H Is for Homicide

hundred and fifty bucks. Did I dare steal one for my very own? Nah, not at this point. It wouldn't be smart. Under the box was a jumbled collection of California driver's licenses with assorted ID's. I made a mental note to go through them later if I could find an opportunity. I put the guns back on top of the documents.
    I checked the closet, top and bottom, sorting through any pile of articles large enough to conceal an unplugged telephone. I peered under the bed, searched the drawers in the bed tables. I went into the master bathroom, which was larger than the other but not any cleaner. The medicine cabinet was too small to hide anything. I dug through the clothes hamper. The telephone was tucked down in the bottom. I emitted a little yelp and pulled it out from under a mound of dirty underwear. I knew there was a jack in the living room, but I was too nervous to plug in the phone out there. Luis was due any minute. I didn't want him to find; me with my mouth against the receiver.
    I scanned the baseboards in the bedroom for another jack. There were none in the immediate vicinity. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled around the perimeter, toting the telephone along with me as I peered behind the chest of drawers and the bed table. I finally spotted a jack on the wall behind the king-size bed, just about dead center. By stretching out on my belly and extending my arm through the dust bunnies and the woofies, I contrived to press the little gizmo on the phone into the matching hole in the jack. I was lying on the floor between the bed and the closet when the dog began to bark. Luis. Shit! I snicked the line from the jack and jerked the length of it out from under the bed. Perro was barking so loud, I couldn't tell if Luis had let himself in or not. I made a beeline to the master bathroom, wrapping the cord and the phone as I went.
    "Hey! Where is everybody?" He was in.
    "Luis? Is that you? I'm in the bathroom," I called.
    I shoved the phone to the bottom of the hamper and piled the dirty clothes on top. I checked my reflection in the mirror and picked a dog hair off my lip. I just had time to wrap a bath towel around my head, turban style, when Luis appeared in the bathroom doorway. He'd pulled a flannel shirt on. Long sleeves now concealed the handsome tattoos on his arms, but I could still see the two pairs of duck feet sticking out of his sleeves. He surveyed the room. His look flicked to me, his eyes chilly with suspicion.
    "Where's Raymond?"
    "He and Bibianna went out."
    "What are you doing in here?"
    "Bibianna said I could borrow her hair dryer," I said, praying she really had one. I glanced at the hamper. A length of telephone cord was dangling down the side, coiled in a tiny noose. I shifted my weight, effectively blocking his view. "I'll be out in just a second."
    He stared. His face was an oval with high cheekbones and a little pointed chin. His teeth were in good shape, but he had a thin, mean-looking mouth, accentuated by that pathetic mustache. His dark hair was straight, slicked back in a ponytail, previously concealed by his watch cap. He had to be in his late twenties. "What time did they say they'd be back?"
    "Could we talk about this in a minute? I'd like to do my hair," I said. I moved to close the bathroom door, which forced him to back up a foot. I shut the door emphatically, waited half a second, and then jerked the door open again. He straightened up, embarrassed. He tucked his thumbs in his belt loops and ambled casually toward the living room.
    "You are too considerate," I called after him, and slammed the door shut for emphasis. I found the hair dryer and turned it on, then laid it on the toilet lid and let it run while I wrapped the cord around the phone and placed it carefully down in the hamper where I'd found it. I rearranged the clothes on top. With the lid in place, I turned and checked my hair in the mirror. I picked up the wheezing dryer and bent over at the waist until my head was upside down. I blew a jet of hot air through my mop for about a minute. When I straightened up, it didn't look any better, but it did look different, like a sticker bush without leaves. I flipped the hair dryer off and went out into the living room.
    The evening was spent peaceably. Luis didn't seem to be plagued by intellect or curiosity, so there was little conversation. He sat on the nondoggie end of the couch while I sat in the chair. He turned on the television set. He had a limited attention