The Door Into Summer
Chapter 18Jeff was a bundle of nerves the next day. Everything depended on the right timing . . . including catching Rachel unawares at the motel. If she wasn't in the room but out at the pool and saw them coming, it could all go wrong without batting an eye. Kookie arrived at four and he and Jeff tossed around the possibilities of success for a while before they prepared to leave.
"Wish us luck, Suzanne," Jeff told their receptionist on the way out.
"With all my heart, Jeff. I can't deal with two of you out of commission at the same time."
"It shouldn't come to that. As far as we know, Waverly's not armed. And I don't expect anything we can't handle out of Rachel."
"Be careful anyway. Both of you," Suzanne insisted.
"Yes, ma'am," Kookie answered with a smile.
The drive to Orange County Pipefitters was fairly quiet. The two men were well aware of just how much was riding on this operation. When they arrived, Jeff pulled into a secluded parking space on the side of the building, nowhere obvious but still able to see all the comings and goings through the front door. The P.I. was passing along to Kookie everything Stu had told him earlier in the day when Gil turned into the lot and parked next to them. "Have you seen him yet?" the Lieutenant asked as he climbed into the convertible.
"No, he hasn't come in yet. Should be any minute now."
Actually, it was closer to ten minutes before a company truck drove up to the front door and the passenger got out. It was Don Waverly. The occupants of the convertible let him go inside to punch the time clock before exiting the car and waiting around the side to apprehend him. Waverly came out of the building and walked towards his yellow car, oblivious to the three men standing next to the building. Just as he reached for the door handle Jeff stepped forward and asked, "Don Waverly?"
Don's head came up as all three men surrounded him. "Yes?" he answered nervously.
Gil slapped a pair of cuffs on the boy before he could bolt. "You're under arrest," accompanied the cuffs.
"What for?" There was no arrogance in his voice, only fear.
"Statutory rape, for starters," Gil replied curtly.
"But I . . . I mean we . . . I didn't force Rachel into anything. We love each other." How could this be happening? They'd been so very careful. And rape? He hadn't raped anyone; Rachel had come to him of her own free will. Then the thought struck him – if the police were here, Rachel's parents were probably somewhere in the vicinity. He might have seen the girl he loved for the last time as a free man.
"That's irrelevant. She's sixteen, and not of legal age to make that decision," Jeff informed him.
"Are you taking me to jail?"
Gil shook his head. "No, we're taking you to the motel to pick up the girl. And she's going back to her mother and father. Get in the car." Don was put into the backseat of Gil's car and Jeff slid in beside him. Kookie got behind the wheel of the convertible, prepared to follow Gil to the motel.
"What about my car?"
"We'll send somebody down for it. You won't be needing it for a while," Don was informed.
Gil started the engine, pulled out of the parking lot, and headed for Hawthorne Boulevard. "Which motel have you been staying at?"
"The Starlight," came the answer.
It took them less than twenty minutes to reach Hawthorne; Gil turned left and headed for The Starlight. They found an empty space in front of room 119, where Don and Rachel were living, and Gil put the car in park and killed the engine. "Will she be there?" Gil asked.
"Yes, she should be home."
"This one's all yours, Jeff," the lieutenant informed the P.I., and Jeff nodded acknowledgment.
"You have the room key?"
"In my front pocket." Gil reached across the seat and fished the room key out of Waverly's pants pocket, then handed it to Jeff.
"Go get her."
Jeff got out of the car and waited for Kookie to join him. The two men advanced on room 119 and, hopefully, the 'capture' of their prey.
XXXXXXXX
Rachel lay by the pool all day and decided at five o'clock that she should take a shower before Don got home. Once that was accomplished she went to get ice but, as usual, the ice machine was empty. She was thirsty so she went to the office, where they had a vending machine that dispensed cold soda. She was just about to head back to the room when she happened to glance out through the glass front door. There stood Kookie with another man and, while she watched, they used a key to enter her room. She was furious, realizing that her 'golden suntanned god' was nothing more than a cop, or worse, a private dick sent by her parents.
She scoured the parking lot until she found Don, sitting in the backseat of what had to be an unmarked police car. There was an older man behind the wheel and she surmised it was a cop. She whirled quickly and demanded of the manager, "Is there another way out of here?"
"I got a back door if you wanna use it, but it lets you out on the alley that runs behind this building. That ain't the best place in the world to be for a girl like you. But if you're determined, head down this hall. The doors on your right."
Rachel didn't hesitate; she fled down the hall and out the door, where she found herself in the alley just as the manager told her. He was right, this was no place for her or anyone that didn't have to be there. She hurried down the alley and found herself, to her surprise, on Tempest. She made a left and ran down the street as fast as she could go, across Hawthorne Boulevard and into the donut shop on the corner. There she bought a cup of coffee and a donut and took a seat by the window, waiting to see the police car leave the area.
