E is for Evidence (6 page)

“For you . . . anything,” I said.

She suggested the Edgewater Hotel at 12:30, which suited me. I'd have to change clothes first. My standard outfit consists of boots or tennis shoes, form-fitting jeans, and a tank top or a turtleneck, depending on the season. Sometimes I wear a windbreaker or a denim vest, and I've always got a large leather shoulder bag, which sometimes (but not often) contains my little .32. I was relatively certain Ashley wouldn't appear in public like this. I hauled out my all-purpose dress, panty hose, and low heels. One day soon, I gotta get myself something else to wear.

 

 

 

 

 

The Edgewater Hotel sits on twenty-three acres of ocean-front property, with lawns sweeping down to the sea. An access road cuts through, not ten feet from the surf, with a sea wall constructed of local sandstone. The architecture of the main building is Spanish, with massive white stucco walls, arched doorways, and deeply recessed windows. Horizontal lines of red tile define the roof. A glass-walled dining patio juts out in front, white umbrella tables sheltering the patrons from sunlight and buffeting sea winds. The grounds are landscaped with juniper and palm, hibiscus, bottle brush and fern, flower beds filled year round with gaudy annuals in hot pink, purple, and gold. The day was chill, the sky icy white and overcast. The drab olive-green surf was churned up by the outer fringes of a storm system that had passed us to the north.

The valet parking attendant was far too discreet to remark, even with a look, the battered state of my ancient car. I moved into the hotel lobby and down a wide corridor furnished with a series of overstuffed couches, interspersed with rubber plants. The ceiling overhead was wood-beamed, the walls tiled halfway up, sounds muffled by a runner of thick carpet patterned with flowers the size of dinner plates.

Ash had reserved a table in the main dining room. She was already seated, her face turned expectantly toward me as I approached. She looked much as she had in high school; pale-red hair, blue eyes set in a wide, friendly face mottled with freckles. Her teeth were very white and straight and her smile was engaging. I had forgotten how casually she dressed. She was wearing a blue wool jumpsuit with a military cut, and over it a bulky white sheepskin vest. I thought, with regret, of my jeans and turtleneck.

She was still maybe twenty pounds overweight, and she moved with all the enthusiasm of an ungainly pup, leaping up to hug me when I arrived at the table. There had always been a guileless quality about her. Despite the fact she came from money, she had never been snobbish or affected. Where Olive had seemed reserved, and Ebony intimidating, Ash seemed utterly unselfconscious, one of those girls everybody liked. In our sophomore year, we had ended up sitting
in adjoining homeroom seats and we'd often chatted companionably before classes began. Neither of us was a cheerleader, an honor student, or a candidate for prom queen. The friendship that sprang up between us, though genuine, was short-lived. I met her family. She met my aunt. I went to her house and thereafter neatly bypassed her coming to mine. While the Woods were always gracious to me, it was obvious that Ash functioned at the top of the social heap and I at the bottom. Eventually the disparity made me so uncomfortable that I let the contact lapse. If Ash was injured by the rejection, she did a good job of covering it. I felt guilty about her anyway and was relieved the next year when she sat somewhere else.

“Kinsey, you look great. I'm so glad you called. I ordered us a bottle of Chardonnay. I hope that's okay.”

“Fine,” I said, smiling. “You look just the same.”

“Big rump, you mean,” she said with a laugh. “You're just as thin as you always were, only I half expected you to show up in jeans. I don't believe I ever saw you in a dress.”

“I thought I'd act like I had some class,” I said. “How are you? When I didn't find you listed in the phone book, I thought you'd probably gotten married or left town.”

“Actually, I've been gone for ten years and just got back. What about you? I can't believe you're a private detective. I always figured you'd end up in jail. You were such a rebel back then.”

I laughed. I was a misfit in high school and hung out with guys known as “low-wallers” because they loitered along a low wall at the far end of the school grounds. “You remember Donan, the boy with the gold tooth who sat right in front of you in homeroom? He's an Ob-Gyn in town. Got his teeth fixed and went to med school.”

Ash groaned, laughing. “God, that's one way to get your hand up a girl's skirt. What about the little swarthy one who sat next to you? He was funny. I liked him.”

