“Hilary?”
“I’ll bet it’s him,” she said.
“Him who?”
“I’ve been getting these calls….”
The strident ringing continued.
“What calls?” Tony asked.
“The last couple of days, someone’s been calling and then refusing to speak when I answer. It’s happened six or eight times.”
“He doesn’t say anything at all?”
“He just listens,” she said. “I think it’s some nut who was turned on by the newspaper stories about Frye.”
The insistent bell made her grit her teeth.
She stood up and hesitantly approached the phone. Tony went with her. “You have a listed number?”
“I’m getting a new one next week. It’ll be unlisted.”
They reached the desk and stood looking at the phone. It rang again and again and again.
“It’s him,” she said. “Who else would let it ring that long?”
Tony snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”
The caller didn’t respond.
“Thomas residence,” Tony said. “Detective Clemenza speaking.”
Click.
Tony put the phone down and said, “He hung up. Maybe I scared him off for good.”
“I hope so.”
“It’s still a good idea to get an unlisted number.”
“Oh, I’m not going to change my mind about that.”
“I’ll call the telephone company service department first thing Monday morning and tell them the LAPD would appreciate a speedy job.”
“Can you do that?”
“Sure.”
“Thank you, Tony.” She hugged herself. She felt cold.
“Try not to worry about it,” he said. “Studies show that the kind of creep who makes threatening phone calls usually gets all his kicks that way. The call itself usually satisfies him. He usually isn’t the violent type.”
“Usually?”
“Almost never.”
She smiled thinly. “That’s still not good enough.”
The call had spoiled any chance that the night might end in a shared bed. She was no longer in the mood for seduction, and Tony sensed the change.
“Would you like me to stay a while longer, just to see if he calls again?”
“That’s sweet of you,” she said, “But I guess you’re right. He’s not dangerous. If he was, he’d come around instead of just calling. Anyway, you scared him off. He probably thinks the police are here just waiting for him.”
“Did you get your pistol back?”
She nodded. “I went downtown yesterday and filled out the registration form like I should have done when I moved into the city. If the guy on the phone does come around, I can plink him legally now.”
“I really don’t think he’ll bother you again tonight.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
For the first time all evening, they were awkward with each other.
“Well, I guess I’d better be going.”
“It is late,” she agreed.
“Thank you for the cognac.”
“Thank you for a wonderful dinner.”
At the door he said, “Doing anything tomorrow night?”
She was about to turn him down when she remembered how good she had felt sitting beside him on the sofa. And she thought of Wally Topelis’s warning about becoming a hermit. She smiled and said, “I’m free.”
“Great. What would you like to do?”
“Whatever you want.”
He thought about it for a moment, “Shall we make a whole day of it?”
“Well … why not?”
“We’ll start with lunch. I’ll pick you up at noon.”
“I’ll be ready and waiting.”
He kissed her lightly and affectionately on the lips, “Tomorrow,” he said,
“Tomorrow.”
She watched him leave, then closed and locked the door.
***
All day Saturday, morning and afternoon and evening, the body of Bruno Frye lay alone in the Forever View Funeral Home, unobserved and unattended.
Friday night, after Joshua Rhinehart had left, Avril Tannerton and Gary Olmstead had transferred the corpse to another coffin, an ornate brass-plated model with a plush velvet and silk interior. They tucked the dead man into a white burial gown, put his arms straight out at his sides, and pulled a white velvet coverlet up to the middle of his chest. Because the condition of the flesh was not good, Tannerton did not want to expend any energy trying to make the corpse presentable. Gary Olmstead thought there was something cheap and disrespectful about consigning a body to the grave without benefit of makeup and powder. But Tannerton persuaded him that cosmetology offered little hope for Bruno Frye’s shrunken yellow-gray countenance.