She sat there for almost thirty minutes, nursing the coffee, with no sign of the unmarked car. Finally another person entered the shop, an attractive looking man of thirty or so; he bought a coffee and walked over to her table. "Mind if I join you? I hate to sit in a donut shop alone."
He made her laugh, an unexpected reaction. He was well-groomed, with curly brown hair and hazel eyes, and he looked harmless enough. "Sure."
He watched her for a few minutes while he quietly sipped his coffee, before he said anything else. "You looking for the unmarked car?" he asked, and the directness of his question startled her.
"Car? What car?" Rachel gathered herself; she was ready to flee at a moment's notice.
"You don't have to worry. I'm not a cop, and I'm not a private dick. I wanted to have an, uh, discussion with the guy that had the key to your motel room. He is a private dick, and I've got business with him. Long unfinished business. They nabbed your . . . what? Boyfriend? Husband? Partner in crime?"
She laughed again, once more relaxing with this man that made her see unexpected humor in his questions and remarks. "Boyfriend."
"Caught him at work?"
"They must have. That old guy driving the car. Is he a cop?"
He nodded his head. "Lieutenant. That means the boyfriend's under arrest. You're what? Fifteen? Sixteen?"
He seemed to know an awful lot about her and her situation. "Sixteen, almost seventeen," Rachel answered.
"Jailbait. No offense intended."
"What did you want to, uh, discuss with the man with Kookie?"
"Ah, I see you know Kookie. Tried to trap you with him, did they?"
She fumed inwardly. How could she have been so stupid, to think that somebody like Kookie could . . . "Is he an investigator too?"
"Wants to be. Currently a carhop at Dino's." Her flinch was visible when he mentioned Dino's. "You been there?"
"One night, Don took me. I didn't see Kookie."
"He comes and goes as he pleases. Probably wasn't working that night."
"Who is the man with Kookie? The one you wanted to talk to."
The figure sitting across from her snorted in disgust. "Like I said, he's a private dick. Name's Jeff Spencer, and he's a partner in the firm of Bailey and Spencer. They like to think they exist to save the world."
Rachel was quick to catch on to the utter disdain she could hear in his voice when her new-found friend talked about Spencer and his firm. "He looks awful young to be a partner. Are you sure?"
The brown-haired man had finished his coffee, but he still held his paper cup in his right hand. Rachel's question was no sooner out of her mouth than the cup was crushed, violently. The voice managed to remain steady as he answered her question. "Yes, ma'am, I'm sure. Him, his partner and the cop behind the wheel put . . . my brother in prison for ten years for a crime he didn't commit."
She shook her head sadly. No wonder the poor man seemed so off-kilter. She felt terribly sorry for him, and reached out to touch the hand that held what was left of the cup. He was surprised by how soft her skin was. "I'm sorry. That's so unfair." She looked in his eyes, wondering if she'd see the emotion she'd heard in his voice. "You mentioned his partner. Why wasn't he at the motel today?"
"Stu Bailey. I understand he was involved in some kind of a terrible car accident out by Zuma Beach. Totaled his car, according to the radio. Surprised he wasn't killed. Maybe that's why Kookie was there." Something made him turn his head. "Look, there goes the unmarked car. They seem to have given up on you."
Rachel turned to look but only caught the tail end of the car. "Darn, I missed it. Did you see if all four were in the car?"
"No, only three. The cop driving, Spencer and your man in the back seat. The carhop followed in some snazzy convertible. Do you wanna go back to the motel and get your clothes?"
She shook her head. "I don't have a car, and even if I could get them out of there I've got no place to put them. I don't . . . I don't know what I'm going to do now." She began to tear up, and in just a minute she was sobbing. "I've got nowhere to go." He unexpectedly pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. She took it gratefully and wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry. You've got your own problems, and all we've done is talk about mine."
From the very first moment he'd seen her scurry into the donut shop he'd been plotting and planning; she'd walked right into his trap. "Mine will wait, but I've got an idea that might solve yours. At least for the time being. Have you still got your room key?"
She reached in her pocket and pulled out the key. "Yes."
"I've got a car. It's not new and shiny, but it runs. We can go back to the motel and clean out your room, load everything in my car, and take it back to my place. At least until we can figure out what to do next. What do you say?"
"I . . . well I, what, uh, would you expect me to . . .? I mean, I don't . . . I can't . . . "
"You're only sixteen. Did you think I forgot that? I don't want to end up in the back of a police car, like your boyfriend did." He paused to let that sink in. "You can have the bedroom and I'll sack out on the couch."
"I . . . well . . . "
"Look, it's either that or you stay at the motel and wait for the cops to come back and send you home to mommy and daddy. Which sounds better?"
It didn't take her long to decide. She stuck out her hand. "We haven't been formally introduced. My name is Rachel Ames."
As he took her hand to shake it he smiled. "Hello, Rachel Ames. I'm Daggett. Tony Daggett."