"T" is for Trespass (18 page)

I got the dark flat stare, but she seemed to reconsider the urge to snub me. She dropped her gaze. “He's napping right now. He had a rough night. His shoulder's bothering him.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. Henry talked to him yesterday and he was under the impression Gus was doing better.”

“Visitors tire him. You might mention it to Mr. Pitts. He stayed longer than he should have. By the time I got here at three, Mr. Vronsky'd taken to his bed. He dozed much of the day, which is why he slept so poorly last night. He's like a baby with his days and nights mixed up.”

“I wonder if his doctor would have something to suggest.”

“He has an appointment Friday. I intend to mention it,” she said. “Was there something else?”

“Well, yes. I'm on my way to the market and wondered if you needed anything?”

“I wouldn't want to trouble you.”

“It's no trouble at all. I'm going anyway and I'd be happy to help. I can even sit with Gus if you'd prefer to go yourself.”

Solana ignored that offer. “If you'll wait here, I have a thing or two you could pick up.”

“Sure.” I'd invented the supermarket errand on the spot, desperate to prolong the contact. She was like the keeper at the gate. You couldn't get to Gus unless you went through her.

I watched her move into the kitchen, where she set the soup container on the counter and then vanished, probably finding pen and paper. I stepped into the living room and glanced at Gus's desk. The cubbyhole that had held his bills was empty, but the passbooks for his two savings accounts were still where I'd seen them before. It looked like his checkbook was wedged in there as well. I was panting to scrutinize his finances, at the very least making sure his bills were being paid. I shot a glance at the kitchen door. No sign of Solana. If I'd acted right then, I might have had my way. As it was, my hesitation cost me the opportunity. Solana appeared two beats later, her purse under her arm. The list she gave me was short, a few items scribbled on a piece of scratch paper. I watched her open her wallet and remove a twenty-dollar bill that she held out to me.

“Place looks better with that old ratty carpet gone,” I said, as though I'd spent the time she'd been gone admiring her latest handiwork instead of plotting to steal Gus's bankbooks. I was kicking myself. In seconds I could have crossed the room and had the records in hand.

“I do what I can. Ms. Oberlin tells me you and Mr. Pitts did a cleaning before she arrived.”

“It didn't amount to much. A lick and a promise, as my aunt used to say. Is this it?” I paused and glanced at the list. Carrots, onions, mushroom broth, turnips, a rutabaga, and new potatoes. Nutritious, wholesome.

“I promised Mr. Vronsky some fresh vegetable soup. His appetite's been off and it's the only thing he'll eat. Meat of any kind makes him nauseous.”

I could feel my cheeks tint. “I guess I should have asked first. The soup's chicken with rice.”

“Maybe when he's feeling better.”

She moved closer, essentially walking me toward the door. She might as well have put a hand on my arm and marched me out.

I took my time at the grocery store, pretending I was shopping for myself as well as Gus. I didn't know what a rutabaga looked like, so after a frustrating search, I had to consult with the clerk in produce. He handed me a big gnarly vegetable like a bloated potato with a waxy skin and a few green leaves growing out one end. “Are you serious?”

He smiled. “You've heard of neeps and tatties? That's a neep; also called a swede. The Germans survived on those in the winter of 1916 to 1917.”

“Who'da thunk?”

I returned to my car and headed for home. As I rounded the corner from Bay onto Albanil, I saw the waste-management company had picked up the Dumpster and was hauling it away. I parked in the empty stretch of curb and went up Gus's porch steps with Solana's groceries. To thwart me, she accepted the plastic sack and change from the twenty, then thanked me without inviting me inside. How exasperating! Now I'd have to come up with a fresh excuse to get in.

Wednesday, when I came home for lunch, I found Mrs. Dell standing on my porch in her full-length mink coat, holding the brown paper bag containing her Meals on Wheels delivery. “Hi, Mrs. Dell. How are you?”

“Not well. I'm worried.”

“About what?”

“Mr. Vronsky's back door is locked and there's a note taped to the glass saying he won't be needing our services. Did he say anything to you?”

“I haven't talked to him, but it does seem odd. The man has to eat.”

“If the food wasn't to his liking, I wish he'd mentioned it. We're happy to make adjustments if he has a problem.”

“You didn't talk to him?”

“I tried. I knocked on the door as loudly as I could. I know he has trouble hearing and I didn't want to leave if he was already hobbling down the hall. Instead, that nurse of his appeared. I could tell she didn't want to talk, but she finally opened the door. She told me he's refusing to eat and she doesn't want the food to go to waste. Her attitude was very close to rude.”

“She canceled Meals on Wheels?”

“She said Mr. Vronsky was losing weight. She took him to the doctor to have his shoulder checked and sure enough, he's down six pounds. The doctor was alarmed. She acted like it was my fault.”

“Let me see what I can do.”

“Please. This has never happened to me. I feel terrible thinking it was something I did.”

As soon as she'd left, I put a call through to Melanie in New York. As usual, I didn't speak to a live human being. I left a message and she returned the call at 3:00 California time when she got home from work. I was in the office by then, but I set aside the report I was typing and told her about my conversation with Mrs. Dell. I thought she'd be startled about Meals on Wheels. Instead, she was irritated.

