Free Alien Upstairs by Pamela Sargent Page B

the post office with the mail.
    "What have we got?” Sarah asked as they descended the steps outside.
    "Bills, as usual.” Gerard tucked their mail into his front coat pocket and ruffled Raf's letter. “No bills for Raf, though."
    "Maybe he pays cash for everything.” They walked along the sidewalk. A blond Guard and a tall policewoman were moving toward them. Sarah glanced at the Guard, who seemed vaguely familiar.
    "Hey."
    Sarah turned her head. “Hey.” The policewoman was speaking to them. Sarah slipped her arm through Gerard's. The policewoman came nearer and hooked her hands through her belt. “Well?” she said to the Guard.
    "That's them."
    "Okay, you can go.” The policewoman eyed them and Sarah felt her breakfast curdle in her stomach. The blond man wandered off, shouldering his rifle awkwardly. “My friend there says he saw you at St. Anne's a few days ago."
    "We were going to early morning Mass,” Sarah said slowly. She was certain she looked guilty. She tried to gaze directly at the officer.
    The woman shrugged. “You got out of a car. He saw you. You went in. Later on, he noticed that the car was still there. And it's still there today. Father Gautier complained. He's not running a parking lot, you know."
    Sarah, thinking of the absent engine, wondered if they had checked under the hood. “Well, you see,” she began, “we borrowed the car from a friend, and I guess we just assumed he'd pick it up. I guess he didn't."
    "What's your name?"
    "Sarah Jaynes. And Gerard Litvinov.” The policewoman took out a pad and wrote it down.
    "Address?"
    Gerard told her.
    "All right, you go back there and drive that car away."
    Sarah realized that the woman did not know about the engine. “Look,” she said, “we're on our way to work, and we don't have the keys. Can't we take care of it later?"
    "What's your friend's name?"
    "Raf Courn.” Sarah spelled it for her and she wrote it down. “Same address."
    "Well, you or your friend had better get that car out of there by tomorrow.” She tilted her head and adjusted the cap over her short brown hair. “He didn't take off by any chance, did he?"
    Sarah gulped. “Oh, no. I think he's visiting friends or something."
    The policewoman regarded her for a long moment. “All right.” She tucked her pad and pen inside the pocket of her short blue coat. “Just take care of that car, or you get a citation and a fine.” She ambled down the sidewalk.
    Gerard clutched Sarah's arm and they hurried toward their bus stop. “What are we going to do?” she said, trying not to whine.
    "You said the engine disappeared."
    "It did."
    "I'll get Bruce Carulli to haul it away. I'll slip him some cash and he can sell it to a recycler."
    "He's going to wonder where we got all this money all of a sudden. He fixed the Toyota, remember?"
    "Oh, yeah. You told me that. I'll think of something to tell him."
    "And he's going to wonder why the engine isn't there."
    Gerard sighed. “I'll think of something. He knows Raf is a little weird, half the neighborhood knows that. I'll think of a story."
    The cold wind whistled around them. Sarah squinted. A policewoman had their names; Bruce might wonder about the car. Even Mr. Epstein was probably curious about her interest in Raf. If Raf somehow turned up in a missing persons file, she and Gerard would be under suspicion. Someone might even think that they had murdered Raf and taken his money.
    "We've got to find him now,” Sarah said, afraid she would begin to cry. She had not seen Raf since her lapse of memory, and now it occurred to her that she could have killed him and blocked it. She swallowed hard, denying the thought. “What's in the letter, Gerry?"
    "Let's check.” They stood aside from the others awaiting the bus. Gerard opened the letter. It had been typed on a computer outlet, and was addressed to Mr. Raf Courn of 141 Oak Street.