The Hungry House (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Frank decided that this was the perfect time to have a party, with me as the guest of honor. One early afternoon, drink and cigarette in hand, he informed me of his plans as I sat drinking a cup of coffee at the kitchen table.

"I want to host a black tie affair here
. We've had enough mourning and enough quiet around here to last a century." He paused and waited for my reply.

He had not been using drugs since
I had moved into the house, and, though he still drank whiskey, he no longer became drunk. He had been eating a lot of salads, fish, and chicken, along with me. Because of these changes in habit, much of the puffiness in his face, particularly around his eyes, had receded. He was almost handsome.

"I'm not really up to helping you host a party, yet.
" I was thinking about the blasted party folders.

"All you will have to do is choose your dress
. I'll have someone else do all the work."

"Like who?" I
countered.

"Well, remember, you've already done all the research
. All I have to do is make some phone calls and then wave around large amounts of money. Works every time."

"But why now?" I
asked.

"As I said, I think it would do us both a world of good to have a party
. Besides, it will be just in time for Margaret's return."

"But
, how can she enjoy it, if she has to work at the party?"

"That's just the thing
. She's not going to have to do anything. Not this time anyway. Deserves a break, right? When she comes back, you two can go shopping together for your evening outfits. I already have a few Armani dinner jackets I brought with me from New York. Fortunately, I've lost some weight, so they might have to be taken in a bit, but they're less than a year old," he said.

"All right
. What do I have to do?"

Frank smiled
. "Nothing except be your beautiful self."

With
a sudden swiftness, still more surprising for someone who could seemingly never make up his mind about his entertainment plans, he dug out one of the folders from my library office and ordered engraved invitations to be sent out to some of his neighbors and the new friends he had made at the Multnomah Athletic Club, local publishing contacts, and television and movie friends of John's, plus my friends.

He hired
a catering company from one of my folders for the food. Everything was to be finger food of the highest quality: shrimp, lobster, crab, Prosciutto ham, and Beluga caviar from the Caspian Sea. The caterers were to provide uniformed waiters to serve champagne and hors d' oeuvres and experienced kitchen help. A bartender would provide drinks, including nonalcoholic drinks and refreshments for those who did not care for champagne. Additional help would take care of the guest's coats. Cars were to be parked on the grounds by a service. He also called in a group of event planners. He wanted the first floor of the house to be completely redesigned to allow for plenty of soft lighting and seating for his guests. The event planners hired a well-known jazz band for the occasion, at a generous rate for the evening, with all the food and drink they could consume into the bargain.

From the first moment,
I felt unsettled by all the sudden bustle of activity. From 8:00 a.m. until 5:00 p.m., the event planners worked on seating and lighting. Furniture had to be put into storage, while other furniture settings were delivered and set up. I often retreated to my bedroom or the kitchen. Even the library was no longer safe. I began taking long walks than usual.

One morni
ng, as I sat at the kitchen table trying to drink a cup of coffee and read a book, buzzing, whirring, and the sudden jolts from a nail gun kept startling me and causing me to jump. The, the side door opened, and Margaret walked in. I got up and went to her. We hugged.

I
stepped back to look at Margaret. "You look so beautifully tan. And--you look happy." Margaret's face radiated the kind of pleasure and contentment that could come from only one place--a special person in one's life.

"You've met someone, haven't you Margaret?"

"Yes. Is it that obvious?  In a few weeks, I'm going to California to meet his children. But, I promise you that I won't leave you if you need me."

"Don't even think about that!  Go after your happiness.
" With these words, I smiled into her face, not feeling as sure about it as I sounded. In fact, I felt bereft at the thought that she might leave me for good, but I would never tell her that.

"Sit down, have a cup of tea, and tell me everything.
" I poured a cup of tea for Margaret, who was sitting at the table with a very puzzled look on her face.

"Oh
--you must be wondering about all the noise. Frank decided to have a party, and he hired an event planner company to come in and change everything on the main floor. Most of the furniture is in storage."

The puzzled expression in Margaret's face did not change
. "That doesn't sound like Frank at all. He hasn't been using drugs again, has he?"

"No
. No, I don't think he has. And, he has cut down on his drinking. Did he have a big drug problem?"

"Well
, I shouldn't say anything, but--well--yes. Let's just say that. So, this means that I've just walked into a house full of work, doesn't it?"

"No
. Frank promised me that you wouldn't have to do anything." Just then, the whirring of a few electric screwdrivers burst out, startling me.

"How can you stand all this noise all the time?" Margaret wondered.

"I don't know. My nerves are frazzled every minute. I don't know how much more I can take."

"
You seem as if you really need a break. I have an idea. Why don't you and I take a day together and go to the coast to catch up?  There's not much we can do here anyway. It would do you some good to get away. I'll find the place. I'm tired this afternoon, so I need to take a nap. Tonight, I'll book us a place, or rather Frank will. We can head to Cannon Beach in the morning, stay overnight, visit, and enjoy the quiet. What do you say?" Margaret looked at me, a hopeful expression on her face. Just then, a loud thud resounded outside the kitchen, followed by a heartfelt curse.

