An Evil Guest

STAY TUNED

Much impeded by traffic, they drove from the House of Toast to Barclays Bank. When they had at last completed their business, Gideon took Cassie to her building on West Arbor, and at her insistence let her out at the curb. Parking places were hard to find at that hour; but he found one, walked four long blocks back to her building, and stationed himself across the street for a time.

There he thought about a great many things, including (but far from limited to) a sculptor of ancient Greece and the beautiful woman George Bernard Shaw had called Galatea. “I could reverse it,” he told himself, “but time and chance will do that soon enough.” As soon as he spoke, he knew that for him no reversal would have the least effect.

Returning to the brown convertible, he drove to his own Pine Crest Towers several miles away, where he parked in the space assigned to him. A doorman smiled, nodded, and touched his cap. “Professor Chase.”

There seemed to be nothing wrong. Why then, he asked himself, did he feel so utterly certain that something was? The impression was so strong that he would not have boarded the elevator if there had been anyone else in it.

He was walking down the long second-floor corridor when the sound of a pistol slide being racked made him turn. For an instant he saw the muzzle of the gun and threw himself against the door of the nearest apartment with all his strength.

It gave way, and he staggered into someone’s living room as the gun spoke in the corridor behind him. He had nearly reached the kitchen before he felt the stab of pain in his right calf.

He had known there would be no way out of the kitchen save one window. There was no time to break that window or climb through it, but kitchen gadgets hung above the sink. He threw a cleaver and saw the gunman stagger backward, his bleeding face in both hands.

With a meat tenderizer in one hand and a carving knife in the other Gideon tried to pursue him, but found that it was all that he could do to walk without falling. Before he limped away, he picked up his assailant’s gun and left three hundred dollars under a book on the coffee table.

MARGARET was fifteen minutes late. “There was a phone call, Miss Casey. Miss Dempster called wanting the number of your cell phone.”

Cassie nodded. “You must not have given it to her.”

“I didn’t. You had given it to me, but I didn’t think you would want me to give it out. So I told her I didn’t have it.”

“What’s this!” Cassie’s smile would have broken the heart of every man in sight, had there been any. “You lied to India, Margaret? Tsk, tsk!”

“I didn’t, Miss Casey. Things like that really bother me, so I don’t do it unless I’ve got to. You had written your number on that napkin. Remember?”

“Right, I do.”

“Well, before I told Miss Dempster I didn’t have it, I got the napkin and threw it away. I’ve got a pretty little round wastebasket next to my phone.”

“Handy,” Cassie remarked.

“It truly is, Miss Casey, and while we were still talking back and forth I took your napkin out of my purse and dropped it into there. Of course after we’d hung up I looked down real careful and read the number. I copied it into my book, only there was a good deal said between Miss Dempster and me before. Before she’d let me off the phone, you know.”

“Wait a bit,” Cassie said. “What would you have done if you hadn’t been able to read the number?”

“Why I’d shake the wastebasket, Miss Casey, just like anybody would. Made that napkin jump around in there, you know, until I could read it.”

“Golly, I should have thought of that. What did India have to say?”

“Ever so many things.” Margaret looked vague. “A read-through was one. She’d got the Tiara, she said, by telling them her new show might open there. One tomorrow afternoon, it will be.”

“I’m not signed,” Cassie remarked.

“I don’t think anybody is, Miss Casey. Or nobody but Miss Dempster and Mr. Palma. She said he was, come to think.”

“I see.”

“Only she said she’s been talking to Ms. Youmans and it’s all settled except for signing. She said to tell you she absolutely had to have you and you’d be letting them all down if you wouldn’t take it, so she was ever so very glad you were going to do it. Because of Mr. Rosenquist is what she said.”

“I’ve got it. Before I sign, I want to talk to Zelda. She’s sold me down the volcano much too cheaply, unless I’m badly mistaken.”

Margaret tittered. “Then, too, she wants to know how many solo songs you’ll do.”

“None,” Cassie said firmly.

“That Mr. Rosenquist wanted five, she said. Only Miss Dempster doesn’t want you to strain your voice. She is trying to get him down to the three, she said. There is a voice coach, too, now. I don’t recall the name.”

“Doesn’t matter. Dammit! I can sing along with two or three other people, but I’m no singer.”

“You sing beautifully, Miss Casey.”

When Cassie objected, Margaret raised her voice. “I know you do, Miss Casey. I’ve heard you talking. I’m hearing you right now. There’s nobody in the world who can talk like you who can’t sing.”

“You’re a very nice person, Margaret, but no. I’ve... The other night...”

“What is it, Miss Casey?”

