Free Step to the Graveyard Easy by Bill Pronzini Page A

as the old Cape would have been to the bunch of skydivers in Phoenix.
    He parked in a large lot, went up onto the path that separated the lot from the woodsy grounds and led around to the clubhouse. When he passed a screen of oleanders, a section of lawn opened up and let him see another path bordering one of the fairways. A gardener’s cart stood there, two people talking beside it. The dark, pudgy man in uniform was probably one of the grounds crew; the tall woman in white blouse and shorts was Lacy Hammond.
    She was facing Cape’s way, recognized him. She broke off her conversation with the gardener and cut across the lawn in long, loose strides to intercept Cape before he reached the clubhouse.
    “Hello, salesman,” she said. Sober this morning, and apparently none the worse for yesterday’s drinking. “You do get around.”
    “I might say the same for you.”
    “I live in this area. You don’t.”
    “Play golf, do you?”
    “When the mood strikes. I’m pretty good, too. Been whacking balls since I was twelve.”
    “I’ll bet you have.”
    She let him hear her bawdy laugh. “You don’t look much like a ball-whacker yourself.”
    “I used to be. Not anymore.”
    “So what’re you doing here? No, wait, let me guess. Baby sister?”
    “And her husband. I’ve been invited to lunch.”
    “My, my. You really must be some salesman.”
    “I told you yesterday,” Cape said, “I’m not selling anything.”
    “Then how come the free lunch?”
    “It won’t be free. I’ll pay for my own.”
    “Andy won’t like that. He enjoys throwing his money around. Sometimes he even throws some my way.”
    “And you don’t duck when he does.”
    “I don’t drop it, either. Lacy plays catch with both hands.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Money and men both,” she said. Her voice was bantering, but her gaze was analytical. “Two hands, squeeze hard, hang on tight.”
    “And use ’em up fast, money and men both.”
    “Why not? The using up works both ways.”
    “Pretty cynical attitude.”
    “You could benefit from it. If you played your cards right.”
    Cape said, “I won’t be in Tahoe long enough,” and started away.
    She called after him, “You give up easy, salesman.”
    “That’s the way I do everything these days,” he said without turning. “Easy.”



13
    Andrew Vanowen said, “You’re not what I expected, Cape.”
    “No? What did you expect?”
    “Older man, glib, not so low-key.”
    “Should I take that as a compliment?”
    “He didn’t mean it that way,” Stacy Vanowen said.
    “Stacy.” Sharp, but without looking at her. As if he were telling a pet to be quiet.
    She smiled faintly, looked out through the tall window on her right. A slant of sunshine lay across that side of her face, along her bare shoulder and arm. On the lake, on the glass, the sunlight glittered hotly. On her it seemed cooler, a paler shade, like light rays on sculptured white marble. Reach over and touch her, and she’d have a marble feel—cool, smooth, surface-soft. The type of woman who would never sweat, even when she was making love. Direct opposite of her sister.
    Of her husband, too. He was like something made out of bone and tightly strung wire, covered with tanned rawhide and powered by a generator tuned so high you could hear it hum and crackle. He attacked his crab cocktail as if it were an enemy. The crab cocktails had been waiting along with the Vanowens when Cape was shown to their table in the packed, beam-ceilinged restaurant.One for him as well. Ordered in advance. He hadn’t touched it. And wouldn’t.
    Through a red mouthful, Vanowen asked, “What is it you do, exactly?”
    “Do?” Cape said.
    “Your livelihood. What’s your business?”
    “You might say I’m retired.”
    “From what?”
    “The rat race.”
    “That’s an evasion.”
    “Not really. I used to work for a manufacturing firm in Illinois, and I got fed up with the grind.”
    “And now you collect photographs of people you