Fogarty a visit.” Though Bobby had visited the house three times, he
traveled there with Frank, and he had not known the pre location of 1458
Pacific Hill Road any more than he known exactly what flank of Mount
Fuji that trail had ascended. They found it easily, however, by
following the directions they received from a long-haired guy with a
handle mustache at a Union 76 station.
Though the houses along Pacific Hill Road enjoyed an Encanto Heights
address, they were actually neither insuburb nor in Goleta-which
separated El Encanto from Santa Barbara-but in a narrow band of county
land that lay tween the two and that led east into a wilderness preserve
mesquite, chapparal, desert brush, and pockets of Califor live oaks and
other hardy trees.
The Pollard house was near the end of Pacific Hill, on edge of developed
land, with few neighbors. Orientedsouthwest, it overlooked the charmed
Pacific-facing commu ties so beautifully sited on the terraced hills
below. At ni the view was spectacular-a sea of lights leading to a real
cloaked in darkness-and no doubt the immediate neighb hood remained
rural and free of expensive new houseshecause of development
restrictions related to the proxim of the preserve.
Bobby recognized the Pollard place at once. The headlig revealed little
more than the Eugenia hedge and the rusted ir gate between two tall
stone pilasters. He slowed as theyby it. The ground floor was dark. In
one upstairs room a light was on; a pale glow leaked around the edges of
a drawn bli Leaning over to look past Bobby, Julie said,
“Can’t much.”
“There isn’t much to see. It’s a crumbling pile.” They drove over a
quarter of a mile to the end of the road turned, and went back. Coming
downhill, the house was on Julie’s side, and she insisted he slow to a
crawl, to allow her more time to study it.
As they eased past the gate, Bobby saw a light on at the back of the
house, too, on the first floor. He couldn’t actually see a lighted
window, just the glow that fell through it and painted a pale, frosty
rectangle on the side yard.
“It’s all hidden in shadows,”
Julie said at last, turning to look back at the property as it fell
behind them.
“But I can see enough to know that it’s a bad place.”
“Very,” Bobby said.
VIOLET LAY on her back on the bed in her dark robe with her sister,
warmed by the cats, which were draped over them and huddled around them.
Verbina lay on her right side, cuddled against Violet, one hand on
Violet’s breasts, her lips against Violet’s bare shoulder, her warm
breath spilling across Violet’s smooth skin.
They were not settling down to sleep. Neither of them cared to sleep at
night, for that was the wild time, when a greater number and variety of
nature’s hunters were on the prowl and life was more exciting. At that
moment they were not merely in each other and in all of the cats that
shared the bed with them, but in a hungry owl that soared the night,
scanning the earth for mice that weren’t wise enough to fear the gloom
and remain in burrows. No creature had night vision as sharp as the
owl, and its claws and beak were even sharper.
Violet shivered in anticipation of the moment when a mouse or other
small creature would be seen below, slipping through tall grass that it
believed offered concealment. From past experience she knew the terror
and pain of the prey, the savage glee of the hunter, and she yearned now
to experience both again, simultaneously.
At her side Verbina murmured dreamily.
Swooping high, gliding, spiraling down, swooping up again, the owl had
not yet seen its dinner when the car came up the hill and slowed almost
to a stop in front of the Pollard house. It drew Violet’s attention, of
course, and through her the attention of the owl, but she lost interest
when the car speeded again and drove on. Seconds later, however, her
interest renewed when it returned and coasted almost to a stop,more, at
the front gate.