Alan Cook - Honeymoon for Three

Alfred fumbled for the key to his Ford, his hand shaking. It was in the ignition. He managed to grasp and turn the key, and he heard the engine crank and catch. Simultaneously, he adjusted his stiff limbs to the driver’s position, blinking his eyes to dissipate the mist in front of them.

He failed to check his rearview mirror before pulling away from the curb, but fortunately, nobody was approaching from behind at this early hour. As he started down the hill, he saw the green VW make a left turn onto Atlantic. Gary was heading north toward the San Bernardino Freeway. That just about clinched it. He and Penny had to be leaving on their trip. If Gary were going to his office at IBM, he would have turned right on Atlantic.

Alfred had to stop for the traffic light at Atlantic. A quick glance at his watch told him that it was barely six-thirty. The sun had been up for an hour, but it felt like the middle of the night. The odds were overwhelming that Gary was going to get on the freeway, but in which direction?

If they were traveling up or down the California coast, they would head west on the freeway. If they were going toward Phoenix, say, or Las Vegas, they would head east. Alfred remembered Penny’s mother saying that Penny wanted to visit national parks, like Yellowstone. Yellowstone was inland. That meant east.

Alfred had to make a quick decision, since he was approaching the freeway entrance and the green VW was nowhere in sight. He jogged onto the eastbound onramp and accelerated as he merged with the moderate morning traffic headed out of L.A. The cars were moving quickly. The powerful engine of his Ford enabled him to easily stay with the flow.

A Volkswagen had a top speed of what-about seventy miles per hour? By going seventy-five, Alfred should be able to catch it soon-assuming he had guessed right about Gary’s direction. If he had guessed wrong-well, he wouldn’t think about that.

Fifteen minutes later he spotted a green VW ahead, cruising in the second lane from the right. He had to make sure it was Gary’s car. He approached from two lanes to the left of it until he was close enough to read the license plate. Yup, it was the correct car. So far so good.

There was one more thing. He had to make sure that Penny was actually in the car. He dropped back and moved right three lanes. There was a gap in the traffic ahead of him, enabling him to close the distance to the VW again. He pulled up almost even with it until he could look in the right-side window.

He saw Penny’s profile, as pretty as a cameo. His heart soared; he had found her. He didn’t want her to take note of him or his car, so he dropped back again and assumed a position in the lane to the left of the VW and several hundred yards behind it. He could easily maintain surveillance from here, and his car blended in with all the other Fords on the road.

Alfred relaxed the intense concentration he had been forced into from the moment he had awakened. Then he began to be aware of other things. Number one, he had to go to the bathroom. Was this a problem that all detectives and spies faced? Number two, he needed to get gas. He should have filled the tank yesterday, but it had slipped his mind.

Gary had one big advantage over him. The VW got excellent mileage. His boat got lousy mileage, as he’d found out when he’d driven it cross-country from Connecticut. His parents had given him the car several years ago. He had persuaded them to give him the same model that Penny had, although, of course, he hadn’t said that was the reason he wanted it. He had been thrilled with it at the time, but this mileage problem was a major shortcoming.

Alfred opened the glove compartment and drove with one hand while he found his map of California. He spread it out as well as he could and placed it on the steering wheel in front of him. If they were headed for the big national parks, what route were they likely to take? Shifting his eyes between the road and the map, he studied the possibilities.

The answer was Route 395, which went north out of San Bernardino. If they turned onto 395, they were probably going to be on it for a long time, and it would be safe for him to stop. He had to make sure. Would his gas last that long? Would his bladder hold that long?

By the time they entered San Bernardino, the gas gauge was tickling empty, and Alfred was in agony. He saw a sign to 395. Five miles to go. Four miles. Hold on. Not much longer. Three miles. When they were within a mile of the exit, the VW pulled into the right lane, ending the suspense. Yes, they were turning.

Alfred also pulled into the right lane, but well behind the other car. He took the cloverleaf exit and in a minute found himself heading north on 395. He looked frantically for a gas station and pulled into the first one he saw. He stopped the car with a screech of tires, opened the door, and sprinted toward the Men’s room.

“Have you ever been to Reno?” Penny asked.

Gary glanced at her, sitting beside him, wearing shorts and a white blouse. He was sure he was doing the right thing. She had gotten a permanent to curl her short, brown hair, which was blowing in the breeze entering through the partially open windows. Her inquisitive brown eyes matched the color of her hair. She looked desirable, but she was also smart and sensible. All in all, an ideal wife.

The car didn’t have air-conditioning, and the open windows helped to moderate the inside temperature, made warm by the still potent sun of the late August day. They were heading north and would soon encounter cooler weather.

“I’ve been to Reno once. My brother, Tom, and I drove through Reno on our vacation trip in nineteen-sixty-two. We stopped there for about twenty minutes. I won ten bucks playing blackjack. Then we drove on toward San Francisco where we were meeting friends. So I’m a lifetime winner in Reno.”

“Did you actually see any wedding chapels there?”

“I think so. There are wedding chapels in Las Vegas, so there must be some in Reno. It’s known as the divorce capital of the U.S. Don’t weddings and divorces go together?”

“Bite your tongue. Once we get married, it’s going to be forever.”

Gary hoped that was true. “Where a need exists, somebody’s going to supply what is needed. Since there’s a waiting period to get married in California, Nevada is filling the gap, so to speak.”

Penny was looking at the map. “It’s going to be dark before we get to the campground.”

“That’s all right. All we have to do is to put up the tent and unroll the sleeping bag.”

The double sleeping bag Penny and her two girlfriends had slept in when they had driven across the country two years before, fresh out of college. Gary liked the concept of a double sleeping bag.

How far were they going? Alfred hadn’t reckoned with the necessity of following them in the dark. Especially now that they had turned off 395 onto a smaller road that was curving its way through the mountains toward Lake Tahoe. He could see this from the signs, even though he could no longer read his map.

A while back they had entered Nevada on 395, but if they continued in this direction they would reenter California. That set Alfred’s mind at rest concerning one worry that had been bugging him. Apparently they weren’t going to get married tonight.

He passed a sign announcing that they had climbed to over 7,000 feet. Mountainous terrain. He hadn’t been this high since he had driven over the Continental Divide on his cross-country trip.

Following them in the dark and the hills and the curves was a much harder proposition than following them during daylight. During the day, when they had stopped to eat or get gas, he had stopped farther on, duplicating their activities, and watched for them from the window of one of the many mom-and-pop diners. He had gotten into a rhythm, sometimes driving behind them, sometimes ahead of them, but always knowing exactly where they were.