"I'm known for my avarice, Mr. Carlon."
"I see you as practical."
I laughed inside at that, even as I cringed. I already knew what I'd decided, against every instinct but greed,
"This will have to be a handshake deal, Mr. Nudger, without written records of any kind. Ten thousand now, forty thousand when Joan is located or returned to me. And of course I'll pay your expenses." Without averting his gaze he reached into an inside pocket and withdrew a thick stack of green bills, not in an envelope but rubber-banded together. A bit of psychology there. Good psychology. "I won't require a receipt, Mr. Nudger, as a gesture of our mutual trust."
That was meaningless, we both knew. Where could I hide from him if I did decide to run with the ten thousand?
I stood away from the writing desk. With my left hand I accepted the bills, with my right I shook Car-Ion's dry hand. I detected a very subtle change in his attitude, a confirmation in his eyes. He had judged me correctly.
"I think you'll find," he said, "that my influence can help in your investigation by opening many doors."
"I don't doubt that," I said, glancing at my own door.
"Now, Nudger, where do you intend to start?" Car-Ion adopted a much more familiar bearing now that he'd bought me, as if any moment he might slip off his shoes and stretch out on the bed.
"I'd like to know where Gordon Clark is."
"Gordon? Why?"
"Because I need to talk to Melissa."
I could see the hesitancy move through his body. He didn't like being probed in a soft spot, and Melissa was that. "Surely there's no need to bring her into this, not at this point."
"She spent the last several months with your daughter, Mr. Carlon. The missing months."
He stared hard at me, trying to read something in my face. "She's only seven…"
"I'll know how to talk to her."
He saw in me what he wanted, and nodded.
"They're at the Dolphin Motel in Orlando. Their flight leaves at seven tonight."
Carlon gave me the motel's phone number and his own private number. Then he left, without the ten thousand he'd brought.
Seven o'clock. To get to Orlando in time to talk to Melissa, I'd have to put off eating again.
Thanks to Carlon, I wasn't hungry now anyway.
7
I was on the outskirts of Orlando by five that evening, and by five fifteen I was listening to the measured ticking of my directional signal while waiting to make a left off a wide four-lane street to park in front of the Dolphin Motel. The drive had taken longer than I'd planned. A brief late-afternoon shower had slowed highway traffic, and though the sun was out brightly again, there were still a few clear droplets and streaks of rainwater on the compact's windshield and gleaming green hood.
The Dolphin Motel was one of those neat and moderately priced family motels, two stories high and built in a wide, sweeping U around a fenced-in swimming pool. The pool was crowded now with a few adults and a proliferation of the preteen and very young, leaping and splashing with unfeigned ecstasy, as though it would never be over. Near the office I walked past a large sheet-metal dolphin that was lurching repeatedly in clumsy mimicry of that species' graceful arcs through ocean waves. There was a self-satisfied, silly grin on what passed for its face.
Gordon and Melissa Clark were in Number 27, second floor, toward the rear of the motel. I climbed metal steps to an iron-railed cement walkway, stepping aside for another flock of small children. The motel was no doubt packed with families here for the illusory adventure of Disney World. For a moment the memories began to bloom at the back of my mind, and I reminded myself of why I was here.
Gordon Clark opened the door immediately at my knock. He looked fresher than he had at police headquarters. The redness was gone from his eyes and he wore neatly creased plaid pants and a blue short-sleeved sport shirt open at the neck. He invited me in and stepped back.
The room was motel modern-two single beds, angular low furniture and a ceiling fixture that resembled a space satellite. Melissa was sitting cross-legged on the floor, near the foot of one of the beds, piecing together a small jigsaw puzzle. Good practice for her, the way her life was going.
"I'm sorry about how things turned out," I told Clark.
"It wasn't your fault. And I have Melissa." He turned toward her. "Melissa, this is Mr. Nudger."
She glanced up from the puzzle. "He has to shave."
I crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed nearer her. "I've decided never to shave again. I'm going to grow a long beard and tuck it into my belt."
She looked at me and smiled slightly. "How long will that take?"
"Few days."
Melissa put down her puzzle piece. She was ready to argue about that. "Dave didn't shave once all weekend and his beard wasn't that long."
"Must be something wrong with his beard. Who's Dave?"
"Mommy's friend."
"I came here to talk to you about your mommy."
"She's gone."
"Do you know where?"
"She said she'd be back."
"Did you like living on Star Lane?"
Melissa shrugged and stared down at the half-completed puzzle, a striped kitten jumping over something not yet pieced together.
"It was bigger than your other house, wasn't it?" I asked before she could get interested again in the puzzle. But she was only staring at it for a focal point.
"No," she said, "the other house was bigger, with lots more people in it."
"Where was the other house?"
"On a street with tall houses on it. It was a 'parment."
"An apartment building?"
"Uh-huh."
"In Lay ton?"
"Uh-uh." She shook her head no.
"Where at?"
"On a street with other tall houses on it."
"How far away?"
"Long ways."
She picked up a puzzle piece from the carpet, held it with her little finger extended, as if she were holding toast spread with jam.
"Did you like Dave?" I asked.
"Most times…" she answered absently.
"That one goes there, doesn't it?" I said, helping her fit the piece into the puzzle to complete one of the kitten's forepaws. I was given a smile of gratitude. "Did you like living at the apartment best?"
"No, there were people all the time. Mommy and Vic always had people there, talking 'stead of sleeping."
"Who's Vic?" I asked Melissa, glancing at Gordon Clark, who looked stupefied.
"You know…"
"A friend of Dave's?"
She laughed, picked up another puzzle piece.
"A friend of your mom's?"
"Yes."
"What did all these people talk about when they came to your apartment and you were trying to sleep?"
"Ingerence. Other things sometimes, too."
"I don't know what ingerence is, Melissa."
"Well, that's what they talked about. Mom and Vic talked about it all the time, too."
"Did Dave?"
She laughed again. "You're silly."
"Was your mother happy on Star Lane with Dave?"
She seemed to consider, her wide eyes looking inward. "She was worried all the time."
"Did they ever argue?"
"Uh-huh. The time when Vic didn't shave."
"What did they fight about?"
"I dunno." She had about reached her limit of conversing with me and was being drawn back to the challenge of the puzzle. I leaned down again, helping her fit the pieces.
"Did your mom like Vic better than Dave?"
She giggled as she completed the red ball beneath the kitten.
"Vic and Dave are the same person, aren't they?" I said.
"Course."
"Where did you live before the apartment build-ing?"
"Someplace the same. I'm hungry, Dad."
"We'll eat in a little while, Melissa," Gordon Clark said.
I stood up from the bed. "Thanks for talking to me, Melissa."