The Cellar

CHAPTER FOURTEEN 1.

“We oughtta be getting it in today, lady. That’s all I can tell you. When we get it in, I’ll install it.”

“Do you think the car will be ready today?” Donna asked.

“Like I say, depends when the radiator gets here.”

“How late are you open?” she asked.

“Till nine.”

“Can I pick up my car, then?”

“If it’s done. Stu’ll let you take it. I go off at five, though. Stu’s no mechanic. If it doesn’t get done by five, it doesn’t get done till tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

She found Sandy nearby, eying a vending machine. “Can I get some potato chips?” the girl asked.

“Well…”

“Please? I’m starving.”

“We’ll eat pretty soon. Why don’t you wait, and have potato chips with your meal?”

“Where can we eat around here?” she asked, leaving the machine behind.

“I’m not sure,” Donna admitted.

“Not that place we went yesterday. It was so gross.”

“Let’s try this way.” They started walking south on Front Street.

“When’s the car gonna be ready?”

“Who knows?”

“Huh?” Sandy wrinkled her nose. When she unwrinkled it, her huge sunglasses slipped forward. She shoved them into place with a forefinger.

“The guy at the station wasn’t up to telling me when it’ll be ready. But I have a feeling we’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“If Dad doesn’t get us first.”

The mention of him jolted Donna. Somehow, after meeting Jud, fears of her ex-husband had been pushed into a dark corner of her mind and forgotten. “He doesn’t know where we are.”

“Aunt Karen does.”

“Tell you what, let’s give Aunt Karen a call.” Looking around, she saw a phone booth at the corner of the Chevron station they had just left. They backtracked to it. “How much are the potato chips?”

“Thirty-five cents.”

She handed Sandy a dollar bill. “You’ll have to get change from the man.”

“You want anything?”

“No thanks. But you go ahead.”

She watched her daughter leave, then she stepped into the telephone booth. Her coins rang inside the machine. She dialed Operator, and asked for the call to be charged to her home phone. When the call went through, she heard the ringing of her sister’s phone. It was picked up after the second ring. Donna waited for Karen’s voice. She heard only silence.

“Hello?” she finally asked.

“So.”

“Bob?” she asked, though the voice didn’t sound much like his. “Bob, is that you?”

“Who is this, please?”

“Who is this?”

“Sergeant Morris Woo, Santa Monica Police Department.”

“Oh my God.”

“So. Your business, please, with Mrs. Marston?”

“I was just…she’s my sister. Has something happened to her?”

“Where are you calling from, please?”

How do I know you’re a cop? she asked herself. And she answered, I don’t. “I’m calling from Tucson,” she told him.

“So.”

In her mind, she saw him hang up and turn to Roy, grinning that he’d obtained the information so easily. But he didn’t hang up.

“Please, what is your name?”

“Donna Hayes.”

“So. Address and telephone number?”

“What’s happened to Karen?”

“Please. Does your sister have relatives in the Los Angeles area?”

“Damn it!”

“So. Mrs. Hayes, I regret your sister met with death.”

Met with death?

“She and her husband, Robert Marston, met with death yesterday night. So. If there are relatives…”

“Our parents.” She was numb. “John and Irene Blix.”

“Blix. So, Mrs. Hayes, may I have please their address?”

She told him their address and phone number.

“So.”

“They were…murdered?”

“Murdered, yes.”

“I think I know who did it.”

“So?”

“What do you mean, so? Damn it, I know who killed them!”

“So. You tell me, please.”

“It was my ex-husband. His name is Roy Hayes. He was released yesterday—I mean Saturday. Sometime Saturday.”

“So. Released from what?”

“San Quentin.”

“So.”

“He was in six years for raping our daughter.”

“So.”

“So he must’ve killed Karen to find out where I am.”

“Did she know, please?”

“Yes, she knew.”

“So. You are in danger. Describe your Roy Hayes, please.”

As she gave the man a description of her exhusband, she saw Sandy returning with a bag of potato chips. The bag was open. Sandy was pinching chips, one at a time, and pushing them sideways into her mouth.

“So. He drives?”

“Yes, but I don’t know what. He may have taken one of Karen’s cars. They’ve got a yellow Volkswagen and a white Pontiac Grand Prix.”

“So. The years?”

“I don’t know.” She looked at her daughter munching potato chips outside the booth. Turning away, Donna began to cry.

“Please, Mrs. Hayes. Are the cars new?”

“The VW, it’s a ’77. I don’t know about the other. A ’72,’73.”

“So. Very good, Mrs. Hayes. Very good. Now, if I may suggest, call the Tucson police, so, and inform them of your situation. Perhaps an escort to the airport.”

“Airport?”

“So. Your parents are not to be alone during this time of tragedy.”

“No. You’re right. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“So.”

“Thank you, Mr. Woo.” She hung up. Sandy knocked on the plastic wall of the booth. Ignoring her, Donna searched her purse for coins. She found them, and made another call.

“Santa Monica Police Department,” said a woman. “Officer Bleary speaking. May I help you?”

“Do you have a Morris Woo?”

“Just a moment, please.”

Donna heard a telephone ring. It was picked up. “Homicide,” said the man. “Detective Harris.”

“Do you have a Morris Woo?”

“He’s not in just now. May I help you?”

“I talked to a man on the phone.” She sniffed, and rubbed her nose. “He claimed to be a Sergeant Morris Woo. I just wanted to make sure he’s really a police officer.”

“So?” 2.

After a brief, tearful call to give her parents the news, she hung up and left the booth. “Let’s go back to the motel.”

“What’s wrong?” Sandy was crying. “Tell me!”

“Aunt Karen and Uncle Bob. They’ve been killed.”

“No they haven’t!”

“I just talked to a police officer, honey.”

“No!”

“Come on, let’s go back to the motel.”

Instead, the girl threw herself against Donna, hugging tightly as she cried.