W Is for Wasted (17 page)

“What was I supposed to do? The guy was drunk. So what else is new? Things might have got nasty, but you know how it is. Everybody calms down and life goes on.”

“You weren’t in touch with him afterward?”

“Wasn’t possible. The man lives on the street and he doesn’t have a phone. We didn’t even know for sure where he was headed when he left.”

“Were you aware he’d come into money?”

“Well, yeah. That’s what he said. We didn’t talk about it, but I got the gist. He said he filed a lawsuit.”

“He sued the state . . .”

“Right, right. Because his name was cleared. I remember now.” There was a pause while he plucked the D string and adjusted the tuning. He addressed his next question to the machine heads. “He die with a will or without?”

“With.”

“What happened to the money? I hope you’re not going to tell me he blew it.”

“No, no. It’s still in the bank.”

He smiled briefly. “That’s a relief. Man’s a bum. Never did anything right in his life. So what’s the process in a situation like this?”

“Process?”

“What happens next? Are there forms to fill out?”

I experienced a momentary jolt and I could feel the heat rise in my face. I’d just caught a flash of how this looked from his perspective. Now that I’d delivered the bad news, he thought I’d be telling him about the money he was coming into. He and his sisters. His asking what was to happen next was procedural. He hadn’t brought up the subject sooner because he didn’t want to sound greedy. Maybe he thought I’d been beating around the bush out of delicacy. Given the news of his father’s death, he didn’t want to leap on the pecuniary matters without first giving the impression of filial respect.

“He named me executor of his estate.”

“You?”

I shrugged.

Ethan thought about that briefly. “Well, I guess the job’s largely clerical, isn’t it? Filing papers and stuff like that?”

“Pretty much,” I said. “The will’s been entered into probate.”

“Whatever that means,” he said, and then focused on me fully for the first time. “You act like there’s a problem?”

“Well.”

Annoyed, he said, “Would you quit fumbling around and just get on with it?”

I stared at the floor and then shook my head. “I don’t know how else to say this, Ethan. He cut you out of the will. All three of you.”

He stared at me. “You’re kidding me.”

I shook my head.

“Son of a bitch. All this, because we had a falling-out? I don’t believe it. Is that why you brought it up? That business about the ‘quarrel’?” He used his fingers to enclose the last word in digital quote marks, implying that it was my claim and not necessarily the truth.

“I’m sure it must seem harsh.”

“Harsh? It’s ridiculous. I don’t know what you heard, but it’s bullshit.”

“I’m telling you what he said; the story as he relayed it to his friends. He said you slammed the door in his face. I don’t know if he was speaking literally or figuratively.”

“And for that, we were disinherited? A few cross words and he dumps us? That’s not right. That can’t be right.”

I dropped my gaze and waited. It was natural for him to vent and I needed to give him the space.

“Hey. I’m talking to you.”

I met his eyes.

“You want to hear what went on the last time we spoke? Fine. This is the truth and I got witnesses. I’d come over here to pick up the kids. I was living somewhere else temporarily. My wife was standing right there, so you can ask her if you want. He arrives on my doorstep so drunk he can hardly stand. He’s selling me some hard-luck story about half a million bucks and how he never did nothing wrong . . . he’s been falsely imprisoned . . . big boo-hoo. Like I could give a shit. He’s begging my forgiveness, wanting to give me this lovey-dovey hug and stuff. He actually thinks he’s coming into my house so he can get to know my wife and kids. He smells like a sewer, like he puked on himself. There’s no way I’d let him in. With my kids home? I told him to get the hell out and not to call until he was clean and sober for a month, which he must not have managed since I never heard from him again.”

“Did he see your sisters that same visit?”

“Of course. You probably know that already since you bought his version, hook, line, and sinker. He said he wanted to talk to them, and like an idiot I told him where Anna worked. He showed up drunk there as well and made a horse’s ass of himself. Anna was so pissed at me she didn’t talk to me for a month. Now we get cut from the will, like we did something to him instead of the other way around.”

“Ethan, honestly, I’m not blaming you for anything.”

