'You're going to be fine,' Pen repeated.

His chest rose and fell, but he didn't twitch an eyelid. The cardiac monitor beeped at the same rate as before.

Good thing this isn't a television show, Bodie thought, or the line on the screen of the heart machine would go flat about now and you'd get that long whining noise.

So far, so good.

He didn't want to be around, though, when it happened.

A long time seemed to pa.s.s before Dr Gray suggested they leave. 'You could come back this evening at eight and see him for a few minutes. Maybe his condition will have improved by then.'

Pen squeezed her father's hand. 'We'll see you tonight, Dad.' She let go and backed away.

Melanie said nothing - as if she knew there wasn't any point.

They left the room. Dr Gray led them to the elevator and tried once again to rea.s.sure them before he departed.

As the elevator doors began to close, a voice called, 'Could you hold that?' Bodie pushed the 'Doors Open' b.u.t.ton. An orderly swung a gumey around and rolled it inside. On the gumey was a wasted, sallow-faced old woman with greasy hair. Bodie, wishing he could go back in time and let the doors shut her out, tried to hold his breath as the elevator descended.

Hospitals. Charming places.

The old crone had a bad case of impending demise, and he hoped it wasn't catching.

Finally, the doors glided open and he hurried out. The orderly and his ghastly patient stayed. They were going down. What was down in the bas.e.m.e.nt? Isn't that where hospitals took their dead? She wasn't quite ready for that yet.

Dropping back, Bodie walked alongside Melanie to the lobby doors. And then he was in the sunlight, in the fresh untainted air. Well, there was a slight odor of exhaust fumes from the cars rushing by on Pico, but that was far better than the hospital air with its smells of floor wax and disinfectant and, far worse, its secret under-smell of decay and death.

'It's nice to be out of there,' Pen said.

They waited at the corner. The WALK sign came on. An RTD bus went ahead through the intersection as if traffic signals were meant only for cars. Bodie thought of the Porsche that almost nailed Pen.

A dangerous city.

If things had turned out a little differently, Dr Gray might've spent the morning inside her head.

I need sleep, Bodie thought as he crossed the road. 'Maybe we should check into a motel,' he said.

'Why don't you two stay at my place?' Pen suggested. Her voice was a weary monotone. 'You can use my bed. I'll use the couch.'

Bodie felt a little flip of excitement. 'Fine with me.'

'I don't know,' Melanie said. She, too, sounded tired. 'Maybe a motel.'

'There's no hurry,' Pen told her. 'You can decide later. Right now, I think we should go over and see Joyce.'

'What for?'

'She's Dad's wife.'

'Some wife. She wasn't even there. How come she wasn't there? Isn't a wife supposed to stay with her husband when he's half dead in the hospital?'

'He's not half dead.'

'Really? Three-quarters? Seven-eighths?'

'Cut it out, Mel.'

'Mom would've stayed with him.'

'They only let us stay for about five minutes.'

'There's a waiting room.'

'Look, for all we know Joyce could've spent the whole night there.'

'I'll just bet she did.'

'Maybe you'd better not see her, if you're going to act this way.'

'I've got a great idea. Why don't you go and see her without us. Give her my regards.'

'Okay.'

They reached Bodie's van and climbed in. He started the engine. 'Where to?' he asked.

'My apartment, I guess,' Pen said. 'I'll take my car over to Dad's place, and you guys can catch up on your sleep.'

'Never mind,' Melanie said from behind them. 'I want to see her, after all.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yeah, I'm sure. I've got a few questions I'd like to ask.'

Pen turned in her seat to look at her. The movement twisted her blouse slightly, opening a gap between two of its b.u.t.tons. Bodie saw smooth, shadowed skin on the side of her breast. 'Such as?' Pen asked.

'Such as where was she when Dad got hit.'

'She was with him,' Bodie said. 'She was there when he was brought into the emergency room.'

'How come she wasn't hurt?'

'We'll find out,' Pen said. Her blouse was drawn tight against her breast. The glossy fabric was molded to it, filled, rounded, puckered just a bit in the shape of a disk at the very front. Bodie looked again at the skin inside the small opening. Then he put on his safety harness. 'But let's not make it an inquisition,' Pen added. 'Joyce is Dad's wife, regardless of what you might think of her. Dad loves her, so we have to treat her with respect. Okay?'

'I guess so.'

Pen turned to the front.

'Which way do I go?' Bodie asked, looking at her face and being careful not to lower his eyes. Her face wasn't bad to look at, either.

'Make a left at the light.'

He nodded, checked the side mirror for traffic, and pulled out.

He realized that he was now feeling pretty good - a vast change from a few minutes ago.

Looking at Pen hadn't hurt any.

If we stay with her, I'll get plenty of opportunities.

He wished he hadn't mentioned a motel. It was pretty clear that Melanie would rather stay at a motel than at Pen's apartment.

It'll work out, he thought.

I'll plead penury.

Except for Pen giving occasional instructions on where to turn, the sisters were silent during the drive. Bodie imagined they must both be dwelling on the situation, wondering how their father got hit and whether he would recover. Maybe remembering times they'd spent with him.

