The Servants of Twilight

In a phone booth near the side entrance of Sears, Charlie unscrewed the earpiece on the handset, screwed on another earpiece that came with the tap detector. He removed the mouthpiece, used a car key to short the inhibitor that made it impossible to place a long-distance call without operator assistance, and dialed Klemet-Harrison in Costa Mesa, toll-free. If his equipment indicated a tap, he'd be able to hang up in the first fraction of a second after the connection was made and, most likely, cut the line before anyone had a chance even to determine that the call was from another area code.

The number rang twice, then there was a click on the line.

The meter in Charlie's hand gave no indication of a tap.

But instead of Sherry Ordway's familiar voice, the call was answered by telephone company recording: "The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please consult your directory for the correct number or dial the operator for.

Charlie hung up.

Tried it again.

He got the same response.

With a presentiment of disaster chewing at him, he dialed Henry Rankin's home number. It was picked up on the first ring, and again the meter indicated no tap, but this time the voice was not a recording.

"Hello?" Henry said.

Charlie said, "It's me, Henry. I just called the office-"

"I've been waiting here by the phone, figuring you'd try me sooner or later," Henry said." We got trouble, Charlie. We got lots of trouble."

From outside the booth, Christine couldn't hear what Charlie was saying, but she could tell something bad had happened.

When he finally hung up and opened the folding door, he was ashen.

" What's wrong?" she asked.

He glanced at Joey and said, "Nothing's wrong. I talked to Henry Rankin. They're still working on the case, but there's nothing new to report yet."

He was lying for Joey's sake, but the boy sensed it just as Christine did, and said, "Whatd she do now? Whatd the witch do now?"

"Nothing," Charlie said." She can't find us, so she's throwing tantrums down there in Orange County. That's all."

" What's a tantrum?" Joey asked.

"Don't worry about it. We're okay. Everything's ticking along as planned. Now let's go back to the car, find a supermarket, and stock up on groceries."

Walking through the open-air mall and all the way out to the car, Charlie looked around uneasily, with a visible tension he hadn't shown all morning.

Christine had begun to accept his assurances that they were safe in Santa Barbara, but now fear crawled up out of her subconscious and took possession of her once more.

As if it were an omen of renewed danger, the weather worsened again. The sky began to clot up with black clouds.

They found a supermarket, and as they shopped, Joey moved down the aisles ahead of them. Ordinarily, he scampered ahead, searching for items on their shopping list, eager to help. Today he moved slowly and studied the shelves with little interest.

When the boy was far enough away, Charlie said softly, "Last night my offices were torched."

"Torched?" Christine said. There was suddenly a greasy, roiling feeling in her stomach." You mean. burned?"

He nodded, taking a couple of cans of Mandarin orange slices from the shelf and putting them in the shopping cart." Everything's…

lost… furniture, equipment, all the files…

gone." He paused while two women with carts moved past them.

Then: "The files were in fire-proof cabinets, but someone got the drawers open anyway, pulled out all the papers, and poured gasoline on them."

Shocked, Christine said, "But in a business like yours, don't you have burglar alarms-"

"Two systems, each independent of the other, both with backup power sources in case of a blackout," Charlie said.

"But that sounds fool-proof."

"It was supposed tove been, yeah. But her people got through somehow."

Christine felt sick." You think it was Grace Spivey."

"I know it was Grace. You haven't heard everything that happened last night. Besides, it had to be her because there's such a quality of rage about it, such an air of desperation, and she must be angry and desperate right now because we've given her the slip. She doesn't know where we've gone, can't get her hands on Joey, so she's striking out wherever she can, flailing away in a mad frenzy."

She remembered the Henredon desk in his office, the Martin Green paintings, and she said, "Oh, dammit, Charlie, I'm so sorry. Because of me, you've lost your business and all your-"

"It can all be replaced," he said, although she could see that the loss disturbed him." The important files are on microfilm and stored elsewhere. They can be recreated. We can find new offices. Insurance will cover most everything. It's not the money or the inconvenience that bothers me. It's the fact that, for a few days at least, until Henry gets things organized down there, my people won't be able to keep after Grace Spivey-and we won't have them behind us, supporting us.

Temporarily, we're pretty much on our own."

That was a disturbing thought.