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he’d had his own face blurred out, so no one could tell who he was.” She buried her face in her hands and leaned toward the console until her head nearly touched the surface. She moaned in despair. Her agony stabbed at me. I wanted to do anything possible to take her pain away.
    I reached out to stroke her back, to comfort her as I had when she was a child, but she straightened abruptly. Trembling with fury, she whispered, “I hate him! I wish he were dead!”
    Before I could reply I heard the sound of a vehicle approaching. Through the rearview mirror, I saw that the Auto Club truck had arrived.
    “That was fast. I guess this time of the morning things are slow,” I said.
    I went through the usual ritual with the driver: explaining the problem and showing my Auto Club card.
    A few minutes later he gave us bad news.
    “It’s not the battery,” he said. “It might be a short in the electrical system.”
    “Oh, no. Can you fix it?” Eileen asked.
    “Sorry. It’ll have to go to a repair shop. The car can’t stay here—you’re in a yellow zone. Where do you want it towed?”
    “Gosh, I don’t know . . .”
    “Car Guy,” I said.
    The tow truck driver’s attitude went from polite indifference to interested. “That mechanic on TV?”
    “Yes.” I turned to Eileen. “You don’t have a regular shop, and I know Car is honest. What do you say?”
    Eileen nodded. “That’s a good idea.” She looked at her watch. “But it’s three o’clock in the morning.”
    “Take her car to the Better Living Channel studio on Lankershim Boulevard in North Hollywood.” I gave him the address, and my Auto Club membership number. “I’ll call the security office to tell them you’re coming. They’ll let you in the gate and show you where to leave the car.”
    “You got it.”
    While the Auto Club man prepared to tow Eileen’s car, I dialed the studio number. Guard Lew Parsons answered. His voice was deep and husky. Hearing him made me think of those animated bear family bathroom tissue commercials: Lew sounded like the big Poppa Bear looked.
    “Hi, Lew. It’s Della Carmichael.”
    “Hey, there, Mrs. C. Wha’ chu cookin’ up this late?”
    I told him that the Auto Club tow truck was going to be arriving soon with a red VW and asked him to have it put in one of Car Guy’s slots.
    “Would you tell him that I’d like to know what’s wrong with it, and if he’d be able to do the work? Ask him to call me at home tomorrow. You have the number.”
    “Will do.”
    “Thank you, Lew. Good night. Or, I guess I should say ‘good morning.’ ”
    “It’s all the same to me,” he said.
    I disconnected the call as I watched the Auto Club truck pull away in the predawn darkness and head north up Laurel Canyon Boulevard with Eileen’s little car behind it.
    Eileen sighed, and I turned to see her staring up Rothdell Terrace, in the direction of what she’d called Keith Ingram’s mini Swiss chateau.
    “You said you left your purse at the creep’s house. Why don’t I go wake up that jerk and get it for you?”
    “No,” Eileen said. “I can’t look at him.”
    “I understand that. Why don’t I call him tomorrow and arrange to pick it up for you?”
    She nodded. “Thank you.” Her eyes were filling with tears. “This is so awful. What am I going to do?”
    I put my arm around her shoulders and gave her an encouraging squeeze. “Don’t think about it right now. I’ll figure out something.”
    My voice sounded confident, but it was sheer bravado. The truth was that I didn’t have even the beginning of an idea how I was going to get Eileen out of this awful situation.

5

    Tired as I was, I still didn’t sleep soundly. When my doorbell rang at seven o’clock on Tuesday morning, only three hours after I’d finally been able to go to bed, I was already more than half awake.
    Tuffy, who had been sleeping at the foot of the bed, sat up, on full alert. I heard a low growl in his throat.
    My first thought was