“And that's why you called? I know all this stuff. Uncle Gus has been griping about the food for weeks. At first Solana didn't pay much attention because she thought he was just being ornery. You know how much he loves to complain.”

Having observed the trait myself, I couldn't argue the point. “What's he going to do about meals?”

“She says she can handle them. She offered to cook for him when she first came to work, but I thought it was too much to ask when she was already taking on his medical care. Now, I don't know. I'm leaning in that direction, at least until his appetite returns. Really, I can't see a downside, can you?”

“Melanie, don't you see what's going on here? She's building a wall around the guy, cutting off access.”

“Oh, I don't think so,” she said, her tone skeptical.

“Well, I do. All he does is sleep and that can't be good for him. Henry and I go over there, but he's quote-unquote ‘indisposed' or ‘he doesn't feel like company.' There's always some excuse. When Henry did manage a visit, she claimed Gus was so debilitated afterward, he had to take to his bed.”

“Sounds about right. When I'm sick, all I want to do is sleep. The last thing I need is someone sitting there making chitchat. Talk about exhausting.”

“Have you spoken to him recently?”

“It's been a couple of weeks.”

“Which I'm sure suits her fine. She's made it clear she doesn't want
me
over there. I have to rack my brain to get a foot in the door.”

“She's protective of him. What's so bad about that?”

“Nothing if he were doing better. The man is going downhill.”

“I don't know what to say. Solana and I talk every couple of days and I'm not getting this from her.”

“Of course not. She's the one doing it. Something's wrong. I can feel it in my bones.”

“I hope you're not saying I should make another trip. I was out there six weeks ago.”

“I know it's a hassle, but he needs the help. And I'll tell you something else. If Solana knows you're coming, she'll cover her tracks.”

“Come on, Kinsey. She's asked me three or four times if I'd come out to see him, but I can't get away. Why make an offer like that if she were doing something wrong?”

“Because she's devious.”

Melanie was quiet and I imagined the little wheels going round and round. I thought maybe I was getting through to her, but then she said, “Are you sure you're okay? Because this is all sounding very weird if you want to know the truth.”

“I'm fine. Gus is the one I'm worried about.”

“I don't doubt your concern, but all this cloak-and-dagger stuff is a bit melodramatic, don't you think?”

“No.”

She made one of those long, low exasperated sounds in her throat, like this was all too much. “Okay, fine. Let's assume you're correct. Give me one concrete example.”

Now I was the one silent for a beat. As usual, when confronted with a demand of that sort, my mind went blank. “I can't think of one offhand. If you want my best guess, I'd say she's drugging him.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake. If you think she's so dangerous, then fire her.”

“I don't have the authority. That's up to you.”

“Well, I can't do anything until I talk to her. Let's be fair about it. There are two sides to every story. If I fired her strictly on the basis of what you've said, she'd file a complaint with the labor relations board about unfair treatment or dismissal without cause. You know what I'm saying?”

“Shit, Melanie. If you talk to Solana about this, she'll go ballistic. That was her response the last time around when she thought I was checking up on her.”

“How else am I supposed to find out what's going on?”

“She's not going to admit to anything. She's too smart.”

“But so far it's just your word against hers. I don't mean to be hardnosed, but I'm not flying three thousand miles based on a ‘feeling' in your bones.”

“Don't take my word for it. You think I'm so nuts, why don't you call Henry and ask him?”

“I didn't say you were nuts. I know you better than that. I'll think about it. We're swamped right now at work and taking the time off would be a pain in the butt. I'll talk to my boss and get back to you.”

Typical of Melanie, that was the last conversation we had for a month.

 

At 6:00 I walked up to Rosie's and found Henry sitting at his usual table in the bar. I'd decided my sterling behavior entitled me to a meal out. The place was jumping. This was Wednesday night, which is known as “hump day” to working stiffs, the week being more than half done. Henry got up graciously and held my chair while I slid in next to him. He bought me a glass of wine, which I sipped while he finished his Black Jack over ice. We ordered, or, rather, we listened, while Rosie debated what we'd have. She decided Henry would enjoy her
ozporkolt
, a venison goulash. I told her about my nutritional goals, begging and pleading to be spared the sour cream and its many variations. She took this in stride, saying, “Is very good. No worry. For you, I prepare
guisada de guilota
.”

“Wonderful. What's that?”

“Is quail braised in tomatillo-chili sauce.”

Henry shifted in his seat with a look of injury. “Why can't I have that?”

“Okay. You both. I bring right away.”

When the food arrived she made sure each of us had a glass of really bad red wine, which she poured with a flourish. I toasted her and sipped, saying, “Oh yum,” while my tongue shriveled in my mouth.

Once she'd departed, I took a taste of sauce before I committed myself fully to the quail. “We have a problem,” I said, picking at the bird with my fork. “I need to borrow the key to Gus's place.”

He looked at me for a moment. I don't know what he saw in my face, but he reached in his pocket and took out a ring of keys. He worked his way through the circle and when he came to the key to Gus's back door, he forced it off the ring and put it in my outstretched palm. “I don't suppose you'd care to explain.”