“Have you ever heard of a mountain that was alive, Margaret? Honestly, now. A mountain whose wife washed clothes?”

Doubtfully, Margaret shook her head. “A dream, Miss Casey? I was going to say I sing in the choir. In church, you know, when I’m not on the road, because there’s hardly ever a show on Sunday morning. I’m not much of a singer, but I know some good singers and I know how they sound.”

“Do you really, Margaret? Give me a sample. What do you sing?”

“I’ll try to get the tune right, Miss Casey. It’s such a lovely song, but I’m not good with tunes unless I have the music.” She sang, her voice quavering a bit on the high notes. When she had finished, Cassie applauded.

Smiling gratefully, Margaret said, “Now let’s hear you sing it, Miss Casey. You can’t help but be better than I was.”

Cassie stood and coughed to clear her throat: a soft, apologetic sound.

“Louder, Miss Casey!”

The song seemed to fill her, a host of angels caroling through the corridors of her mind.

When she had finished singing as much as she could recall, Margaret clapped enthusiastically. “Wonderful! You have a wonderful, wonderful voice, Miss Casey. I knew it. Why, I declare, it was like — like I don’t know what. If you could come to church just once — ”

The telephone rang. Cassie excused herself with a gesture and picked it up.

“Was that you singing?”

“I’m afraid so.” Cassie managed a rueful smile. “I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

“I — Pickens is my name. Brian Pickens. I have the place above yours, and I work at — it doesn’t matter. I got your name from your mailbox. I wanted... I was out earlier today, and I saw you come in. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. And it won’t happen again, Mr. Pickens, I promise.”

“I’d like you to break that promise. Holy tornado! I’d love for you to break it. I just wanted to say that you’re — well, I’ve seen you now. And I’ve heard you. And there’s nobody like you. Nobody at all.”

For a moment it seemed to Cassie that Brian Pickens was being strangled.

“For the rest of my life I’ll be telling people about somebody I talked to on the phone once. Thanks for that — thank you a million. I mean it.” He hung up.

Very slowly, Cassie hung up, too.

“Miss Casey?”

Feeling dazed, Cassie turned toward Margaret. “Yes?”

“Trouble, Miss Casey?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. I promised you eight hundred dollars.”

Margaret nodded. “I’d really appreciate it, Miss Casey. I need it pretty badly.”

“I’m going to give you a raise. Nine hundred a week. I’ll advance you the first nine hundred now.” Cassie got out the envelope of checks given her by Barclays Bank. “I opened this account today, and they printed these up for me. The ink’s barely dry and you get check — ” She glanced at it. “Number triple-zero one. It will be good, though.”

Breath sighed in Margaret’s nostrils. “I don’t know what to say, Miss Casey. This is such a relief.”

The telephone rang, and Cassie said, “It’s probably the man upstairs again. Get it, will you?”

Margaret did.

As Cassie signed the check, she heard Margaret say, “I’ll tell her, ma’am.”

Cassie looked up. “A woman? Was it India?”

“She gave me her name, Miss Casey, but I’m not sure I heard it right. She said do you know where he is? I asked who she meant, and it was the man you asked me to find last night. I said I didn’t think so, and she said turn on the vid. She said call her if you knew.”

“This sounds interesting. Here’s the money. Put it away before I lose it.”

Margaret put the check in her purse. “She talked fast, and I could hear people talking behind her. Shirley — Shirley...” A faint tinge of pink crept into Margaret’s cheeks. “Shirley Ladydog? It was something like that.”

Cassie had the remote. “Sharon Bench.”

Pressing a button expanded her living room to include a long desk, a framed map of the forty-seven states, and a wall of books. A young woman at the desk said, “. . . recap all of our top stories, including the shooting of a famous scholar, right after this.”

The remote fell to the floor.

After a moment, Margaret picked it up. “Should I mute these, Miss Casey?” Cassie did not seem to have heard her, so Margaret did.

Silent bottles of ketchup invaded the living room. One opened its own top and emitted a crimson fountain.

“Margaret...”

“Yes, Miss Casey?”

“She wanted to know if I knew where he was. Is that right?”

“Yes, Miss Casey.”

“Then he’s still alive. Still moving around.”

“I think so, Miss Casey.”

“So do I.” Suddenly, Cassie smiled. “If the guy who shot him was the guy I think it might be, I may be out of a job.”

“I hope not, Miss Casey.”

“Well, I do. And that doesn’t mean you’d be out of a job, Margaret. I’d get a new gig.”

“I know, Miss Casey.”

