compartment of my Jeep shortly after I got home. It was five inches long and half an inch in diameter: about the size of a stubby pencil. With its alloy steel point, it was the most crucial tool of my new trade: burglary.
Even though I had committed to memory every inch of Eileen’s diagram of Ingram’s house, I didn’t want to risk the smallest mistake, so I folded the precious sheet of paper and shoved it into the pocket of my slacks.
After petting Tuffy and Emma, and assuring them that I would be back soon, I slipped outside to wait in the darkness for Liddy. Lucky for me—for what I intended to do—there was only the tiniest sliver of new moon, and clouds obscured the stars.
My neighborhood was quiet. None of the houses I could see from where I stood in the driveway showed the glow of interior lights. The dogs in this canine-friendly area weren’t barking. The only sounds I heard were faint traffic noises in the distance. I knew most of the vehicles carried people who were going to their work, or coming home. Or returning from late night revelry. I wondered if any of the motorists were heading toward commission of a felony. Given the most recent Los Angeles crime statistics, I guessed that there were probably a few villains among the innocent commuters.
A pair of headlights turned onto my street from Montana Avenue, three blocks south. At that distance, I couldn’t tell who might be in the car, so to avoid arousing suspicion by standing outside at this hour I retreated to concealment behind the large weeping willow tree in my front yard.
When the vehicle was half a block away, I recognized Liddy’s ivory Land Rover and hurried down to the sidewalk to wave at her. She stopped next to me, but didn’t cut the engine.
As I climbed into the passenger seat and put the gym bag down next to my feet, she put one index finger to her lips. I nodded agreement to being silent, but when I fastened my seat belt the resulting click sounded almost as loud as a car backfiring.
Liddy emitted a barely audible nervous titter. I held my breath. We scanned the nearest houses for any sudden turning on of lights.
Nothing.
... not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse . . .
Liddy put the car in gear but didn’t turn her lights on again until we came to Montana Avenue and she turned left, toward Hollywood.
Even at this hour, there was strong illumination on Montana. For the first time I was able to get a good look at Liddy. I laughed, because we were dressed almost identically in black sweaters and black slacks. The only difference in our attire was that she wore a black knit cap covering her blonde hair. I’m a brunette, so I didn’t need a cap to make myself less noticeable, but I’d tied my shoulder-length hair back in a ponytail.
“We look like twin cat burglars,” I said. “Maybe we should stop at a gas station and buy some black grease to cover our faces.”
Liddy shuddered. “That would be awful for our skin. Open the glove compartment and take out the baggie.”
I did as directed and removed a Ziploc bag. “What’s in here?”
“Two pairs of Bill’s powder-free latex examination gloves. So we won’t leave fingerprints. He keeps a box in the bathroom. Aren’t they just like what the police use when they’re investigating?”
“Yes. These are better than the white cotton gloves I brought. You have an unexpected talent for crime, Liddy.”
“Thanks.” In the headlights of cars coming toward us, I saw her grin with pride.
With traffic moving swiftly on Sunset Boulevard at that time in the morning, we reached Laurel Canyon in twelve minutes. At my instruction, Liddy turned left and we headed up into the narrow, winding canyon.
When we were about fifty yards from Kirkwood Drive, I said, “Slow down here.”
Just below the Canyon Country Store, I directed Liddy to turn into the shallow turnaround at the foot of Rothdell Terrace. “Park here, in front of the dry cleaners, but face out toward
Even though I had committed to memory every inch of Eileen’s diagram of Ingram’s house, I didn’t want to risk the smallest mistake, so I folded the precious sheet of paper and shoved it into the pocket of my slacks.
After petting Tuffy and Emma, and assuring them that I would be back soon, I slipped outside to wait in the darkness for Liddy. Lucky for me—for what I intended to do—there was only the tiniest sliver of new moon, and clouds obscured the stars.
My neighborhood was quiet. None of the houses I could see from where I stood in the driveway showed the glow of interior lights. The dogs in this canine-friendly area weren’t barking. The only sounds I heard were faint traffic noises in the distance. I knew most of the vehicles carried people who were going to their work, or coming home. Or returning from late night revelry. I wondered if any of the motorists were heading toward commission of a felony. Given the most recent Los Angeles crime statistics, I guessed that there were probably a few villains among the innocent commuters.
A pair of headlights turned onto my street from Montana Avenue, three blocks south. At that distance, I couldn’t tell who might be in the car, so to avoid arousing suspicion by standing outside at this hour I retreated to concealment behind the large weeping willow tree in my front yard.
When the vehicle was half a block away, I recognized Liddy’s ivory Land Rover and hurried down to the sidewalk to wave at her. She stopped next to me, but didn’t cut the engine.
As I climbed into the passenger seat and put the gym bag down next to my feet, she put one index finger to her lips. I nodded agreement to being silent, but when I fastened my seat belt the resulting click sounded almost as loud as a car backfiring.
Liddy emitted a barely audible nervous titter. I held my breath. We scanned the nearest houses for any sudden turning on of lights.
Nothing.
... not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse . . .
Liddy put the car in gear but didn’t turn her lights on again until we came to Montana Avenue and she turned left, toward Hollywood.
Even at this hour, there was strong illumination on Montana. For the first time I was able to get a good look at Liddy. I laughed, because we were dressed almost identically in black sweaters and black slacks. The only difference in our attire was that she wore a black knit cap covering her blonde hair. I’m a brunette, so I didn’t need a cap to make myself less noticeable, but I’d tied my shoulder-length hair back in a ponytail.
“We look like twin cat burglars,” I said. “Maybe we should stop at a gas station and buy some black grease to cover our faces.”
Liddy shuddered. “That would be awful for our skin. Open the glove compartment and take out the baggie.”
I did as directed and removed a Ziploc bag. “What’s in here?”
“Two pairs of Bill’s powder-free latex examination gloves. So we won’t leave fingerprints. He keeps a box in the bathroom. Aren’t they just like what the police use when they’re investigating?”
“Yes. These are better than the white cotton gloves I brought. You have an unexpected talent for crime, Liddy.”
“Thanks.” In the headlights of cars coming toward us, I saw her grin with pride.
With traffic moving swiftly on Sunset Boulevard at that time in the morning, we reached Laurel Canyon in twelve minutes. At my instruction, Liddy turned left and we headed up into the narrow, winding canyon.
When we were about fifty yards from Kirkwood Drive, I said, “Slow down here.”
Just below the Canyon Country Store, I directed Liddy to turn into the shallow turnaround at the foot of Rothdell Terrace. “Park here, in front of the dry cleaners, but face out toward
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