Run into Trouble Page 13

  Grace was the only one who called Casey Mr. Messinger. Melody turned her head around from the passenger position in the front seat.

  “Everything in politics is curious, but you can bet your knickers it’s all carefully planned.”

  “Knickers?”

  Drake, an expert at Brit-speak, laughed. “She means panties. Casey will undoubtedly mention Running California in his speech. I just hope he doesn’t try to get us on stage like he did at the Coronado Bridge. We’ll sit in the back and be inconspicuous.”

  Judging from the number of cars parked in the lot beside the auditorium, it was a popular event. As they walked up the steps, Drake realized he was getting some looks from people wondering how he deserved to have a beautiful woman on either side of him, each dressed up in a short skirt and sheer silk blouse, as if they had consulted each other. They undoubtedly had. He had even taken some care with his own appearance. At least they didn’t look like runners.

  They found seats in the back as the crowd filled much of the auditorium. When the lights dimmed and a man appeared onstage to introduce Casey, it turned out to be none other than Fred. The three exchanged looks as Fred launched into a mercifully short introduction.

  When Casey appeared, he received a generous round of applause. Drake and Melody went through the motions of clapping; Grace was more enthusiastic.

  Casey was a good, if not great, public speaker. He touched on some of the usual subjects: prosperity, jobs, crime, taxes. Then he mentioned Running California. The runners had just come through Santa Barbara. They were a good advertisement for California and would promote tourism.

  Unfortunately, one of the runners had been killed in the Malibu incident. Of course this had been featured in all the media, and when he told a story about Harrison’s parents saying that the race must go on, he received a round of applause. This allowed him to segue into the security of the California coast.

  Casey talked about the troops in Malibu and the patrolling naval ships, but he said that more had to be done. Drake was beginning to nod off when Casey said that people living on or near the beach were in danger from any attack. Something in Casey’s tone brought Drake to full alertness. Casey continued to speak.

  “The California beaches have always belonged to the people. They always will belong to the people.”

  Applause.

  “As the law stands now, beaches are public property below the mean high-tide line. That has allowed houses to be built on the beach at Malibu and other places.”

  Other places close to Santa Barbara.

  “The time has come to return the beaches to the people.”

  The crowd cheered. Drake saw an appalled expression on Melody’s face that must have matched his own. There were undoubtedly some beach landowners in the crowd. What must they be thinking?

  Casey went on to explain how creating a buffer zone between the water and any buildings would enhance security, and, at the same time, allow the people, as he called them, better access to the beach. His speech was a rousing success.

  ***

  “Wasn’t Mr. Messinger great?”

  Grace was bubbling with enthusiasm for Casey. Drake glanced at Melody sitting beside him in the car, hoping that she would offer a response to Grace, as he didn’t want to be the one to stick a pin in her balloon. Melody turned her head toward the backseat.

  “Do you think it’s a good idea to take away the property of people living near the beach?”

  “If it would make them safer.”

  Drake couldn’t remain quiet. “How do we know it would make them or anybody else safer when we don’t know who made the attack? Casey didn’t say how wide the buffer zone should be, but it would undoubtedly include thousands of homes throughout California. Where would the money to compensate the homeowners come from?”

  “The state would buy them.”

  “With your tax dollars. Even if the state has enough of your money to do that, do you want government arbitrarily gobbling up private property based on unsubstantiated fears? A basic tenet of a free society is the right to own property without the government being able to confiscate it arbitrarily.”

  “But these are rich people, and they’re blocking access to the beach.”

  Drake was about to respond, but Melody interrupted him.

  “So far we haven’t had any trouble getting to the beach. True, we’ve had to run around columns holding up houses a couple of times at high tide. But even if access could be better in places, that doesn’t justify kicking everybody off the beach.”

  Drake cut in. “Isn’t it interesting that Casey is making this a class issue, based on income, when he clearly could own all the ocean front homes he wanted?”