The desk was back. So was the woman behind it; but the map had become a map of the city. “A train has struck a school bus near the intersection of Fifty-eighth and Moore. We’re getting conflicting reports regarding the presence of children on the bus at the time it was struck. Regardless of the presence or absence of children, traffic on Moore is backed up for miles. Use alternate routes.

“In an unrelated story, the Supreme Court has extended the period for post-parturition terminations to one year. Civil rights organizations continue to press for five for defectives.

“Mayor Houlihan has declared the city’s streets safer than ever as a result of the previously announced decline in police violence. Most citizens seem to agree.”

Cassie muttered, “Why can’t they get to it?”

The end of her living room that had been occupied by the map and the books had become a park. In it, a large perspiring man in gym shorts told an interviewer, “I would say the danger’s seriously overrated. Late at night there may be a certain risk, but from dawn to midnight no one’s got anything to worry about.” He mopped his dripping face with a towel that seemed sodden already; his hands and arms were noticeably muscular.

Margaret said, “Maybe you could call that lady who called, Miss Casey.”

A young man with acne and a nascent beard shrugged. “I go out whenever. Everything’s chief.” His shirt, open to the waist, revealed an obscene symbol worked in gold and suspended from his neck by a heavy gold chain.

There was a knock at the door. Cassie opened it far enough to see a middle-aged man in coveralls.

“Come to do your wall, miss,” he said. “Want to let me do now or come back later?”

“It goes clear through,” Cassie told him. “Can’t you fix the other side first?”

“Already done, miss. You hear me in there?”

She shook her head. “We’ve had the vid on.”

“See there, miss? Only takes a moment and doesn’t make much noise.”

On the other side of her living room, the ketchup bottles had been replaced by equally silent beer bottles. Cassie told Margaret to get off the couch, and unchained the door.

“Hear ’bout the bloke got shot in Pine Crest Towers?” the man in coveralls asked as he moved the couch.

Cassie shook her head. The rectangular hole behind her couch was surprisingly small, less than a foot square.

“Gore everywhere, poor devil.” The man in coveralls disappeared into the hall outside and returned pulling a small tool cart. “Board’s cut a’ready, miss. You’ll be shocked how quick it goes in.”

BREAKING NEWS flashed on the erstwhile map.

Margaret pressed a button.

The young woman behind the desk said, “We told you earlier that the internationally famous scholar Gideon Chase had called police to report that he had been shot, that he was told to wait at the scene, and that he was not present when the police ambulance arrived. Now I want to welcome Sharon Bench of the Sun-Tribunal. Sharon’s been looking into the story for us.”

Sharon’s apparition strode into Cassie’s living room and took the chair next to the young woman’s.

The young woman said, “What have you got for us, Sharon?”

Sharon smiled. “A lot, Dorothy. First, Dr. Chase hasn’t been located. He’s not in his apartment and his car’s gone.”

“That suggests that he hasn’t been abducted.”

Sharon nodded. “It does, although abductors might have gotten his keys and taken the car. There’s an all-points bulletin out for it. It’s a café-latte Morris convertible. A bumper sticker reads “Honk If You Love Woldercan.” Anyone who spots it should call the police.”

The erstwhile map flashed a license number.

“Second, my sources in the police department tell me there’s no question now that a shooting occurred. An empty cartridge case has been found at the scene, and a bullet was lodged in the wall.”

“We’d heard that there was a great deal of blood,” the young woman said.

“There was. My sources confirm that. Do you know about the cleaver?”

The young woman shook her head. “Perhaps you should tell our audience exactly what a cleaver is.”

“It’s an instrument heavier than a butcher knife used for chopping meat,” Sharon explained. “They’re also called meat axes. As you can imagine, a cleaver makes a fearsome weapon.”

“You say one was found there?”

Sharon nodded. “Not only was one found there, but it was covered with blood. What appears to have happened — this is what my police sources tell me — is that Dr. Gideon Chase, whose apartment is on that floor, observed that the door of a neighboring apartment had been forced. He seems to have gone inside to investigate and surprised the burglar, who shot him. Apparently Dr. Chase ran into the kitchen, where he found a cleaver and used it to defend himself, cutting the burglar deeply at least once.”

“He must be a brave man.”

“He certainly has that reputation,” Sharon said, “and my guess is that he deserves it. He’s a world traveler who often inserts himself into dangerous situations.”

“You’ve met him? I know Tommy Pergram’s had him on several times.”

Sharon nodded. “I’ve interviewed him, and a friend of mine’s dating him. We showed this clip on my five fifteen spot yesterday.”

Suddenly Sharon and the young woman she called Dorothy were displaced by Cassie herself and Gideon Chase, smiling and holding hands at a table in Walker’s.

