t go to her house.
If he knew what street she lived on, he must know her address. Were
her mother and Kirk safe? He was apparently after
her
, and
he knew she wasn’t at home. That didn’t make her situation any
better, but at least it relieved her mind a little concerning her
mother.

She could see the outline of a heavy lamp on
a table beside the couch. If necessary, she could use that as a
weapon. She intended to keep her ears open all night, but she soon
became very sleepy. What had been in the punch? And how much had
she drunk? Maybe if she rested for a few minutes, she would feel
better. She put her head down on the couch.

CHAPTER 31

Tony couldn’t stay still. After he had left the
Hotline, he had conducted another search of Bonita Beach by car. It
was more difficult on a sunny Sunday morning than at night because
a lot of people had apparently decided to go to the beach, perhaps
for the last time this summer. Automobile traffic was heavy, as was
pedestrian traffic, so if Shahla did happen to be walking, he could
easily miss her.

He finally parked the car at the northern
boundary of Bonita Beach and decided to walk the beach path the
couple of miles to the south end and then back. He walked slowly on
the concrete path, still favoring his left leg, attempting to
observe everything that took place within sight and hearing.

A lot was taking place, what with the
bicyclists, inline skaters, joggers, and walkers on the path. In
addition, hordes of unconscious beachgoers constantly crossed the
path without looking, intent on getting to the sand. As a result,
near-accidents occurred regularly.

In addition to scanning the traffic on the
path, Tony tried to check out all the girls on the sand catching
the late summer rays. However, the beach was so wide that he
couldn’t possibly get a good look at all of them. One of the
attributes that made this beach desirable now worked against him.
To help him concentrate, he scored the girls, depending on their
looks and what they wore. He scored one for a pretty girl in a nice
bikini. Using his system, he could score an additional point for an
unfastened top or a thong.

Some of the best-looking girls were
competing in a beach volleyball tournament. Competing here in the
birthplace of beach volleyball, which was appropriate. Tony slowed
down as he walked past the courts. He recognized Martha, Joy’s
friend to whom he had spoken about her murder. She was partnering
with another girl. She had a good figure. And her volleyball
playing wasn’t bad, either. She couldn’t be the murderer.
Especially if the murderer had kidnapped Shahla.

Shahla. He had to keep focused. He had to
find her. He wondered if he would ever see her again. No, don’t
think like that. Think positively. He would find her. Or somebody
else would. He kept walking.

***

Shahla awoke because somebody was pounding
on her head with a hammer in time to her heartbeat. She didn’t want
to move, but she couldn’t stand not to. She had to make him go
away. How long had she been asleep? She opened her eyes. There was
a film over them, but she could see objects, however blurry they
looked. It must be daylight outside. A little light was seeping
through the drapes. She looked at her watch and blinked her eyes,
trying to focus. As the watch hands slowly became clearer, she read
the time as quarter to eight. She had slept all night. She sat up
and immediately felt nauseated.

She sat on the edge of the couch, wondering
whether she was going to vomit. The pounding in her head continued.
She thought about trying to get to the bathroom, but was sure she
wouldn’t make it. She sat motionless, waiting for the nausea to
pass. After a few minutes, her stomach steadied, although her
headache continued. She got up, feeling wobbly, and made her way to
the bathroom.

After using the toilet, she thought about
what she could do to make her body livable. She didn’t have any
pills with her. She didn’t have any food or drink. Water. She
needed water. She turned on the sink faucet and placed her mouth
under it. She sucked in the lukewarm liquid and swallowed it until
she couldn’t drink any more. She straightened up and felt a little
better.

She determined that the only food she had
eaten since yesterday morning was whatever she ate at the party.
She had snacked on chips and dip and other so-called food that
Lacey had randomly pulled off the shelves of a supermarket, but
nothing substantial. What Shahla needed more than anything else was
a good meal.

And to call her mother. She suddenly
realized that her mother must be frantic by now. Where was her cell
phone? Then she remembered. Well, she’d better get home, on the
double. She took the security stick out of the track of the sliding
door and opened it. Once outside she closed it again. She took a
look around, but of course nobody was there. Had she imagined that
she had seen something last night? She might have seen an animal.
Maybe the cat that howled.

The route to her house was two blocks
downhill and then relatively level along Sandview Street. At least
it wasn’t uphill. Shahla walked slowly, in time to the throbbing
pulse in her head. Food would help, she knew. There was food at
home.

She arrived at her house and opened the door
with her key. Inside she was greeted with silence. “Mom,” she
called. No answer. She looked at her watch. It was a little after
eight. At least her mother should be up by now, even on a Sunday
morning. She went into the kitchen. A few dirty dishes sat on the
counter, but they were not breakfast dishes.

Shahla went upstairs. Her mother’s bed was
made. She went into Kirk’s bedroom. His bed was also made. That was
indicative. He wasn’t known for making his bed in the morning. That
bed hadn’t been slept in. Where had they gone? As of yesterday
morning, her mother had not had any plans to go anywhere.

She checked for messages on the house
answering machine. There were none. She picked up the phone and
called her mother’s cell phone number. She got voice mail. She
said, “Mom, it’s me, Shahla. I’m home. Give me a call.” Then she
checked the garage, just to make sure. The car wasn’t there.

Her mother apparently hadn’t been very
worried about her, but she should at least have left her a note.
Shahla looked around, but there definitely wasn’t any note. Well,
she wasn’t going to worry about them, either. She would get a call
from her mother or they would show up, sooner or later. Meanwhile,
she would fix herself something substantial to eat.

