Novel 1987 - The Haunted Mesa (v5.0) Read Free Page B

he went to the desk for his mail before driving on to the condominium. There was a handful of letters and a small packet wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. It bore no stamps and no postmark.
    He recognized the handwriting and turned back to the desk clerk. “When did this come? Were you here when it was delivered?”
    â€œIt was about ten o’clock last night. I asked if she wanted me to inquire whether you were in or not, but she shook her head. She just put the package on the counter, looked at me strangely, then turned away. When she got to the door she turned and looked around—not just at me, at everything.”
    â€œYou seem to have paid attention.”
    She flushed. “Well…she was strange, somehow.”
    â€œStrange?”
    â€œShe was very beautiful, exotic-looking. Like nobody around here. I thought at first she was an Indian, but not like any I ever knew. But it was the way she
looked
at me, but not really at
me,
at my face, my hair, my clothes.”
    â€œWhy not? You’re an attractive girl.”
    â€œIt wasn’t that. She looked at me like she had never seen anyone or anything that looked like me. I mean that, seriously.”
    Once at the condominium he tossed the packet on the bed, and his .357 magnum alongside it. The important thing now was rest. The long flight from New York, the resulting jet lag, and the long drives at night had him ready for collapse.
    He was getting into bed when the telephone rang.
    â€œMr. Raglan?” It was the girl at the desk. “I thought you had better know. There was a man in here just now asking for that package you picked up. He said he was to deliver it to you.”
    â€œWhat did you tell him?”
    â€œThat you had picked it up, of course. Then he asked where the girl was who delivered it.” She paused. “Mr. Raglan, you will think me a fool, but he frightened me. I have no idea why, but something about him frightened me.”
    â€œWhat about the girl?”
    â€œHe…I didn’t like him, Mr. Raglan, and I am afraid I lied. I told him I saw no girl, that it was a man who brought it.”
    â€œAnd…?”
    â€œYou should have seen his face! It was livid! ‘A
man
?’ He yelled it, Mr. Raglan, and then he rushed outside and got into a van.”
    â€œThank you for telling me.”
    â€œI hope I didn’t do anything wrong.”
    â€œYou couldn’t have handled it better. Thank you.”
    For a moment he stood by the bar, thinking. Maybe he had lived too long with doubts and suspicions, but at this point he had no idea what was going on or how Erik was involved, if at all. Until he knew more he must move with caution. Erik was, he gathered, in serious trouble, but what kind of trouble? And over what? What kind of trouble could a man get into in the desert, miles from anyone?
    Opening the packet he discovered what he had half-expected to discover, Erik Hokart’s daybook. Erik had long kept a record of his work when a step-by-step record of an experiment might be very important indeed. Tossing the book to the bed, he took up a copy of an Eric Ambler mystery he had finished reading and rewrapped it with the same paper and string, leaving it in plain sight at the end of the bar.
    A few minutes later he was in bed with the daybook under his pillow and his .357 close to his hand.
    A light snow was falling at the time he dropped off to sleep. It was his last memory for several hours.
    When the years have accustomed a man to danger there are some feelings that remain with him; one is a subconscious awareness. Exhausted as he was, a surreptitious stirring awakened him.
Somebody or something was in the room!
    Ever so slightly he lifted his head. A broad-shouldered man, his back toward Mike, had just moved up to the bar and picked up the brown-wrapped package. The man turned toward the window.
    With the .357 in his hand Mike said, “I can’t imagine why a man