“He's still around. Bald now and overweight. He runs a liquor store up on the Bluffs. Who was that girlfriend of yours who used to shoplift? Francesca something.”

“Palmer. She's living with a fellow in Santa Fe who designs furniture. I saw her about a year ago when I was passing through. God, she's still a klepto. Are you married?”

“Was.” I held up two fingers to indicate the number of husbands who had come and gone.

“Children?” she asked.

“Oh God, no. Not me. You have any?”

“Sometimes I wish I did.” Ash was watching me
with shining eyes and somehow I knew anything I said would be fine with her.

“When did we see each other last? It's been years, hasn't it?” I asked.

She nodded. “Bass's twenty-first birthday party at the country club. You were with the most beautiful boy I ever saw in my life.”

“Daniel,” I said. “He was husband number two.”

“What about number one? What was he like?”

“I better drink some first.”

The waiter appeared with the wine, presenting the label for her inspection before he opened it. She waved aside the ritual of the sniffing of the cork and let him go ahead and pour for both of us. I noticed that the waiter was smiling to himself, probably charmed as most people are by Ash's breezy manner and her impatience with formality. He was tall and slim, maybe twenty-six years old, and he told us about the specials as if we might want to take notes. “The sea bass is being served today with a green chili
beurre blanc
, gently poached first with fresh tomatoes, cilantro, lemon, and white wine, garnished with jalapeños and accompanied by a pine-nut rice pilau. We're also offering a fillet of coho salmon . . .” Ash made little mewing sounds, interrupting now and then for clarification of some culinary subtlety.

I let her order for us. She knew all the waiters by name and ended up in a long chat with ours about
what we should eat. She settled on steamed clams in a broth with Pernod, a salad of field greens lightly dressed, and said we'd think about dessert if we were good girls and cleaned our plates.

While we ate, I told her about my connection to Wood/Warren and the irregularities that had come to light.

“Oh, Kinsey. I feel awful. I hope Lance isn't responsible for the trouble you're in.”

“Believe me, I do, too. What's the story on him? Is he the type to burn down the family warehouse?”

Ash didn't leap to his defense as I'd expected her to. “If he did, I don't think he'd snitch on himself,” she said.

“Good point. Who'd go after him like that?”

“I don't know. That whole situation got very screwed up once Daddy died. He was crazy about the boys, but Bass was a dilettante and Lance raised hell half the time.”

“I seem to remember that. Your father must have had conniption fits.”

“Oh, he did. You know how straight he was. Daddy had real strong ideas about parenting, but most of them were wrong. He had no idea how to implement them anyway. He wanted to control and mold and dominate but he couldn't even do that very well. Kids just don't behave like company employees. Daddy
thought he'd have more control at home, but the truth was, he had less. Both Lance and Bass were determined to thwart him. Bass never has straightened out.”

“He's still in New York?”

“Oh, he comes home now and then—he was here for a week at Thanksgiving—but for the most part, he's gone. New York, Boston, London. He spent a year in Italy and swears he's going back. Much as I love him, he's a waste of time. I don't think he's ever going to get his act together. Of course, Lance was that way for years. They're both smart enough, but they always partied hard and Lance had a few scrapes with the law. It drove Daddy up the wall.”

The clams arrived. Each of us was presented with a plate piled high with small, perfect shells, swaddled in cloth to keep the broth piping hot. She speared a tender button of clam flesh and placed it on her tongue, her eyes closing in a near-swoon as she swallowed. I watched her butter a crescent of French bread and dip it in the bowl, sopping up clam liquor. As she bit into it, she made a little sound low in her throat like something out of an X-rated video.

“Your lunch okay?” I asked dryly.

“Fine,” she said. “Good.” She realized belatedly that I was teasing her and she smiled, her cheeks tinted becomingly with pink. “Someone asked me
once which I'd rather have—sex or a warm chocolate-chip cookie. I still can't decide.”

“Go for the cookies. You can bake 'em yourself.”

