Oh.
His hand touched something, and the contact shifted the object out of reach. He wriggled forward, his feet kicking like a swimmers, and he heard Dot asking him what the hell he thought he was doing, but that didnt matter because hed moved the extra few inches and his fingers closed on the thing.
It took an effort to get out again.
Damnedest thing I ever saw, Dot said. It looked for a minute as though some creature in there had a hold of you and was dragging you under, like something out of a Stephen King novel. By God, I dont believe it. Is that it?
He opened his hand. Thats it, he said.
All this time, and nobody found it.
Well, look what I had to go through just now.
Thats a point, Keller. I dont suppose too many people go mattress diving as a sport, like all those idiots walking around in the woods with metal detectors. Look, Edna, a bottle cap! How many people do you suppose slept right on top of that gizmo and never had a clue?
No idea.
I just hope one of them wasnt a real princess, she said, or the poor darling wouldnt have had a wink of sleep. But I dont suppose the Laurel Inns a must-see for European royalty. Well? Arent you going to see if it works?
He flipped the phone open.
Wait!
What?
Suppose its booby-trapped.
He looked at her. You think someone came here, found the phone, fixed it so it would explode, and then put it back?
No, of course not. Suppose it was booby-trapped when they gave it to you?
I was supposed to use it to call them.
And when you did boom! She frowned. No, that makes no sense. Youd be dead days before Longford even got to town. Go ahead, open the phone.
He did, and pressed the Power button. Nothing happened. They got back in the car and found a store that sold batteries, and now the phone powered up just the way it was supposed to.
It still works, she said.
The battery was dead, thats all.
Would it still retain information, though? With the battery dead?
Lets find out, he said, and pressed buttons until he got the list of outgoing calls. Ten of them, with the most recent one at the top of the list.
Well, Ill be damned, Dot said. Keller, youre a genius.
He shook his head. Its Julia, he said.
Julia?
Her idea.
Julia? In New Orleans?
Suppose the phones still where you left it, she said, and suppose it still works.
And it was and it does.
Right.
Keller, she said, you keep this one, you hear me? Dont send her off to walk the dog. Hang on to her.
36
No.
What about Harry?
Harry? Oh, you mean the guy with hair in his ears.
If youd rather, she said, I suppose we could call him Eerie. You think he was local?
He seemed to know the city. He found the Laurel Inn without any trouble.
So did I, Keller, and the closest Ive ever been to Des Moines before was thirty thousand feet, and I was in a plane at the time.
He knew enough to recommend the patty melt at the Dennys.
So he lives in a city that has a Dennys. That sure narrows it down.
He thought about it. He knew his way around, he said, but maybe he was just well prepared. I dont think it matters. Either way we can forget the five-one-five numbers. If Hairy Ears was local, then he was way down on the totem pole. They wouldnt pick up someone locally and let him know much.
Point.
In fact, he said, if he was local, hes probably dead.
Because theyd clean up after themselves.
If Al would send a team of men to White Plains to kill you and burn your house down
Keller, that was me. Remember? I was the one who did that.
Oh, right.
But I take your point. Well concentrate on the out-of-towners.
The most promising number, with three calls to it, had a 702 area code, and turned out to be a Las Vegas tip line for sports bettors. Another was a hotel in San Diego. Dot said the third time was the charm, and tried the third number, and got coo-wheeeet for her troubles.
The only way to look at it, she said, is its enough of a miracle that the phone was still there, and wed be asking too much if we expected it to do us any good. Ive got one more number to try, and then we can go back to the Laurel Inn and stick this damn thing under the mattress where it belongs.
He watched as she dialed, held the phone to her ear, raised her eyebrows as the call went through. Someone answered it, and she promptly pressed a button to put the call on speakerphone.
Hello?
She looked at Keller, and he hand-gestured Come on , wanting to hear more. In a voice a little higher than her own, she said, Arnie? You sound like you got a cold.
You sound like you got a wrong number, the man said, not to mention the brains of a gerbil.
Oh, come on, Arnie, she cooed. Be nice. You know who this is?
The phone clicked.
Arnie doesnt want to play, she said. Well?
He nodded. It was the man with the Hairy Ears.
Well, no wonder he hung up, Dot said. It turns out his names not Arnie after all.
Theres a surprise.
Its Marlin Taggert. Thats Marlin like the fish, not Marlon like Brando. And he lives at seventy-one Belle Mead Lane in Beaverton, Oregon.