“Better for you if I keep my mouth shut.”

“You won't do anything illegal.”

I put my fingers in my ears and did that la-la-la business. “I'm not hearing that. Could you ask something else?”

“You never told me what went on when you took him the soup.”

I took my fingers out of my ears. “That went fine, except she told me that his appetite was off and any kind of meat made him sick. There I stood having just given her the container full of chicken soup. I felt like an idiot.”

“But you talked to him?”

“Of course not. Nobody does. When was the last time you talked to him?”

“Day before yesterday.”

“Oh, that's right. And guess what? She says Gus took to his bed because you stayed too long and he was exhausted, which is bullshit. Plus, she canceled Meals on Wheels. I called Melanie to tell her and that conversation went straight into the toilet. She implied I was making things up. Either which way, she feels Solana should have the chance to defend herself. She did suggest it would be helpful if I had a shred of proof to support my suspicions. Thus…” I held up the key.

“Be careful.”

“No sweat,” I said. Now all I needed was the opportunity.

 

I believe, as many people do, that things happen for a reason. I'm not convinced there's a Grand Plan in place, but I do know that impulse and chance play a role in the Universe, as does coincidence. There are no accidents.

For instance:

You're on a highway and your tire goes flat, so you pull over to the side of the road in hopes of flagging down help. Many cars go by, and when someone finally comes to your aid, he turns out to be the kid you sat behind in fifth grade. Or maybe you leave for work ten minutes late and because of that you're caught in traffic, while ahead of you, the bridge you cross daily collapses, taking six cars with it. You might just as easily have left four minutes early and down you'd have gone. Life is made up of these occurrences for good or for ill. Some call it synchronicity. I call it dumb luck.

Thursday, I left the office early for no particular reason. I'd grappled with a lot of paperwork that day and maybe I was bored. As I rounded the corner from Cabana onto Bay, I passed Solana Rojas in her rattletrap convertible. Gus was hunched in the front seat, bundled into an overcoat. As far as I knew, he hadn't been out of the house in weeks. Solana was speaking to him intently and neither looked up as I went by. In the rearview mirror I saw her stop at the corner and make a right-hand turn. I figured she was taking him to another doctor's appointment, which later turned out not to be the case.

I whipped into a parking place and locked my car, then trotted up the steps to Gus's front door. I made a show of knocking on the pane of glass in the door. I waved merrily at an imaginary someone inside and then pointed toward the side and nodded, showing I understood. I went around the side of the house to the rear and climbed the back porch steps. I peered through the windowpane in the door. The kitchen was empty and the lights were out—no big surprise. I used the key Henry'd given me to let myself in. The action was not strictly legal, but I put it in the same category as returning Gus's mail. I told myself I was doing a good deed.

The problem was this:

In the absence of an invitation, I had no legitimate reason to enter Gus Vronsky's house when he was home, let alone when he was out. It was pure chance that I'd seen him pass in Solana's car, heading off to god knows where. If I were caught, what possible explanation could I give for being in his house? There'd been no smoke boiling out his windows and no cries for help. No power failure, no earthquake, no gas leak, no break in the water main. In short, I had no excuse beyond my fear for his safety and well-being. I could just imagine how far that would fly in a court of law.

In the course of this home invasion, I was hoping for one of two things: either reassurance that Gus was in good hands or evidence I could act on if my suspicions were justified. I went down the hall and into Gus's bedroom. The bed was neatly made—“a place for everything and everything in place” being Solana Rojas's credo. I opened and closed a few drawers but saw nothing out of the ordinary. I'm not sure what I expected, but that's why you look, because you don't know what's there. I went into his bathroom. His oblong pill organizer was sitting on the sink. The compartments for S, M, and T were empty, as was W. T, F, and S were still filled with assorted pills. I opened the medicine cabinet and scanned his prescription medications. I rooted through my shoulder bag until I found my notebook and pen. I wrote down the information from every bottle I saw: date, physician's name, the drug, the dosage, and instructions. There were six prescriptions altogether. I'm not well versed in pharmaceutical matters, so I made careful notes and replaced the containers on the shelf.

I left the bathroom and continued down the hall. I opened the door to the second bedroom, where Solana kept clothing and personal items for use on the nights she stayed over. This room was the former warehouse for numerous unlabeled cardboard boxes, all of which had been removed. The few pieces of antique furniture had been dusted, polished, and rearranged. I could see she'd made herself right at home. A handsome carved mahogany bed frame had been reassembled and the linens were as taut as an army cot. There was a burled walnut rocking chair inlaid with cherry, an armoire, and a plump-shouldered fruitwood chest of drawers with ornate bronze drawer pulls. I opened three drawers in succession and saw that all were filled with Solana's clothes. I was tempted to search her room further, but my good angel suggested I was already risking jail and had better cease and desist.

Between the second and third bedrooms there was a full bath, but a quick peek through the open door revealed nothing significant. I did open the medicine cabinet and found it empty except for a number of cosmetics, which I'd never seen Solana wear.