“That brings us to my third point,” Sharon’s voice continued. “I’ve been in touch with her — she’s the famous actress Cassie Casey, and the Tommy Pergram Show ought to have her on sometime.”

Dorothy and Sharon returned, and Dorothy said, “The deeper we get into this, the more interesting it gets.”

“That’s my feeling exactly,” Sharon agreed. “Cassie’s terribly distraught. She doesn’t know where Dr. Chase is and wanted to know whether he was in the hospital. The police are watching the emergency rooms, of course. So far he hasn’t been to any of them.”

“Doctors are required to report gunshot wounds, aren’t they?”

“They are. This isn’t one of the points I came to make, but maybe it’s more important than any of them.” Sharon paused to look straight into the camera. “You know me, Gideon, and you know I’m on your side and Cassie’s, no matter what happens. You’re not wanted by the police. You haven’t been charged with anything, and nobody I’ve talked to thinks you will be. You won’t be arrested if you seek medical attention.”

Sharon turned back to the young woman. “I have one more point, Dorothy, and it may be the most interesting of all. May I give it?”

“Of course! We want to hear it.”

“It’s that the FBI is looking into this case. Nobody seems to know why, but an agent’s flown up from Washington. He’s questioning the people who live in that apartment as we speak.”

“We’ll have more on this,” the young woman announced, “as soon as we learn something new. Stay tuned.”

Cassie took the remote from Margaret and switched off the vid. A moment later, she became aware of the man in coveralls and said, “Yes?”

“Wanted to tell you I’m finished, miss. Your wall’s patched and caulked. Caulk’s still wet, so I wouldn’t push on the patch. Be dry tomorrow, and I’ll come back to paint soon as I can.”

“Thank you,” Cassie said. “Do I owe you anything?”

“No, miss.”

Margaret said, “The building takes care of it, I’m sure.”

Cassie nodded absently as the man in coveralls let himself out. “Do we have anything else to discuss?”

“Will you need me tomorrow at one, Miss Casey?”

“I don’t see why I should. It’s just a read-through. I’m going to phone Zelda — wait. There is something. Two somethings. Sit down, please.”

Margaret did.

“Here’s the first thing. Mr. Rosenquist took that bracelet from you, so there’s a chance he may give it back to you. If he does, tell me right away.” Cassie paused. “Nobody knows where Dr. Chase is now, but that could change. If he’s around, give it to him. Either one of us, but as fast as you can. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Miss Casey. Absolutely.”

“Good. Here’s the second one. Have you heard what happened to Jimmy? You seem to have known him better than any of us.”

Margaret shook her head. “I’ll try to find out, Miss Casey.”

“Do that, please. And tell me what you find.”

When Margaret had gone, Cassie dialed a familiar number.

“Youmans Agency, stage, vid, and modeling.”

“Zelda? This is Cassie.”

“Great! I was getting ready to call you. We’ve got a contract. Dating the Volcano God? India Dempster said you knew all about it.”

“I don’t, Zelda. I don’t know how good my part is or what they’re going to want me to do. I don’t know how good the show’s likely to be. Or — ”

“I’ve taken care of that, Cassie. You’ll see when you vet the contract. There’s extra money for you if they cancel before the first performance. There’s more money if it runs more than three months. They gave me everything I asked for. You’ll see.”

“Yes, I will, and I’m not signing till I do. My guess is that I won’t sign at all, but don’t tell India that.”

“She’ll be pressuring you.”

“I know it, but I think I’ve got a way to pressure back if I need to. How much money’s behind this, Zelda? Have you any idea?”

“Uh-huh...”

“That was a smirk, Zelda. I couldn’t see it, but I could hear it. What do you know that I don’t?”

“Oh, lots and lots of things. I couldn’t tell you all of them. It would take all day, and I’d be selling out my sources. But there’s a lot of money.”

Cassie went looking for something to pry with. “It’s not all this guy Wallace Rosenquist, is it? I figure he has backers.”

“You figure wrong.” Zelda’s voice had become deadly serious. “Backers have him. He operates under a dozen names, and one of my sources thinks he may be the richest man in the world. He’s not somebody you want to cross, Cassie.”

“I’d heard he was dangerous.”

“You heard right,” Zelda said. “Can you meet me for lunch tomorrow? One o’clock at the Greek place?”

“I’ll try.”

“We need to talk face-to-face,” Zelda told her, and hung up.

There was a knock at the door, and Cassie hung up, too.

It opened before she got there. Gideon Chase stepped in, shut it behind him, and threw the bolt.