Phantom Point

by Gary Inbinder

Table of Contents

Chapter 16: The Eyrie

“You got the dough?” Roxy asked.

“Here it is. Do you want to count it?” Eve handed up a well-stuffed envelope to Roxy’s outstretched hand.

Roxy opened the envelope and riffled through the bills. “Looks OK, girlie.” She grinned and stuffed the envelope into her shirt. “Take good care of the big fella. He needs looking after.” Then to Max: “Adios, lover. I’m headed for Los Angeles. Maybe I’ll see you some time.” She tugged at the reins and trotted out to the main road going south. She looked back at Max and Eve, shouted, “Yee, hah!” and spurred the gelding away at a gallop.

“Maybe I’m woozy, but I’d sure like to know what’s going on,” Max said.

“Please don’t talk now. You’ve taken an awful beating. I’ll explain everything, soon enough. Can you walk to the car?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Max started out all right but, halfway to the Mercedes, he stumbled and fell to his knees. “Guess I took one too many shots to the head.”

“Here, let me help you.” Eve gripped his hand and helped him to his feet. “Put your arm around my shoulder and lean on me. It’s not far.”

Max limped to the car, climbed onto the running board and then sank back into the leather passenger seat with a sigh of relief. Eve lit the carbide lamps, crank-started the engine and got behind the wheel.

“You’re driving?” Max shouted above the booming engine. “What happened to Karl?”

“Don’t need Karl,” she shouted back. “I’m an expert driver, and I like to go fast. Just hang on tight, and we’ll be there in a jiffy.”

Max assumed “there” was The Eyrie. He took a deep breath and braced himself. He had never seen a woman drive anything but an electric along well-paved city streets at a sedate ten miles per hour. He was in for a surprise.

Max held on to a dashboard handrail with his right hand while gripping the vibrating side panel with his left. The Mercedes whipped around tight corners and went flat out in the straightaways. The thundering engine, whining gears, screeching tires and rushing wind made talking impossible. A windscreen provided minimal protection against clouds of choking dust mixed with flying pebbles. Battered and buffeted, Max had to watch out for Eve’s flying elbows as she maneuvered the oversized steering wheel mounted high on the column for extra leverage in the turns.

They flew up the dark, narrow road, with only the carbide lamps’ dim beams to light the way. Accelerating out of a hairpin curve, the sensation of the g-force was so great it made Max nauseous. He couldn’t read the speedometer but he guessed they were doing fifty where any sensible driver would have done twenty-five.

He held out some hope that she would slow down in the Redwood forest, but he was mistaken. They flashed by the massive trees at such a rate that he could no longer look outside the cockpit. He was greatly relieved when she slowed down and pulled to the side of the road.

“We’re almost there, and in record time. Are you OK?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. But could you take it easy from here?”

“Of course.” Eve smiled. She put the car in gear and drove on at a sensible speed until they came to a stop before the now familiar black iron gate. Eve stepped out of the car and swung the gate open. Then she got back behind the wheel, crossed the threshold of the estate, got out again and closed the gate behind them. She re-entered the car and continued driving at little more than a walk.

Tires crunched on the gravel driveway winding its way through the lawn; the gas headlights barely penetrated the darkness. Overhead, circling sea birds cried; in the distance, surf roared, and breakers crashed on the rocky shoreline below.

A shadowy, massive form came into view: a great, four-story heap of limestone, a millionaire’s fantasy castle complete with crenellated towers flying the Merwin family crest. This was The Eyrie, and, scanning the vista northwest of the mansion, Max could see the moonlit cliffside curving inward and declining precipitously dozens of feet down to the sea.

They pulled up to the front entrance driveway under a massive arched portico. Eve helped Max out of the car and up a flight of stone steps to tall oak double doors surmounted by a stained-glass fanlight.

Eve pressed the doorbell button. Shortly thereafter the doors swung open and a tall, slender woman in a plain, brown dress greeted them. “Good evening, Mr. Rogers, and welcome to The Eyrie. I’m Mrs. Hook, the housekeeper.” She wore her black hair drawn back in an outmoded style, parted in the center and pinned tightly in a bun. She appeared to be about forty, but her smooth clear skin needed no cosmetics. Her lush eyebrows over piercing gray eyes, prominent cheekbones and naturally red lips were handsome in an austere way.

