I stayed on my feet.
At the top of the stairs, I set it down, opened its flap, and took out my purse.
Elroy stood at the foot of the stairs and watched me.
“Go on over to the pool,” I said. “I’ll be down in a couple of minutes.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to invite me up?”
“Don’t make a pest of yourself, Elroy.”
“You can’t blame a fellow for trying.”
“Don’t count on it.”
With a smirk on his face, he winked an eye, pointed a finger at me, and said, “Later.”
Which would’ve been truly cool coming from Paul Newman or John Travolta. Coming from Elroy, it was sort of sad and funny, but mostly annoying.
As he swiveled around and started swaggering toward the pool, I took the keys out of my purse. I unlocked the door, opened it, then picked up my pack and went in.
I made sure the door was locked.
Then I hauled the pack over to my closet, pushed my way through some hanging clothes, and set it down on the floor. There, it was basically out of sight. You could only spot it by squatting down low and peering in under the clothes. You couldn’t spot it that way, either, after I’d shut the closet door.
Good enough.
I wasn’t trying to hide the stuff from Sherlock Holmes. My only concern, just then, was Elroy.
Not that I had any intention of allowing him into my room. You can’t be too careful, though. Elroy might seem harmless and easy to control, but guys like that will sometimes go nuts on you. I wanted my pack to be out of sight—out of mind—in case he flipped out and came barging in.
Or in case I went nuts and brought him in, myself.
Fat chance.
With the pack nicely hidden, I spent a minute or two inspecting my latest injuries. I found minor scrapes on my arms, shins and knees, but no new damage anywhere else—not even where the corner of Murphy’s book had jabbed me in the belly. Nothing needed treatment.
I decided against changing any of my clothes.
In the bathroom, I took a few minutes to “freshen up.” Which means I washed, brushed my hair and dabbed on a bit of Tropical Nights perfume.
I wouldn’t be needing my purse, so I stuck it away inside a dresser drawer.
With nothing except my key case, I stepped outside. Elroy waved at me from a lounger beside the pool. I waved back, then made sure the door was locked before I started down the stairs.
I reached the bottom, still standing.
Elroy got to his feet as I walked over to him.
“Ready for the Happy Hour?” I asked.
“The sun’s well over the yardarm,” he said.
“Let’s go in and concoct something. And I’ll see what I can do about finding a couple of nice, thick steaks for dinner.”
The sliding glass doors were all locked from inside, so I led Elroy around to the front of the house. Along the way, I kept watch for any telltale signs of Tony.
Everything looked fine.
I unlocked the front door and entered the house. Elroy stepped in after me. I shut the door.
The house felt hot and stuffy.
It was very silent.
I’d left all the curtains shut, so the rooms were filled with murky, yellow light.
“Hang on a second,” I whispered. “I’ll turn on the air conditioning.”
As if nervous about being here, Elroy stayed in the foyer and looked around while I hurried down the hall to turn on the air.
I flicked the switch and heard the blower start.
The sound was good to hear. I hadn’t liked that silence.
“Things’ll cool off fast, now,” I said, returning to the foyer.
“Are you sure it’s all right for us to be here?”
“Sure I’m sure. I have the keys, don’t I? Come on,” I said, and headed for the kitchen. “What do you like to drink?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“How about margaritas?”
“Are we going to use their stuff?”
“Sure.”
“Is it all right to do that?” he asked.
“Would I be doing it if it weren’t?”
“Maybe. I don’t know, would you?”
“Nope. Not me. I ain’t no thief.”
In the kitchen, I went straight for the cupboard where they kept the liquor. I opened it and took out a bottle of tequila.
“The deal is,” I explained, “they like me to use their stuff when I’m staying here. They even stock up on my favorite foods and drinks and things. They want me to live it up. They’re on vacation, and they want this to be like a vacation for me.”
“Really?”
“Don’t you believe me?”
“I just don’t want to get into any trouble,” he said.
“Relax. Everything’s fine. What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
Elroy’s face contorted. He blurted, “Oh, my God. I’ve gotta get out of here.”
I burst out laughing.
“It’s not funny. I’m leaving.”
“I was kidding! It was a joke. The owners are my best friends. I’ve got the run of the place. You’re not going to get into any trouble. If they walked in the door right now, they’d be delighted to find us here and they’d make the drinks for us.”
“Honest?” Elroy asked.
“So help me.”
After that, he seemed to be all right. He even helped me. Soon, we had a blender full of margarita. While Elroy salted the rims of our glasses, I studied the meat situation.
It came as no surprise.
Except for some hot dogs and salami in the refrigerator, everything else was frozen. The freezer compartment was full of goodies: steaks, pork chops, lamb chops, chicken breasts. But they were as solid as bricks.
“If you don’t want grilled weenies,” I explained, “we’ll have to thaw out something.”
“I thought we were having steaks.”
“We still can have steaks.”
“But they’re frozen?”
“I’ll just nuke ’em till they thaw.”
“That’ll be tasty.”
“Well, we could thaw them out naturally, but that might take a few hours.”
“I’m not in any hurry,” he said, smiling and wiggling his eyebrows.
“Well, let’s see how it goes.” I opened the freezer compartment again. “We can have anything in here. Would you rather have lamb, or…?”
“You promised me a steak.”
For a guest, Elroy seemed awfully damn insistent.
“Then a steak you shall have,” I told him, and took out a couple of T-bones.
What is it, anyway, with people and slabs of beef? Hey, I like the things, too. But I’m not wild for them. Steaks aren’t the be-all and end-all. If you ask me, lamb and pork have more flavor. And chicken is usually more tender. Besides, steaks are tricky devils. If you don’t cook them just right, they get all dry inside. And sometimes, for reasons I’ve never figured out, you cook up a perfectly good steak and it ends up tasting like liver. I just don’t see what the infatuation is.
Anyway, I ripped the butcher paper off the T-bones. Serena was in the habit of freezing her meat in pairs, so the steaks were not only as solid as slabs of concrete, but also stuck together.
I didn’t even try to part them.
Smiling at Elroy, I hammered the counter a couple of times and said, “Dinner will be a while.”
“No problem,” he said.
“These can at least marinate…”
“Marinate?”
“You know, maybe some teryaki sauce.”
“No. Perish the thought. Do you want to ruin them?”
Figures!
“Let’s not marinate them,” I suggested.
“Just a dab of salt and pepper before they go on the fire,” Elroy said.
“Excellent. I’ll let you take care of it.”