“Why would you? You’re not the butt of the joke. Tell you what. As far as I’m concerned? The guy was dead when he went to Soledad. I wrote him off the day he left and so did Ellen and Anna. Screw him. I don’t want his money. He can shove it up his dead ass.”

I thought it wise to keep any further comments to myself. Anything I said was the equivalent of tossing gasoline on a bonfire.

Ethan stared at me. “So is that it? Are we done now?”

Hesitantly, I said, “There are some personal items he wanted you to have. They’re still in his safe deposit box, which I won’t have access to until the hearing in December. I can send them to you when the time comes.”

“
Personal
items?”

“He wrote and illustrated a folio for each of you. California edible plants and wildflowers.” My face was feeling warm again because it all sounded so lame.

“Like a little coloring book? I can hardly wait. Meanwhile, where’d the money go? I forgot to ask. He give it away? Donate it to a worthy cause so he could look good at our expense?”

“He left it to me.”

“Say what?”

“He left me the money.”

“
All
of it?”

Nodding assent would have been redundant. He could see the admission written on my face.

Behind me, the front door opened and the oldest of the children came in, with an enormous backpack. She had dark eyes and long dark hair that might have been neatly brushed when she left for school that morning. Now some strands had separated while the others were in a tangle. I was so grateful for the distraction, I wanted to kiss the child, though I’d forgotten her name.

“Hey, Amanda,” Ethan said with a glance at her.

“Hey, Daddy.”

“School go okay?”

“Fine.”

“You want a snack, you can get yourself some cookies, but share with Scottie and the Bink, okay?”

“’Kay.”

She disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later with the box of cookies. She got out a Fig Newton and held it in her teeth while she sat down at the children’s table, opened her backpack, and took out her homework. Binky used the table leg to pull herself up so she could bang on Amanda’s paper with the flat of her hand. She slid it back and forth rapidly.

“Daddy, Binky’s tearing my paper.”

“She’s not doing anything.”

“She’s messed it up and now I’ll get a bad grade.”

Ethan didn’t really seem to be listening, but Scott got up and put his arms around Binky’s waist from behind. He lifted her off her feet and carried her across the room in our direction. I was afraid he’d throw his back out, but maybe at his age he was so limber that picking up half his body weight had no effect. He propped her against the coffee table and went back to his work. She held on, momentarily diverted by the uncapped blue marker pen she’d snagged in passing.

I was struck by Ethan’s management style, which was competent but disengaged. Granted, neither of the dogs had barked, slobbered, or jumped on me, and none of the kids had cried, screamed, or shrieked. I already liked the lot of them better than I liked most.

Meanwhile, I noticed the marker pen was dyeing Binky’s lips and tongue the color of blueberries. Surely, the manufacturer made a point of using nontoxic inks, since the pens were made for kids.

I glanced at Ethan. “Is she okay with that?”

He reached over and took the pen. I expected a howl to go up, but she’d fixed her attention on the doorknob.

I removed the manila envelope from my shoulder bag. “These are copies of the will and a couple of forms I filled out. There’s a hearing in December if you want to challenge the terms of the will.”

Ethan had his head in his hands, slowly shaking it back and forth. “This is too much. Man, I don’t believe it.”

I placed the manila envelope on the table. “There’s something else as long as I’m here.”

Ethan looked over at me with a pained expression. “What?”

“I wondered what you wanted done with his remains?”

“His
remains
? You mean his corpse? You can’t be serious. I don’t give a shit!”

“I thought you might want a voice in decisions about his funeral. I delayed making arrangements until I talked to you.”

“You can do anything you want. Just don’t think I’m paying you one red cent.”

“Don’t you want to talk to Ellen and Anna first?”

“And drop the same bomb on them? That sounds like a fun idea.”

“If you’ll tell me how to get in touch, I can explain it all to them.”

“I’m not telling you where they are. Why should I help you? You’re the red-hot detective. You figure it out.”

“My business card is in the envelope . . .”

“Lady, would you quit going on and on about this? I mean, give me a break. This is insulting enough as it is.”