Melanie had more than the tragedy to cope with. She also had her burden of guilt.

She'd been holding a lot of grudges, blaming him for the death of her mother, apparently dumping on him with a vengeance when he married Joyce.

She was probably wishing she'd been nicer to him.

'You'd better get to the right,' Pen said.

He eased over. They were on San Vicente, and the air streaming in through the open window was cooler than it had been a few minutes ago. Bodie suspected they were approaching the ocean, though there was no sign of it ahead.

The road had a wide, gra.s.sy center strip that appeared to be a haven for joggers.

Must be great for the lungs, Bodie thought, running your little heart out down the middle of a busy street.

'You'd better slow down,' Pen said. 'It's coming up, and you really can't see the road until you're almost on top of it.'

Bodie checked the mirror, then took his foot off the gas pedal. The area over there was heavily wooded. He couldn't see the road yet.

He flicked the arm of his turn signal, eased down on the brake, spotted the side road concealed among bushes and trees, and turned onto it. He drove slowly along the single lane. Though he could see no houses, he found evidence of their presence: patches of fence visible behind shrubbery and vines, mail boxes on weathered posts, now and then a garage, an occasional driveway entrance with a gate, a few cars parked half on the road so that he had to steer carefully around them.

The cars were not slouches: a Jaguar, a Porsche, a Ferrari, a Mercedes that looked incredibly huge and alien among the sleek sports cars.

'You can pull over behind the Mercedes,' Pen told him.

Speaking of alien - his VW van in with these ritzy vehicles. Folks would figure it must belong to the help. Caterers, perhaps. A party at the Conway residence.

A wake.

He maneuvered his van over to the right as far as possible. Bushes sc.r.a.ped its side. It was still jutting an uncomfortable distance into the road, but no more so than the Mercedes.

He hopped down. Instead of trying to squeeze through the pa.s.senger door, Pen swung her legs onto the driver's seat and scooted across. She gripped the steering wheel to pull herself along. Bodie tried not to look at her blouse.

He held out his hand. Pen took it, and he helped her out.

'Thank you.'

He let go of her hand, perhaps a bit too quickly. Melanie had pushed the seatback forward. He moved in, gently gripped her upper arm, and steadied her as she stepped down.

They walked past the gray Mercedes. Melanie frowned at it.

Near the front of the car stood a mailbox like the others along the road. This one bore the name CONWAY in black metal letters.

A gap in the bushes revealed a wooden gate. Farther up the road, a break in the foliage made way for a garage. The closed garage door was only a yard off the road. Must be dicey backing out, Bodie thought.

Pen, leading the way, unlatched the front gate and swung it open. She stepped through, followed by Melanie. Bodie went next and closed the gate.

The lawn was a trim carpet of gra.s.s. Most of it was shaded by trees, which blocked Bodie's view of the house's upper story. The walkway led past a small, concrete fountain. In the center of the fountain stood a pudgy cherub wearing a mischievous leer and nothing else. Water spurted from his bra.s.s p.e.n.i.s, splashing into the pool.

Bodie wondered if Whit was responsible for that. It was the mark, he thought, of either upper cla.s.s sophistication at its worst, or a nice bit of nasty wit. The latter, he hoped. He could like a guy who got a kick out of p.i.s.sing statues.

The white stucco house had the look of a hacienda. An open porch ran the length of it, shadowed by a red tile roof. A dozen flower pots were suspended by rope from the porch ceiling. Beyond them were some white, wrought-iron chairs and a love seat which couldn't be very comfortable but looked cheery. There were big windows on each side of the front door.

Pen stepped onto the porch and rang the doorbell.

Bodie heard chimes inside.

The door was opened by a young woman with a grief-twisted face who gasped, 'Oh, honey,' and threw her arms around Pen. After a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, she seemed to notice the other sister. 'Melanie?'

Melanie received a hug and kiss while she stood motionless with her arms hanging. She didn't resist, just took it like a kid being greeted by a distant, annoying relation.

Done with the hugging, Joyce shook her head. 'It's so awful. I'm so glad you're both here.'

'Melanie drove in last night,' Pen said. She looked around. 'This is her friend, Bodie.'

Bodie said, 'Nice to meet you,' and stepped forward to shake the offered hand.

Step-mom looked about the right age to be an older sister, and had the sleek features of a fashion model. Right now, she was showing a white jumpsuit belted in at her waist. It had zippered pockets at the b.r.e.a.s.t.s and thighs, and one long zipper down the front. Each zipper had a big, dangling golden tab for easy opening.

She wore a thin gold chain around her neck.

She had a soft tan, curving cheeks, coral eyes, and thin eyebrows that were a shade darker than her blond hair. The hair was cut in a boyish, pixie style as if meant to show off her ears. She wore big, hoop earrings.

Whit, quite obviously, had been a very lucky man before last night.

'Please,' she said. 'Come in.'

She led them across a red tile foyer. In spite of the jumpsuit's loose fit, her walking drew it taut against her b.u.t.tocks.

The living room had a plush carpet of the same burgundy shade as Pen's blouse. It also had a man on the sofa, who got to his feet as they entered.

Melanie stopped short.