Читать книгу THE CHEAP RUBY RING - Max Idol - Страница 5

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"Is Mr. Coleman available, please?"

The blonde behind the desk in Mr. Coleman's office threw a look at me she had been practicing for many years. I was just about to confess that I had lied to my father when I was three, but before I could, she said, "Who wants to know, friend, business friend?"

"Both, we've been friends since we played together in a sand-box some forty years ago. It was then that I dug out a dime and promised to split the amount fairly, but I'm afraid, I never did. So today I came here to do what I should have done for years - to give him his share and to beg his pardon. You know, I should have stuck to our bargain!"

Apparently she didn't disapprove my words totally - to be honest, she became quite talkative, but still kept a straight face.

"He's on a business trip abroad. His secretary can give you more details. I'm afraid, she has some days off. By the way, I'm disgusted with people who owe money and don't repay it. So beat it!"

She wrote down name and address of Mr. Coleman's secretary and gave me that look again, but the second time it wasn't so impressive any more. You got used to it after a while.

Before I tried to get in contact with Olivia Jackson, I went back to my apartment in East Village. In former times this neighborhood was well-known for its drug addicts, prostitutes and vacant buildings. Though there had been a lot of urban renewal recently, some of the buildings were still in a pretty bad shape. In one of them I had my apartment, third floor, no lift. It was a one bedroom apartment, besides there were a closet, a bathroom and a kitchen, not to mention the two windows. To claim that lots of natural light was entering this upstairs unit would be a slight exaggeration. Part of the living room I used as an office.

What I was really proud of, was the illuminated doorplate made of elegantly styled polished brass with the engraved words 'Jacob Lawdon, Private Investigator'. Each time I read this, it reminded me of the fact that I was still living there and my landlord hadn't yet arranged the eviction.

I always felt I owed this fact - at least to some extent - to my doorplate. So I cleaned the plate at least twice a day.

Some repainting and wallpapering would have been quite a good idea too, but I thought I shouldn't give my clients the feeling that I wasted their money.

Well, it had been a long while since somebody could have had this feeling.

I had a shower and was ready to see Olivia Jackson.

Olivia Jackson lived in the east of Carlsbad, not far away from Lake Calmora. So I went northward on the I-5.

As a rule, early spring is the best time in the region around San Diego. The weather is rather mild and temperatures can rise up to the mid-60s.

Well, actually spring hadn't started yet, though we were very close to it - February had one more day to go. But even for February it had been quite cold for the last three days. Temperatures tried to jump over the 50s, but didn't succeed. The sky was gray and overcast and now and then it began to drizzle. On the other hand this also was the time of year when the meadows and pastures were lush and green. As the year continued, the landscape then decided there had been enough green and bade farewell to it for the rest of the year and said hello to a rather nondescript brown.

I took the highway exit 48 and drove eastward on Cannon Road.

It was quite a nice property, where Olivia Jackson was supposed to live. There was a pool, a pond and a little orchard. A place you could feel at home, not quite as posh as Abigail Coleman's estate, but you wouldn't get depressed if you had to stay here for a longer time. No car parked outside in the parking lot, somehow nobody seemed to be at home.

I guess it was my negative aura which scared off all the people I wanted to talk to.

I stopped my car and approached the entrance. Before I could ring the bell, the door was opened by an elderly thickset man.

"Hello, my name is Lawdon, Jacob Lawdon, I wonder if Mrs. Jackson is at home."

I all at once realized that he didn't like me or maybe it was only my name he wasn't fully satisfied with. He eyed me suspiciously and didn't say a single word. So I decided to supply him with some more food for thought.

"Well, you see, Mr. Coleman, her boss, needs a document she took home to work on. He already tried to get in contact with her. But she didn't answer his call. He intended to see her this morning, but unexpectedly he had to go on a business trip. I'm his colleague and he asked me to see Mrs. Jackson in his place."

This caused a lot of scrutinizing. You could watch him weighing up the pros and cons. The pros won.

"We had a lot of riffraff roundabout here in the last weeks. I'm one of Mrs. Jackson's neighbors. She asked me to keep an eye on her property as long as she was away. Walden is my name."

"Of course, Mr. Walden, you were perfectly right to treat me the way you did. So Mrs. Jackson isn't at home?"

"No, I'm sorry she isn't. She wanted to meet up with her husband in the hills. They've got a cabin near Lake Calmora and they intended to pretty and prepare it for spring time. You know, they spend quite a time up there. Actually, she wanted to be back yesterday, but obviously the clean-up took more time as they expected."

He gave me a short description how to get to Mrs. Jackson's cabin. He seemed to like me now.

You could call Lake Calmora a hidden pearl amidst Carlsbad. The lake is not for swimming, but it is a nice hiking area with different trails from easy to difficult. I wouldn't call the view on the lake breathtaking but the surroundings are quite idyllic. During summertime you should start your hiking tour early in the morning, because it's likely to get sweltering hot in the afternoon. Quite a strenuous trail leads you up to the crater of a former volcano. From the edge of the crater you have a beautiful overview of Carlsbad.

There are several entrances to this area. Mr. Walden recommended me a parking lot in the park. He told me to leave my car there and to take a 30-minute walk to get to the cabin of Olivia Jackson and so I did.

When I approached the cabin, I realized that a dirt road lead to the cabin from the north-east. It struck me that none of the shutters was open and there were neither a car nor any human being. The place was absolutely deserted - at least I thought it was.

I knocked and rattled at the front door. Then I tried the back door. There was a rustle in the undergrowth behind me. Could have been a California pocket mouse or a ground squirrel, both of them were fairly common in this part of Southern California.

In a split second I noticed an enormous shadow to my left. According to the size of the shadow it would have been an enormous oversized ground squirrel. It gave off a distinct, strong odor.

I felt a dull pain that rushed through my head. The ground squirrel had knocked me down.