She wiped her mouth and took a sip of wine. “Anyway, about the last six or seven years, Lance took hold, more or less, and started showing an interest in the business. Daddy was thrilled. Wood/Warren was Daddy's life. He loved us, but he couldn't manage us the way he did the business. By the time Bass came along, the last in line, Daddy'd pretty much given up any hopes for a successor.”

“What about Ebony?”

“Oh, she's been passionate about the company since she was a kid, but she didn't believe Daddy'd ever let her have a hand in it. He was old-fashioned. A man leaves his business to his oldest son. Period. He knew Ebony was smart, but he didn't think she was tough enough, and he didn't think she'd stay with it. Women get married and have babies and spend money. That was his attitude. Women join the country club and play tennis and golf. They don't go head-to-head with chemical engineers and systems analysts. She even went off to Cal Poly and started working on an engineering degree, but Daddy made it clear it wouldn't help her cause, so she went to Europe and got married instead.”

“Thus fulfilling his prophecy,” I said.

“That's right. Of course, at that point, Daddy did a turnaround and swore he'd have left her the company if she'd stuck it out. She hated him for that, and I didn't blame her a bit. He was a real shit sometimes.”

“She's back now, isn't she?”

“Right. She got home in August, minus Julian, which is no big loss. He was a dud if I ever saw one. A real bore. I don't know how she put up with him.”

“Lance says she wants to take over.”

“I've heard that, too, though it's not anything she talks to me about. I get along with Ebony, but we're not real close.”

“What about Olive? Is she interested?”

“Peripherally, I guess. She married one of the chemical engineers who worked for Daddy. He's vice-president now, but they met when she was still in college and he'd just hired on.”

“Is that Terry Kohler?”

She nodded. “You met him?”

“When I was out there. What's he like?”

“Oh, I don't know. Smart. Moody. Intense. Pleasant enough, but sort of humorless. Good at what he does. Crazy about her, I must say. He worships the ground she walks on. ‘Slavish' is the word.”

“Lucky girl. Is he ambitious?”

“He used to be. He wanted to go out on his own at one point and form his own company, but I guess it
didn't work out. He kind of lost heart after that, and I don't know . . . being married to the boss's daughter probably takes the heat off.”

“How does he get along with Lance?”

“They clash now and then. Terry's easily offended. You know the type. He gets his nose bent out of shape at the least little thing.”

“What about John Salkowitz?”

“He's a sweetie. He's what Daddy wanted Lance to be.”

“You said Lance had a couple of scrapes with the law. What was that about?”

“He stole some things from the plant.”

“Really. When was this?”

“In high school. He came up with a scheme to make some money, but it didn't work out. It was part of an economics class and I guess his grade depended on how well he did. When he realized his little enterprise was failing, he stole some equipment—nothing big—but he tried to sell it to a fence. The guy got uneasy and called the cops.”

“Not too smart.”

“That's what pissed Daddy off, I suspect.”

“Did he press charges?”

“Are you kidding? Of course. He said that was the only way Lance would ever learn.”

“And did he?”

“Well, he got in trouble again, if that's what you
mean. Lots of times. Daddy finally threw his hands up and sent him off to boarding school.”

The subject veered off. We finished lunch, chatting about other things. At two, Ash glanced at her watch. “Oh Lord. I've got to go. I promised Mother I'd take her shopping this afternoon. Come along if you like. I know she'd love to see you.” She signaled for the check.

“I better take care of some other business first, but I do want to talk to her.”

“Give us a call and come up to the house.”

“Are you living there now?”

“Temporarily. I just bought a place of my own and I'm having some work done. I'll be staying with Mother for another six weeks.”

When the check arrived, I reached for my handbag, but she waved me off. “I'll take care of it. I'll claim it as a business lunch and charge it off to the company. It's the least I can do with the bind you're in.”

“Thanks,” I said. I got Ebony's personal telephone number from her and we walked out together. I was relieved that the valet service brought her car first. I watched her pull away in a little red Alfa-Romeo. My car appeared. I tipped the fellow more than I should have and got in with care, humping myself onto the seat to avoid snagging my panty hose behind the knee. The valet slammed the door and I turned the key. Honest to God, it started right up and I felt a surge
of pride. The damn thing is paid for and only costs me ten bucks a week in gas.