  Grace spoke softly, almost to herself. “Wouldn’t it be great being married to a senator?”

  CHAPTER 19

  The route from Hollister Avenue near Goleta heads west on Hollister to El Capitan State Beach where you will meet Route 101. Take Route 101 west. Even though it’s a freeway here, you can run on the left shoulder, but watch out for traffic. Route 101 turns inland at Gaviota State Beach. Be sure to stay on the road as we won’t be going through Vandenberg Air Force Base. Take Route 1 where it heads toward Lompoc. The day’s run ends at the top of the first hill on Route 1. There’s no good alternative to these routes, so we won’t have any independent thinking today. Just remember to have plenty of water and/or Gatorade with you for the final push up the hill on Route 1.

  ***

  “Did you hear about the music festival that’s going on in New York at a place called Woodstock or something like that?”

  Tom asked the question of his partner Jerry, as well as of Drake and Melody. They had been running together since Route 101 had turned inland from the beach and started climbing steeply. Now they were on narrow Route 1, running single file and climbing even more steeply.

  “I saw pictures on the news this morning,” Melody said. “They estimated that half a million people have showed up. How do they all get fed?”

  “I guess if they stay stoned, they don’t notice how hungry they are.”

  Jerry was laboring and sweating profusely and not laughing.

  “Fred’s directions said hill, not mountain.”

  It was also a lot hotter here than along the beach. The double whammy of heat and the steep climb had left the other runners somewhere behind them out of sight. Tom, who was also sweating, took a drink of whatever was in his bottle.

  “This is the first real hill we’ve seen. The Boston Marathon doesn’t have hills like this.”

  Drake’s chuckle was strangled by his heavy breathing. “Nobody would run a marathon that had this kind of a hill.”

  It was interesting to Drake that he and Melody seemed to be handling the climb better than the other runners. They had both been training in the mountains, which had ups and downs, and the thinner air had increased their lung capacity. Drake was bothered some by the heat, but he had brought enough liquid with him to keep from being dehydrated.

  Melody’s sleeveless Running California top was plastered to her body with sweat, which might be appealing if the men had the energy to notice, but she kept running, slowly but steadily. She passed Tom, who had been leading, and started pulling away from him. Drake was her partner; he should be staying with her. He made an extra effort and also passed Tom.

  ***

  They were spending the night in the picturesque Danish community of Solvang. Melody took a cold bath and a cold shower. She had a rest. These activities restored her body to something resembling normalcy. She sipped a cold drink as she got dressed and then went out to the lobby of the motel to join Grace in a tour of the quaint shops. Solvang was made for shopping.

  Grace was sitting at a small table in the lobby with Peaches. That didn’t surprise Melody since they were both employees of Giganticorp, but they were talking softly with their heads close together. Melody hadn’t seen any previous signs of intimacy between them.

  She went over
to their table, prepared to make a comment about them plotting the overthrow of the world when Grace motioned for her to sit down.

  “Peaches has information for you.”

  Melody sat in the third chair and declined Peaches’ offer to get her a drink. He took a sip of what was evidently a glass of water with ice cubes before he spoke again. “That fellow Sterling that Drake found out about?”

  She’d told Peaches about Sterling the day before and showed him his mug shot, hoping that he might spot him, without going into detail about why they were looking for him. It was obvious from the photo, however, that he’d been in trouble with the law. Melody nodded, waiting for him to continue.

  Grace beat him, whispering conspiratorially. “Peaches found him.”

  Melody had also told Grace about Sterling. Her heart gave a leap, and she turned back toward Peaches.

  “You did?”

  Peaches nodded. “He’s staying at a motel just down the street.”

  “How do you know?”

  “His car. I’ve seen the same car over and over again since we started the race. I drive along each day’s route, keeping track of where everybody is. This car has been doing the same thing. At first I thought it was just different cars that looked alike. After you talked to me, I wrote down the license plate information the next time I saw it. Today I saw the car on Route 1. It was easy to spot now that we’re out of the populated area. It had the same license.”