"What else can I say, except, get me out of here.
" I said. We laughed together.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Frank booked us into a house near the water in Cannon Beach for two nights. At first, he had talked about buying a beach house for the occasion, as well as for future use. Margaret had explained that, while that was a great idea, a wonderful idea in fact, we needed something for tomorrow. Frank had begun researching lodgings on his pc. He said it could not be in a hotel, no matter how plush. 

Finally, we were on our
way--departing at 8:00 a.m., after a light breakfast. We had packed the night before. I drove the old Volvo. As we drove along, I asked Margaret about Tim, his children, and their plans.

"That's enough about me
. I want to know what is wrong with
you
." Margaret said.

"Nothing is wrong
. Why do you say that?" I was glad I was the driver and that I had to face the road.

"You know, you're not a good liar
. That's one of the things I love most about you. Now, tell me what it is." Margaret said.

Against my
will, I began to cry. "I guess I just have not recovered from my mother's death. I don't know what's wrong with me. I feel like an empty shell without her."

"I'm sorry you're suffering
." Margaret handed her a tissue. "Let's wait until we're safely in the house and we'll discuss it fully. What do you feel like having for lunch today?"

I
dabbed my face and regained my composure. "Why don't we stop at a market in Cannon Beach and pick up supplies for lunches and breakfasts. I'll fix them. Then we can go out for fresh fish for our dinners. "

"I think that sounds great.
" Margaret said this with great cheer, but a glance at her face told me that she was worried and concerned.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Normally, Frank would not have wanted the object of his obsession to be away from him for two days and would have insisted on coming along on the beach trip. But, he had something to take care of, and he wanted to make quite sure that no one suspected anything about it. He had made what he thought to be the most important of all secret contacts in the city--a drug dealer with contacts in Mexico. He bought prescription drugs to take the edge off his lack of alcohol intake.

The deale
r in question was a tall, skinny man of indeterminate age. He lived in a small house in a modest neighborhood on the West side, but he never conducted business there preferring to have others make pickups and deliveries. He was careful. However, Frank paid one of his delivery boys to tell him the dealer's name, which was Bob, and where he lived. After Vicky and Margaret left, he drove to the address and parked across the street. He waited for several hours until a man meeting Bob's description came out of the house with the appropriate address to get his mail.

As soon as the dealer
went inside his small, white house, Frank knocked on his door.

When Bob looked through the
peephole in his door and saw Frank, at first he thought he was a detective, or at least a drug enforcement agent. Then, he peeked out past a curtain and scanned the street. He spotted Frank's Mercedes. He knew every car on the street, even their license plate numbers. He had never before seen the Mercedes. If it belongs to this man, then he is not with the cops. Always a risk-taker, he decided to open the door.

As soon as the door opened, Frank spoke
. "Hello, my name is Frank. May I come in?  I have a business offer that will benefit the both of us."

"Okay
. Not here. Meet me at the Red Sea in half an hour. Don't come here again." The door was slammed in Frank's face.

Thirty minutes later, Frank found Bob sitting at a corner booth
at the Red Sea, a whiskey with a beer back already on the table. A waitress came right over, and Frank ordered a beer.

"Okay, what's this business proposition?  I don't have a lot of time."

Frank was still trying to understand this man. Usually, he could quickly size up anyone. He was thin and appeared to be somewhere between 50 and 70 years-of-age. Yet, his mannerisms and voice were those of a man in his thirties. Frank suddenly decided that he was a former methamphetamine addict, aged beyond his years. Currently, he did not appear to be abusing any serious substances. His gaze was steady, and his gravelly voice sounded assertive but calm.

Frank shoved a small scrap of paper in front
of Bob. The word Rope had been written on it. He had just placed an order for Rohypnol.

"That's what you want?
" Bob said as he tore the paper into little shreds.

"Yeah," Frank answered.

"It'll cost you."

"I'll pay you $2,000
in addition to the actual cost to compensate for your risk. That's for a couple of pills. I will still need my Valium."

"I'm not doing anything until I see the money."

Frank was ready. He lifted his hand as if to shake Bob's and pressed a tiny, folded $1,000 bill into his palm."One for now and the other upon delivery."

Bob put his hands in his lap and looked at the money
. "This better be real. I don't even know you."

"It's real, and there's more where that came from
. Get in touch with me any time, and we'll talk about my investment in your music career."

Bob
had a part-time band. H looked puzzled for a moment. "Oh,
yeah.
Real smooth." The last was said sarcastically.

He leaned in toward Frank
. "Okay. Here's how it's going to work. You're going to get a package from a company called HMP. It will be mailed to you from Los Angeles, by way of Tijuana. The box will say it's from Giorgio's on Rodeo Drive. HMP is a perfectly reliable pharmacy company. Got it?"

Frank nodded
.

"If you have any problems or questions,
do not,
I cannot emphasize this enough,
do not
come to my home or contact me directly. If you do, we're done. Send me a message." He scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to Bob. "Call this number and say Bob sent you. He'll get the message to me. Got it?"

Again, Frank nodded.

"Okay. I'm meeting someone else here in a few minutes."

Frank
realized he had been dismissed.