“Would you please take Mr. Rogers to his room, Mrs. Hook?” Eve said. “He may need some help up the stairs. I’m going to telephone Dr. Weiss. Then I’ll join you to make sure he’s comfortable.”

“Of course, Miss Sinclair.” Then to Max: “Please follow me.”

She led him through the vestibule and up three flights of red-carpeted circular white marble staircase. They climbed past walls decorated with allegorical paintings and statuary niches in the neo-classical Beaux Arts style. Max managed on his own, climbing slowly with a steadying hand on the banister railing.

The immensity and grandeur of the mansion impressed Max. He recalled reading a newspaper article full of facts about the number of workers employed and the difficulties involved in the engineering and construction of the one hundred-room house and the landscaping of the grounds.

Among other things, Merwin had a temporary narrow-gauge railway built along an old stagecoach road to haul in building materials and supplies for the workers’ camp. For a period of three years, the nascent estate was the busiest, most populous and perhaps the most prosperous little village on the Central Coast.

Max’s third-floor room or, more correctly, his suite consisted of a bedroom, a sitting room and a bathroom that occupied more square-footage than his Chicago apartment. The furnishings were, in contrast to the vast interior hallways, quite homey.

“I hope this is to your liking,” Mrs. Hook said.

“Yes, it’ll do just fine,” he replied. Max felt like someone who had been granted a first-class stateroom on a luxurious new trans-Atlantic liner or a suite at the Waldorf-Astoria gratis; it was certainly an improvement over Duke Placco’s torture chamber by the sea. Other than the fact that he felt like he had gone twenty rounds with Tommy Burns and had no idea why he had been rescued and brought to this place, everything was swell.

Mrs. Hook nodded approvingly, smiled and walked over to the oak wardrobe, opened it and then did the same with a chest of drawers. “Mr. Merwin’s about your size, so you may wear some of his clothes until we’ve arranged to have your things packed and brought over from the hotel.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Hook. Now, could I impose upon you for something to eat and drink? I’m awfully hungry, and thirsty, too. A light meal and a glass or two of whiskey would brace me up just fine.”

“Well, I don’t know,” she said with a concerned frown. “Maybe the doctor should have a look at you first. Anyway, you can ask Miss Sinclair about that. She should be here shortly.”

There was a polite knock on the door. Eve entered the room.

“The doctor is on his way, Mr. Rogers. Are you feeling any better?”

“Thank you, Miss Sinclair; I’ve been worse. But if possible, I’d sure appreciate a medium rare steak, three eggs over easy, hash browns and a shot of whiskey.” Max tried to smile, but it came across as a wince.

Eve turned to Mrs. Hook. “Please have cook prepare some broth and warm milk. I’ll stay with Mr. Rogers until the doctor arrives.”

“Yes, miss,” the housekeeper said with a knowing smile.

Eve waited for Mrs. Hook to leave. Then she walked to the dresser, opened a drawer and retrieved a pair of silk pajamas. She handed the elegant sleepwear to Max.

“These should fit you,” she said. “You can change in the bathroom. Can you manage by yourself?”

“Yes, I can manage, Miss Sinclair, but—”

“Please call me Eve when we’re alone, Matt.”

“All right, Eve. Believe me, I’m grateful. If it weren’t for you and Roxy, Placco would be cutting me up for shark bait. But I’d sure like to know why you saved me.”

“I like you, Matt. Surely you could tell that from the time we met in the Los Angeles station?”

“You’re an attractive young woman. Under normal circumstances, I’d be thrilled. But these are hardly normal circumstances, and I’m certain there’s much more to it than that.”

Eve smiled. “There is more to it, but I really do like you. Now, go change and get ready for Dr. Weiss. He has a new automobile, so he should be here soon. After he’s finished examining you, we’ll talk and I’ll try to answer all your questions.”

“OK.” Max headed for the bathroom.

“Oh, Matt.”

He stopped and turned back toward her. “Yes, Eve?”

“You might want to avoid looking in the mirror, at least for the time being.”

“Thanks for the warning, kid.” He winced, rubbed his swollen jaw and continued on to the bathroom.

Proceed to Chapter 17...

Copyright © 2022 by Gary Inbinder