  “How do you know it’s Sterling?”

  “He’s brilliant.” Grace couldn’t contain her enthusiasm. “Just like a real detective.”

  Peaches shrugged. “Grace actually found it. When we didn’t see the car in the lot here, we went to the nearby motels and checked all the cars. She spotted it.”

  Grace continued the story. “Peaches picked the lock. I didn’t know he could do that sort of thing. I was scared that Sterling might suddenly show up, but he didn’t. Anyway, the car is registered to Dennis Sterling. So what happens now?”

  “Now?” Melody hesitated. “First, thank you both very much. You’ve been a big help. Don’t tell anybody else about this. Don’t take any other action. I have to find Drake.”

  ***

  “Here’s the car, right where they said it would be.”

  Drake looked where Melody was pointing.

  “What can we deduce from the fact that the car hasn’t moved?”

  “Either he walked to a restaurant, or he hasn’t eaten dinner.”

  Drake looked at his watch. It was 8:30. The sun had set. “Who in his right mind doesn’t eat dinner? Anyway, we know he was here a half hour ago.”

  “Thanks to me.”

  Melody had called the motel, pretending to be Sterling’s sister, and charmed the desk clerk into giving her his room number. When the clerk rang the room, she handed the phone to Drake. When Sterling answered, Drake said, “Sorry, wrong number,” and hung up.

  The motel was a boxy, two-story affair with an outside stairway to the second floor where Sterling had a room. They climbed the stairs and quickly found his room. The window curtain was closed, but a light shone on the curtain from inside. They could hear muffled sounds coming from a television set.

  Drake looked around to see if anyone was in sight. The motel parking lot was deserted. He knocked on the door.

  In about ten seconds they heard a male voice. “Who is it?”

  Sterling was being cautious. They had prepared for this. Melody imitated an American accent when she spoke.

  “It’s the maid. I need to check your towels.”

  A click warned them that the door was being opened. As it came ajar, Melody moved aside enough so that Drake could shove one of his size twelves through the gap. He smelled the acrid odor of cigarette smoke. Sterling had a cigarette dangling from his lips. He also had a look of surprise on his face and tried to shut the door, but Drake’s foot stopped it. Drake shoved the door all the way open and walked inside, pushing Sterling backward.

  The bed was right behind Sterling, so Drake gave him an extra shove and sent him sprawling onto his back on top of the blanket. As he bounced, Sterling’s look changed to anger.

  “What the hell is going on here? I’m going to call the police.”

  “If you do, the FBI will be right behind them.”

  That shut him up. The cigarette had come out of his mouth and was threatening to light the sheet on fire. Melody closed the door and moved to the other side of the bed. Blade’s description of Sterling had been accurate. He was a paunchy, middle-aged man, and Drake thought he looked more like an academic than a crook. His gray hair stuck out at odd angles and needed to be cut. He was dressed in boxer shorts and an undershirt. Drake saw some bones on a small table and smelled chicken from the local KFC.

  “Were you planning to seduce the maid?”

  Sterling didn’t answer. Melody looked as if she were suppressing a laugh. Drake moved close to the bed.

  “You know who we are. You’ve been tracking us since the start of the race. Put out that cigarette.”

  “Fred hired me to do that.”

  Sterling ignored the cigarette. The sheet under it was changing to a brown color.

  “Did Fred hire you to write threatening letters?”

  Sterling didn’t answer. Melody had been looking around the room.

  “There’s a typewriter on the table.”

  Drake saw the gray, modernistic cover of an Olympia portable.

  “Open it up.”

  Melody lifted the cover revealing the sleek machine underneath. Drake turned back to Sterling, who had assumed a more dignified sitting position on the edge of the bed. He picked up the cigarette and stubbed it out in an ashtray on the bed table.

  “Where’s the typewriter paper?”

  “It’s in my suitcase.” Sterling indicated the piece of luggage sitting on the floor beside the bed.