Maybe her mother had told a neighbor where
she was going. They were good friends with the Thompsons, who lived
across the street and three doors north. Shahla didn’t know their
phone number, so she walked over to their house and rang the bell.
There was no answer. Nobody was home this morning.

Should she call Detective Croyden and tell
him about the phone call last night? He wouldn’t be working today.
She didn’t want to deal with anybody else. She would call him
tomorrow. Anyway, the caller was probably just one of her friends
playing a joke on her. Who else would know her cell phone number
and her street? She had probably overreacted last night.

***

Shahla had a desire for action. She had been
sunning herself on the beach since early afternoon. She was all
alone. Jane was out of town. Lacey’s house had looked empty when
Shahla walked past it. She had rung the doorbell, just in case, but
there was no answer. Her mother and Kirk were who knew where. She
had come to the beach because she wasn’t going to stay in the house
alone any longer on a beautiful late summer day.

She should go for a workout run for
cross-country, and she had worn her running shoes with that in
mind, but she still had a headache, although it was improving. And
she didn’t feel like doing any more homework. She felt naked
without her phone, but she had left tracks so that her mother could
find her. She had written a note, saying where she was. Her mother
couldn’t accuse her of disappearing again. In fact, she could
accuse her mother of that very thing.

She looked north along the beach and saw
people playing beach volleyball, near the long pier that provided a
walking path out over the water. She was too short to be good at
volleyball. She was much better at running. It looked as if all the
players were girls. She remembered something about a beach
volleyball tournament for amateur females this weekend.

Some of the players were undoubtedly from
the Bonita Beach High team. Joy should be playing. But Joy would
never play volleyball again. Shahla wondered whether Martha was
playing. Martha. The question of whether Martha had anything to do
with Joy’s murder was unresolved. Shahla had talked to Tony about
it, but nothing had ever been done, as far as she knew.

She walked along the beach path to the
volleyball courts. She saw a couple of girls from the Bonita Beach
team, girls she barely knew. Then she saw Martha. Martha was
playing a match. She was teamed with another girl from Bonita
Beach, whose name Shahla didn’t know. Martha’s bikini was too
small, but Shahla had to admit, grudgingly, that she had a better
figure than Shahla had previously given her credit for. In spite of
the acne on her face. She and her partner seemed to be holding
their own against another team.

Shahla watched the match for a few minutes.
In two-person beach volleyball, it was necessary for each player to
be able to do everything well: serve, dig, set, spike and block.
There were no specialists here. Martha’s game had a lot of room for
improvement, but she showed promise as she sprawled in the sand
after digging out a hard spike with one arm. She got up in time to
run to the net, jump, and hit her partner’s set for a winner.

Martha was playing better than she had any
right to be. Shahla walked to a table set up on the sand. A lady at
the table must be in charge of the tournament. She was doing
several things at once; talking to players clustered around her,
writing down scores that were being relayed to her by the referees,
and making occasional announcements concerning court assignments,
using a megaphone.

When she was relatively free of her duties
for a moment, Shahla asked her, “How are the Bonita Beach girls
doing?”

“Not bad.” The woman smiled at her. “They’ve
won a couple of matches already.” She referred to her score sheets.
“Dembroski and Fulton won their first two matches.”

Martha’s last name was Dembroski.

The woman continued, “It’s such a shame that
Joy Tanner was killed. She and Martha were signed up as a team for
this tournament. They would have been the favorites.”

Shahla was startled. Joy and Martha a beach
volleyball team? But of course. They had grown up together. They
knew each other’s every thought. It was logical. In fact, Joy had
said something about that to Shahla. Shahla had immediately
repressed it, as she had tried to do whenever Joy mentioned
Martha.

Most upsetting was that it probably
destroyed any motive Martha had for murdering Joy. You didn’t
murder your beach volleyball partner, especially when she might be
your ticket to greatness. Shahla turned away from the table in
disgust. She had willed Martha to be a murder suspect, but what one
wished for and what one received were often two different
things.

Shahla turned around and walked back toward
the beach path. Fifty yards down the path she saw somebody who
seemed familiar. The short, dark hair, the compact figure. He
looked like Tony. He was walking away from her so she couldn’t see
his face. And he wasn’t on crutches. It couldn’t be Tony. Her
imagination was playing tricks on her.

CHAPTER 32

Tony didn’t know whether all this walking was good
for his knee, but he couldn’t stop himself. After he walked the
length of Bonita Beach twice, he drove home and checked with the
police. Still no news of Shahla. He ate something—he didn’t notice
what—in his empty townhouse. So empty he imagined he heard echoes
as he moved through the rooms. Maybe he should call Josh and
apologize. He didn’t know where Josh was staying, but at least he
had his cell phone number.

After staring at his own phone for a while,
he decided not to call. He couldn’t face any more rejection right
now. Without a plan, he walked out his front door. He went toward
the Hotline office. Distances were not great in Bonita Beach. He
walked to the building that housed the Hotline, and then he walked
around it, observing the shoppers who were patronizing the adjacent
stores. He didn’t go up to the office, itself. That morning, when
he had been perusing the Green Book, it had felt eerie without
Shahla there. If something happened to her, he was sure he could
never go to the office again.

He walked back to his townhouse, getting
home after dark. What now? There was no place he wanted to go. His
knee was too sore to walk anymore. He couldn’t even watch
television because Josh had taken the TV set. He forced himself to
get a pad and pen and sit at his table to formulate a plan of
action. He covered the pages with doodles, but nothing
intelligible.