the rest of the story with the girl's help. Just as I finished the ambulance came to a halt. Despite my protestations and those of my still-unnamed girl friend, we were hustled into the back.
Two hours later we had a clean bill of health from the patrolman and the doctors and we were requested to be witnesses at the inquest set for the next week.
I saw my car at the curb. It was a little worse for wear, but the flats had been replaced. There was a witnessed bill on the dash for a wrecker, tires, and clean-up squad! It came to about $250.00 - half of the last night's pay-check.
"You look preoccupied," the girl said.
I turned to her. "Um, yeah. Well, we almost got killed together this morning, how about telling me your name and having lunch together?"
"Okay," she said. "The name's Vicki Pickford. Yours?"
"Danny," I said unemotionally as we pulled away from the curb. I switched the subject rapidly. "What was going on this morning? Did I hear that guy say that he was your legal guardian?"
"Yes" she replied.
I laughed. "The name is Danny Gerad. You'll get that out of the afternoon papers."
She smiled gravely. "All right. He was my guardian. He was also a drunkard and an all-around crumb."
Her cheeks flamed red. The smile was gone. "I hated him and I'm glad he's dead."
She gave me a sharp glance and for a moment I saw fear shine wetly in her eyes; then she recovered her self-control. We parked and ate lunch.
Forty minutes later I paid the check out of my newly acquired cash and walked back out to the car.
"Where to?" I asked.
"Bonaventure Motel," she said. "That's where I'm staying."
She saw curiosity jump into my eyes and sighed, "All right, I was running away. My Uncle David caught up with me and tried to drag me back to the house. When I told him I wouldn't go, he dragged me out to the truck. We were going around that curve when I wrenched the wheel out of his hands. Then you came along."
She closed up like a clam and I didn't try to get any more out of her. There was something wrong about her story. I didn't press her. I drove her into the parking lot and killed the engine.
"When can I see you again?" I asked. "A movie tomorrow?"
"Sure ," she replied.
"I'll pick you up at 7.30," I said and drove out, thoughtfully pondering the events that had befallen me in the last twenty-four hours.
CHAPTER FIVE
When I entered the apartment the phone was ringing. I picked it up and Vicki, accident and the bright workaday world of suburban California faded into the half-world of phantom-people shadows. The voice that whispered coldly out of the receiver was Weinbaum's
"Troubles?" He spoke softly, but there was an ominous tone in his voice.
"I had an accident," I replied.
"I read about it in the paper ..." Weinbaum's voice trailed off. Silence hung between us for a moment and then I said, "Does this mean you're canning me?"
I hoped that he would say yes; I didn't have the guts to resign.
"No," he said softly, "I just wanted to make sure that you didn't reveal anything about the - work - you're doing for me."
"Well, I didn't" I told him curtly.
"The night after this," he reminded me, "At eight."
There was a click and then the dial tone. I shivered and hung up the receiver. I had the oddest feeling that I had just broken connection with the grave.
The next morning at 7.30 sharp, I picked up Vicki at the Bonaventure Motel. She was all decked out in an outfit that made her look stunning. I made a low whistle; she flushed prettily. We didn't talk about the accident.
The movie was good and we held hands part of the time, ate popcorn part of the time and kissed once or twice. All in all, a pleasant evening.
The second feature was just drawing to the climax when an usher came down the aisle.
He was stopping at every row and looked peeved. Finally, he stopped at ours. He swept the flashlight down the row and asked* "Mr. Gerad? Daniel Gerad?"
"Yes" I asked, feeling guilt and fear run through me. "There's a gentleman on
Two hours later we had a clean bill of health from the patrolman and the doctors and we were requested to be witnesses at the inquest set for the next week.
I saw my car at the curb. It was a little worse for wear, but the flats had been replaced. There was a witnessed bill on the dash for a wrecker, tires, and clean-up squad! It came to about $250.00 - half of the last night's pay-check.
"You look preoccupied," the girl said.
I turned to her. "Um, yeah. Well, we almost got killed together this morning, how about telling me your name and having lunch together?"
"Okay," she said. "The name's Vicki Pickford. Yours?"
"Danny," I said unemotionally as we pulled away from the curb. I switched the subject rapidly. "What was going on this morning? Did I hear that guy say that he was your legal guardian?"
"Yes" she replied.
I laughed. "The name is Danny Gerad. You'll get that out of the afternoon papers."
She smiled gravely. "All right. He was my guardian. He was also a drunkard and an all-around crumb."
Her cheeks flamed red. The smile was gone. "I hated him and I'm glad he's dead."
She gave me a sharp glance and for a moment I saw fear shine wetly in her eyes; then she recovered her self-control. We parked and ate lunch.
Forty minutes later I paid the check out of my newly acquired cash and walked back out to the car.
"Where to?" I asked.
"Bonaventure Motel," she said. "That's where I'm staying."
She saw curiosity jump into my eyes and sighed, "All right, I was running away. My Uncle David caught up with me and tried to drag me back to the house. When I told him I wouldn't go, he dragged me out to the truck. We were going around that curve when I wrenched the wheel out of his hands. Then you came along."
She closed up like a clam and I didn't try to get any more out of her. There was something wrong about her story. I didn't press her. I drove her into the parking lot and killed the engine.
"When can I see you again?" I asked. "A movie tomorrow?"
"Sure ," she replied.
"I'll pick you up at 7.30," I said and drove out, thoughtfully pondering the events that had befallen me in the last twenty-four hours.
CHAPTER FIVE
When I entered the apartment the phone was ringing. I picked it up and Vicki, accident and the bright workaday world of suburban California faded into the half-world of phantom-people shadows. The voice that whispered coldly out of the receiver was Weinbaum's
"Troubles?" He spoke softly, but there was an ominous tone in his voice.
"I had an accident," I replied.
"I read about it in the paper ..." Weinbaum's voice trailed off. Silence hung between us for a moment and then I said, "Does this mean you're canning me?"
I hoped that he would say yes; I didn't have the guts to resign.
"No," he said softly, "I just wanted to make sure that you didn't reveal anything about the - work - you're doing for me."
"Well, I didn't" I told him curtly.
"The night after this," he reminded me, "At eight."
There was a click and then the dial tone. I shivered and hung up the receiver. I had the oddest feeling that I had just broken connection with the grave.
The next morning at 7.30 sharp, I picked up Vicki at the Bonaventure Motel. She was all decked out in an outfit that made her look stunning. I made a low whistle; she flushed prettily. We didn't talk about the accident.
The movie was good and we held hands part of the time, ate popcorn part of the time and kissed once or twice. All in all, a pleasant evening.
The second feature was just drawing to the climax when an usher came down the aisle.
He was stopping at every row and looked peeved. Finally, he stopped at ours. He swept the flashlight down the row and asked* "Mr. Gerad? Daniel Gerad?"
"Yes" I asked, feeling guilt and fear run through me. "There's a gentleman on
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