  “Give a sheet to Melody.”

  Sterling slid along the bed and opened the suitcase. He reached his hand inside. Drake’s view was momentarily blocked, and he realized he’d made a mistake. Melody whistled four quick notes and dove across the bed. Drake was closer and got to Sterling first. He grabbed Sterling in a bear hug, pinning his arms to his sides, and threw him onto the bed for the second time.

  Melody pulled the gun out of the suitcase.

  Sterling rolled over, and, back on his back, stared from one of them to the other. “Fred didn’t tell me you two were professionals.”

  Drake laughed sourly. “You didn’t have a need to know—until now.” He turned to Melody. “Type the same sentence in small letters and then in all caps. ‘The quick young fox jumps over the lazy brown dog.’”

  Melody retrieved a piece of paper from the suitcase and set out to do that. Drake sat beside Sterling on the bed. Sterling apparently decided he was safer lying on his back. He didn’t try to get up. Drake looked down at him.

  “Tell me about the betting operation.”

  Sterling didn’t speak for a few seconds. The dialog of a TV movie droned in the background, punctuated by the click of typewriter keys.

  Drake said, “Do I have to call my friend Slick? I bet he could get you to talk.”

  Sterling appeared to be examining his alternatives. He came to a decision. “It’s run in Las Vegas.”

  “Did you contact them or did they contact you?”

  “I contacted them. It was after the race started. I was already working for Fred, but just to see that the runners obeyed the rules.”

  “So you got the bright idea of a bet on the race. You contacted your buddies in Vegas and wrote the first letter. Why, for God’s sake, did you bet on us? I was barely moving then.”

  “It wasn’t quite like that. The first letter came before the bet.”

  “Huh?”

  “Fred asked me to write it. He said he needed to make sure you two stayed in the race. He figured a threat against her mother would do it.”

  He motioned toward Melody, who had finished typing and
was listening intently.

  “So Fred told you to put in the part about my mum.”

  Sterling nodded. “I don’t know your mother from Winston Churchill. Fred wrote the letter. I just copied it.”

  Drake said, “What typewriter did you use?”

  “I borrowed one from the hotel I was staying at. I didn’t want to use my own.”

  “But you used your own for the second letter.”

  Sterling looked wily. “You tell me. You’ve been gathering the evidence.”

  “Never mind that. When did you initiate the bet?”

  “The first letter got me thinking. I called a friend in Vegas and told him the situation. He did some checking and said they could get terrific odds betting on you two. He cut Fred and me into the action.”

  “You have to admit that it still looks like a horrible bet.”

  “Not at all. All you have to do is stay in the race. The boys from Vegas will take care of the rest.”

  “You can’t tell me that the Malibu incident was caused by Las Vegas hoods.”

  “That? No, that was an act of God. Or maybe the Soviet Union. But it’s a long race. If necessary, accidents will happen to the other teams.”

  Drake and Melody stared at him. They hadn’t expected anything this sinister. Drake took hold of the soft tissue at the top of Sterling’s shoulder and squeezed.

  “Ouch. You’re hurting me.”

  “Give me a name.”

  “What?”

  “Give me a name in Vegas.”

  “I can’t. They’ll kill me.”

  He was clearly terrified.

  Drake contemplated. “If you give me a name, I’ll make sure you have at least a twenty-four hour start before anybody in Vegas gets wind of anything. Your name will be kept out of it. If you don’t cooperate, I can get your name plastered all over the front pages, because the race is getting lots of press. Then who’ll be the long shot? If you like, I’ll get you into the witness protection program.”

  “I’ll…take my chances on my own. Okay. Give me a sheet of paper.”

  He wouldn’t say the name out loud. It was as if he were afraid the room was bugged, although common sense said it wasn’t. He wrote it down. Drake read it. The name looked vaguely familiar. At least it was a real person. Sterling wouldn’t lie by giving a name of a real person who wasn’t involved. That would be too risky.