Sue Grafton - R is for Ricochet

I crossed the motel parking lot to McDonald's, where I ordered three large coffees, three OJs, three hash browns, and three Egg McMuffins to go. According to my calculations, Misty, Reba, and I – assuming we cleaned our plates – would each be supplied with 680 calories, 85 grams of carbohydrate, and 20 grams of fat. I amended my order, adding three cinnamon buns just to round things out.

I drove back to Misty's, this time parking in the driveway. Reba was waiting when I knocked on the door. She was barefoot, in a pair of red shorts and a white tank top without benefit of a brassiere. I held the bag out. "Peace offering."

"What for?"

"Invading your turf. I'm sure I'm the last person in the world you wanted to see."

"Second to last, just ahead of Beck. You might as well come in," she said. She took the bag and moved down the hall toward the kitchen, leaving me to close the door. I did a quick check of the living room in passing. The interior was sparsely furnished: bare linoleum flooring, wood-laminate coffee table, one of those brown tweed couches that can flatten to a bed. Brown tweed chair, end table, lamp with a flouncy shade. The next room on the right was the office I'd seen. There was a modest-size bedroom across the hall.

"Getting an eyeful?" Misty asked. She sat at the kitchen table in a black satin robe that was tied at the waist, boobs close to bulging out of her lapels. I was surprised the weight didn't cause her to lose her balance and flop over in her plate.

Reba had a lighted cigarette on the ashtray in front of her. She was drinking a Bloody Mary.

Oh, perfect, I thought.

"You want one?"

"Why not? It's after ten," I said. I reached into the McDonald's bag and unloaded the goodies while Reba made me a drink and set it at my place. I looked at Misty. "You're not having a drink?"

"I got bourbon in here," she said, pointing to her coffee with a red-lacquered nail.

I sat down and doled out hash browns and Egg McMuffins, leaving the cinnamon buns, orange juice, and coffee in the center of the table. "Sorry if I seem rude, but I'm starving to death." Neither seemed to object as I unwrapped my Egg McMuffin.

There was a blissful few minutes while the three of us munched. I figured business could wait. I didn't have a clue what we were doing anyway.

Reba finished first. She wiped her mouth on a paper napkin she kept wadded in her fist. "How's Pop?"

"Not that well. I'm hoping to talk you into going home."

She took a drag of her cigarette. The house felt chilly and I marveled at her bare arms and legs. I tried a sip of Bloody Mary – largely vodka with a thin mist of Bloody Mary mix on top, like blood in a toilet bowl. I could feel my eyes cross as the burning liquor went down. She said, "Does Holloway know?"

"What? That you left the state? That'd be my guess. Cheney told me he'd be getting in touch with her."

"Lucky I'm having fun."

"Mind if I ask why you left?"

"I got bored being good."

"Must be a record. You lasted ten days."

She smiled. "Actually, I wasn't all that good, but I got bored anyway."

"Is Misty in on this?"

"Meaning, can we talk in front of her? She's my best friend. You can say anything you like."

"You blew all the money, didn't you? Salustio's twenty-five grand."

"Not all of it," she said.

"How much?"

She shrugged. "Little over twenty. Well, maybe more like twenty-two. I have a couple of thousand left. I figure there's no point talking to him if I don't have the rest. What am I supposed to do, offer him small monthly payments until I've satisfied the debt?"

"You have to do something. How long do you think you can duck a guy like that?"

"Don't worry about it. I'm working on it. I'll figure it out. Anyway, maybe I'll be back in prison before he catches me."

"That's a happy thought," I said. "I don't understand why you can't go back to Santa Teresa and talk to Vince. There's still a chance the feds can cut you a deal."

"I don't need to make a deal with the feds. I got something in the works."

I turned to Misty. "She's nuts, right? I mean, how nuts is she?"

"Might as well leave her alone. Truth is, you can't save anybody but yourself."

"I'm afraid I'd have to agree with you there," I said, then to Reba, "Look, all I want is to get you back to Santa Teresa before shit comes raining down on your head."

"I get that."

"So why don't we leave it at this? You know where I'm staying. I'll hang out until seven tomorrow morning. If I don't hear from you by then, I'll drive back alone. But I gotta warn you – at that point, I'm calling the Reno PD and telling 'em where you are. Fair enough?"

"Oh, thanks. You think that's fair? Calling the Reno cops?"

"As fair as you're going to get. You'd be wise to spend time with your dad while you can."

"That's the only reason I'd go back, assuming I do."

"I don't care about your motive – just getting you there."

I went back to the motel, where I spent one of the most wickedly enjoyable days I've experienced in some time. I finished one paperback novel and started the next. I napped. At 2:30 I bypassed McDonald's and ate at a rival fast-food place. Afterward, I would have taken a walk, but I really didn't care what was out there. Reno is probably a very keen town, but the day was hotter than blue blazes, and my room, while glum, was at least habitable. I slipped my shoes off and read some more. At supper time, I called Cheney and brought him up to speed.

I went to bed at 10:00 and got up at 6:00 the next morning, showered, dressed, and packed my bag. When I got down to my car, I found Reba perched on her suitcase with her duffel at her feet. She had on the same red shorts and tank top she'd been wearing the morning before. Bare legs. Flip-flops.

I said, "This is a surprise. I didn't think I'd see you."

"Yeah, well, I surprised myself. I'll go with you on one condition."

''There aren't any conditions, Reba. You go or you don't. I'm not going to bargain with you."

"Oh, come on. Hear me out. It's no big deal."

"Okay, what."

"I need to make a stop in Beverly Hills."

"I don't want to make a detour. Why Beverly Hills?"

"I have to drop something off at the Neptune Hotel."

"The one on Sunset?"

"That's right. I swear it won't take any time at all. Will you just do me this one tiny thing. Please, please, please?"

I swallowed my irritation, thankful she'd agreed to come at all. I unlocked the car door on the passenger side, flipped the seat forward, and tossed my duffel in the rear. As Reba added her two bags, I noted that the duffel bore a United Airlines tag and a small green sticker showing the bag had cleared security. I'd been right about the fact she'd flown to Reno.

"We might as well have a decent breakfast before we take off. My treat," she said.

We had the McDonald's to ourselves. We gorged on the usual, though even as I ate, I swore off junk food for life, or at least until lunch. A couple of guys came in after us and then the place began to fill up with people on their way to work. By the time we visited the ladies' room and got into the car, it was 7:05. I gassed up at the nearest Chevron station and we headed out of town. "If you smoke in my car, I will kill you," I said.

"Blow it out your butt."

Reba was in charge of the map, directing me to the 395, which cut straight south to Los Angeles. Somehow I knew the detour would be a pain in the ass, but I was so relieved to have her with me, I decided not to make a fuss. Maybe she'd experienced a change of heart and she was ready to take responsibility for herself. Skittish as she was, I figured the best thing I could do was to keep my observations and opinions to myself.

Conversation was in short supply. The problem in dealing with people who are out of control is that the choices are so few – two being the actual number if you want to know the truth: (1) You can play counselor, thinking that perhaps no one (save yourself) has ever offered the rare tidbit of wisdom that will finally cause the light to dawn. Or (2) You can play persecutor, thinking that a strong dose of reality (also delivered by you) will shame or cajole the person into turning her life around. In both instances, you'll be wrong, but the temptation is so strong to take one role or the other that you'll have to bite your tongue bloody to keep from jumping in with all the lectures and the finger wagging. I kept my mouth shut, though it required an effort on my part. She was mercifully quiet, perhaps sensing my struggle to mind my own business.