But, pulling out into the slow traffic, he continued to watch the antique shop. Now he could only catch a glimpse of the couple. Behind him, the traffic began to honk. Damn tourists. Moving on to the corner, he made a U-turn and came back on the other side, driving slowly. He was glad he had put the top up, so he was less visible. Passing the shop, he caught a clear look at the woman.
My God. It was Dora Sleuder. Or her exact double. And then Ralph moved into view-the heavy chin, the receeding hairline and protruding belly.
This could not be happening.
What earthly event could have brought those people here? Brought those two bucolic hicks across the country? No one knew he was here. He had taken every precaution to cover his trail. He drove on by, trying to pull himself together, very aware of Bernine watching him, every line of her body rigid with, curiosity.
Someone once said that wherever you traveled, even halfway around the world, in any group of a hundred people you had a 50 percent chance of meeting someone you knew, simply by coincidence, by the law of averages.
Surely this was coincidence. What else could it be?
But the worst scenario was that the Sleuders had come here to find him.
So? What could they do if they did find him?
Circling the block, he tried to puzzle out who could have sent them to Molena Point. Who, among his acquaintances, might be linked to them?
So far as he knew, only one of his clients had any ties to the east coast, and that was Mavity Flowers, whose niece came from one of the southern states. Mavity hadn't mentioned the niece's name and he hadn't any reason to ask.
What a nasty coincidence if Dora turned out to be Mavity's niece.
But no, that was too far-fetched. That sort of concurrence didn't happen, would be quite impossible.
However, the fact remained that those two dull people were here. He had to wonder if, despite their simple rural set of mind, they had somehow tracked him.
Whatever the scenario-happenstance or deliberate snooping-the reality was that if he remained in this small, close town where everyone knew everyone's business, the Sleuders would find him.
He began to sweat, considering what action to take.
Beside him, Bernine was growing restless. Smiling, he laid his hand over hers. "The couch in that antique shop, that dark wicker couch. It's exactly what I've been looking for. I want to go back after lunch. If it's as nice as it looks, it will fit my apartment perfectly-just the contrast I want to the modern leather."
Bernine looked skeptical.
"Imagine it done up in some kind of silk, perhaps a Chinese print. You know about that kind of thing; you have wonderful taste. Would you have time, after lunch, to take a look?"
He could see she wasn't buying it but that she appreciated the lie.
"I'd love to. Maybe we can find the right fabric in one of the local shops."
He liked the speculative way she watched him, trying to read his real purpose, almost licking her lips over the intrigue. Strangely, her interest calmed him. Perhaps, he thought, Bernine could be useful, if he needed help with the Sleuders.
But as the Mercedes turned off Ocean, picking up speed heading down the coast, neither Jergen or Bernine had seen a woman watching them from an upstairs window as they slowly circled the block.
14
FROM THE FRESHLY washed windows of her new apartment, Charlie, taking a break from cleaning, watched Bernine Sage and Winthrop Jergen leave the library across Ocean looking very handsome, Bernine in a short-skirted pink suit, Jergen wearing a tweed sport coat and pale slacks. The couple, in less than a week, had become an item. And that was all right with her.
She had come to the window for the hundredth time, she thought, amused at herself, to admire her brand-new view of the village rooftops and of Ocean's tree-shaded median and the library's bright gardens. Now, watching Jergen lean to open the passenger door for Bernine, she saw him suddenly go rigid, straightening up and seeming to forget Bernine as he stared across the median at something on the street below her.
Craning to look down, she could see nothing unusual, just window-shoppers, two shopkeepers hurrying by, probably on their way to lunch, and a meter maid marking tires. Directly below her, lying on a bench in the sun, a huge black cat was stretched out, ignoring the people who surged around him, in a most uncatlike manner. Most cats didn't want to sleep anywhere near strangers, but this one seemed to think he owned the sidewalk. Winthrop Jergen was still staring but then he seemed to shake himself. He turned, handing Bernine into the car.
Pulling away from the curb, he crept along slowly, still looking, until irate drivers behind him began to honk. He speeded up only a little, and when he reached the corner where Ocean Avenue stopped at the beach, he made a U-turn and came back up the northbound lane, pausing just below her window and tying up traffic again before the bleating horns drove him on. The cat, on its bench, stared irritably at the noise. Charlie left the window to resume her cleaning, to finish scrubbing the kitchen alcove. A new home was never hers until she had dug out the crevice dirt and scoured and burnished every surface.
She finished cleaning just after one and headed for Wilma's to pick up her clothes and tools and meager furniture, thankful that Bernine wouldn't be there watching her pack, making sarcastic comments. She'd had enough of that this morning. When Clyde picked her up for an early trip to the plumbing supply houses, he had come in for coffee and of course Bernine was up, looking fetching in a tangerine silk dressing gown.
"A breakfast date," Bernine had purred smugly. "Now, isn't that romantic." She had looked them over as if she'd discovered two children playing doctor in the closet. "And where are you two off to, so early?"
"Plumbing supply," Clyde had said gruffly, gulping his coffee. "Come on, Charlie, they open in thirty minutes." Turning his back on Bernine, he had gone on out to the truck. Charlie had followed him, smiling.
They had had a lovely morning prowling through plumbing showrooms looking at showers, basins, at elegant brass faucets and towel racks. Not everyone's idea of fun, but the excursion had suited them both. She had been back in Molena Point in time to pick up the key from her new landlord and get her studio ready to move into.
Now, parking in Wilma's drive, she let herself into the kitchen, went down the hall to the guest room and began to fold her clothes into a duffle bag. As she was hiking her stuff out to the van, Wilma pulled up the drive beside her.
"Short day," Wilma said, at her questioning look. "I took off at noon." She looked angry, as if she'd not had a pleasant morning. Little tabby Dulcie sat hunched on the seat beside her, sulkily washing her paws. Wilma looked at Charlie's tools and bags piled on the drive, looked at Charlie, and her disappointment was clear.
"I found an apartment," Charlie said softly.
"Is it nice?" Wilma smiled, doing her best to be pleased. "Where is it?"
"Just across from the library-I can run in anytime, and you can run over for lunch or for dinner." Charlie reached to touch her aunt's shoulder. "I love being with you. How could I not, the way you spoil me? It's just-I feel a burden, coming back again after being here so long."
Wilma grinned. "It's just that you like your privacy-and detest being stuck with Bernine."
Charlie shrugged. "That, too. But…"