“You’re leaving us?” Ray said, startled. “What about Chester?”
“He fired me,” I said. I found the Yellow Pages in a separate book that probably weighed ten pounds. I lugged it out of the drawer and hauled it onto my lap, leafing through to the section marked “Airlines.”
“Look, whatever you and Laura work out, that’s between the two of you. I came to help recover the cash you’re so busy giving away. I’m history. It makes no sense for me to stay here. If Chester doesn’t like it, he can take it up with you. He’s already so frosted he probably won’t pay my bill, which means I’m out of luck. I might as well go home. At least take charge of the situation to that extent.” I found the number for American and put my finger on the place while I picked up the receiver.
“But you can’t just abandon us,” Ray said.
“I wouldn’t call it that,” I said.
“What would you call it?”
“Ray, we’re not joined at the hip. I came here on impulse, so I thought I’d go home the same way.” I tucked the phone in the crook of my neck and punched in the number for American Airlines. As soon as the number answered, I was put on terminal hold while a mechanical voice assured me my business was valued beyond rubies. “Anyway, the money’s stolen,” I went on conversationally, “which is just one more reason I don’t want to be involved in this.”
“It’s been forty years since we cleaned out that vault,” Ray protested. “The bank’s out of business. Place went belly up back in 1949. Most customers are dead, so even if I wanted to play straight, who would I return the money to? The state of Kentucky? To what end? I spent my life in jail for that dough, and I earned every cent.”
“It’s still a crime,” I said politely, not wanting to seem quarrelsome.
“What about the statute of limitations? Who’s going to point a finger after all this time? Besides, I been tried once and I paid for my sins.”
“Take it up with an attorney. You could be right. Just in case you’re not, I think I’ll steer clear,” I said.
Laura was getting impatient. She apparently had no interest in our debate about jurisprudence. She leaned closer to me, hissing, “I wish you’d get off the phone. What if Farley’s trying to get through?”
I held a hand up like a traffic cop. The American Airlines ticket agent had just come on the line and introduced himself. I said, “Oh, hi, Brad. My name is Kinsey Millhone. I have an open-ended, round-trip ticket from Santa Teresa, California, to Palm Beach, Florida, and I’d like to book the return. I’m in Dallas now, so I just need the Dallas-Santa Teresa leg.”
“And what day would this be for?”
“As soon as possible. Today, if you can do it.” While agent Brad and I conducted business, Ray and Laura seemed to be negotiating some sort of father-daughter truce, a financial cease-fire of sorts. Apparently, she was allowing him to gift her with the hotly contended eight grand. Dimly, I was aware that he was telling her he had to go down to his room on the tenth floor and pick up his bags. He wanted permission to leave his bags in her room until he could figure out where to go from here.
Meanwhile she began to pace, becoming more agitated as the agent and I tried to work out my itinerary. There were some alternate routes that would get me home by way of San Francisco or Los Angeles, using short hops for the final leg.
Since this was Sunday, both direct flights were completely full, and his only suggestion was that I get myself on standby and hope for the best. He went ahead and wait-listed me on two flights, one nonstop, the other with a layover. The next flight was scheduled for departure at 2:22. I checked my watch. It was just past 12:30, and with the hotel shuttle or a taxi, I could probably get over to the airport in the next thirty-five to forty minutes.
Laura had crossed back to the bed table, where she stuck her face close to mine and mouthed, “Hang up.” She sat down on the other bed and began to unlace her high-top tennis shoes.
I gave her a simpering smile as I began to wind up the conversation, reconfirming my notes about the flights in question. As I replaced the receiver in the cradle, I realized Ray was still in the room. “I thought you were going down to get your bags,” I said.
“I was afraid if I left you’d be gone when I got back.”
“That’s a good bet. What’s your inclination? Are you going to fly back to California?”
“Nah, I don’t think so. I think I’ll hang out with Laura until she hears from Farley. As soon as her situation’s settled, I’ll take off for Louisville. I got a rental car downstairs. Meantime, if I lay low the management will never know I’m here.”
“What about Chester? I hate to spoil all the fun, but half of the money belongs to him, you know.”
“Says who?”
“You did. You said you were going to turn it over to him.”
“I got news for you. He’s screwed. I never really meant to cut him in on the deal.”
“Ah. I guess I should have known that, right?”
“You’re the one who pointed out how much I lie,” he said.
“So I have to be the one to break the news to him? Thanks a lot, Ray. That sucks. What am I supposed to say?”
“You’ll think of something. Plead ignorance. Make it up.”
“Oh, right.”
“The guy’s a butt, anyway. I bet you never get reimbursed.”
I said, “Your confidence in him is touching.”
Laura was still sulking, so we skipped the tender fare-thee-wells. I grabbed my shoulder bag, hoisted it, and backed out of the room. Then I headed for the fire stairs and made my way down twelve floors to the lobby.
I took a taxi to the airport. I could have waited for the shuttle, which was free of charge, but the truth was I didn’t want to risk running into management. So far, I’d successfully outmaneuvered the hotel authorities, and I was just as happy leaving Texas without some kind of scrape with the law. I checked my wallet in the cab. Since I was on my way home, I figured I had sufficient cash for the journey … which is to say, plus or minus thirty-five bucks. I’d spent a little on incidentals, but in the main, I’d managed on the few resources I’d had. I’d still have to hassle with short-term parking fees when I got home — seven bucks a day for the two or three days I’d been gone — but in a pinch, I could call Henry and have him bring me the necessary cash. I hadn’t formally checked out of my room, but the desk clerk had taken an impression of my credit card when I’d checked in, and I was sure the charges would appear on the next statement I received. Hotels aren’t exactly dumb about these things.
The cab dropped me off at the departure gates for American Airlines. I went into the terminal and crossed the lobby, checking the monitor for the departing flight numbers I’d been given. The first was scheduled to take off at 2:22, the second not until 6:10. The later flight wasn’t even listed yet, but I found the gate number for the 2:22 departure. At least traveling without luggage simplified procedures to some extent. I bypassed the ticket counter and joined the line of passengers waiting to clear security. My handbag sailed through X-ray, but when I passed through the metal detector, there was a telltale shriek. I patted my pockets, which were empty of metal except for the paper clip and random change I’d used for the pay phone. I backed up, dropped the items in a plastic dish. I tried again. The shrieking seemed to rise to an accusatory pitch. I could tell the security sorceress was about to dowse my body with her divining rod when I remembered the key I’d stitched into my shoulder pad. “Hang on a minute. I got it.” To the annoyance of those behind me, I backed up again, peeled off my blazer, and laid it on the moving belt. This time, I made it through. I half expected to be quizzed about the key stitched into the shoulder seam, but no one said a word. Those people probably saw things much stranger any given day of the week. I collected my shoulder bag and the blazer and headed for the gate.
I pulled my ticket from my handbag and presented it to the gate agent, explaining my situation. The flight was completely booked and she didn’t seem that optimistic about my getting a seat. I sat in the waiting area while other passengers checked in. Apparently, several of us were angling for the same flight, which I suspected was already desperately oversold. I eyed the competition, some of whom looked like those quarrelsome types who raise hell when anything goes wrong. I might have tried it myself if I’d thought it would do any good. As far as I can tell, there are only so many seats. The plane is either flightworthy or it’s not. Between mechanical matters and air traffic control, you either fly or you don’t. I’ve never heard of an airline yet that proceeded on the basis of noisy passenger complaints, so why bitch and moan?