“I appreciate your time,” I murmured as I got up.

Binky was already grabbing for the manila envelope, which she tried to stuff into her mouth without much success. She looked down at it, as though sizing it up for another approach.

He snatched it away from her and sailed it in my direction. “Take the damn thing.” This time, the baby’s face crumpled and she howled.

I left the envelope on the floor where it landed. “I’m at the Thrifty Lodge if you need to reach me.”

“I don’t. Just get the hell out of here and watch the dogs don’t escape.”

I stood on the porch, waiting for the flop sweat to cool before I headed down the steps. I had to congratulate myself on my efficiency. Here it was only 3:10 and I’d already had my ass handed to me on a plate. Ordinarily, I’d have sat in the car out front, taking notes while the conversation was still fresh in my mind. Instead, I fired up the Mustang and drove half a block, waiting until I’d turned the corner before I pulled over to the curb. I took a deep breath and exhaled. That had most certainly not gone well. I reran the conversation, considering alternative responses, but I couldn’t come up with any that might have served me better than the ones I’d voiced at the time. I’d hoped to persuade Ethan to give me Anna’s contact information, but that was out of the question now. I recited a string of cuss words, calling up some of the really nasty four-letter jobs that trip so refreshingly off the tongue. Didn’t seem to help.

I couldn’t think what else to do with myself, so I went back to my motel. This was my second mistake in as many moves. The Thrifty Lodge, while thrifty, was a sorry piece of work. When I pulled in, mine was the only car in the lot. Maybe word had gone out on the motel underground that something was afoot. Why wasn’t anyone else staying there, unless they knew something I didn’t? I unlocked the door and stepped into my room. I’d neglected to leave a light on for myself, and even at this hour of the day the room was shadowy. Some of the gloom I attributed to the fact that the drapes were closed, blocking what was otherwise an outstanding view of the parking lot. I crossed to the big window and pulled the drapery cord dangling to the right. I gave a mighty tug, but the drapes refused to budge.

I went into the bathroom, flipped on the light, and stared at myself in the mirror. Why did I feel so guilty? Why was I chiding myself when there wasn’t a good way to deliver the news I’d been called upon to “share”? I’d known I was doomed to failure before I made the drive to Bakersfield. Ethan couldn’t admit he was in any way responsible for the pain and distress he’d caused his father, and he wasn’t prepared to own up to the part he’d played in the changing of the will. I understood his rage. After years of humiliation, he’d suffered this final insult. During that last visit, his father had talked about the money, and while Ethan probably told himself he didn’t care, the idea must have lingered at the back of his mind in the same way it had in mine. You can’t anticipate a windfall like that without fantasizing what you’d do with it and what a difference it would make. Even with the money divided three ways, he was still looking at something close to two hundred thousand bucks. I could understand that, but I was puzzled by the cynicism he’d expressed about his father’s release from prison. Apparently, regardless of the reality, he still believed his father was implicated in the girl’s abduction and murder.

Whatever the underlying attitude, I was going to suffer a repeat of the same scene two more times, with Ellen and again with Anna. I assumed Ethan would slap them with the bad news the first chance he got, but I couldn’t be sure of it. I had the option of notifying both by mail, but I still harbored the notion that I could soften the blow if I talked to them in person. Not that I’d done such a sterling job to date. Still, I figured as long as I’d traveled 150 miles, I might as well try. With luck, I wouldn’t see the three of them again in my lifetime.

I left the bathroom and rounded up my shoulder bag, which I’d tossed on the bed. I checked the outside pockets and found Big Rat’s business card. I picked up the handset and dialed. Three rings . . . four. His machine kicked in.

“This is Big Rat. You know what to do.”

I waited for the beep and said, “Hi, Mr. Rizzo. This is Kinsey Millhone. We spoke earlier. I did manage to find Ethan at his wife’s house and we talked a short time ago. Could you give me the name of the salon where Anna works? I think I better touch base with her as well. My number is . . .”

I looked down at the phone. Usually there’s a circle in the dialing wheel, with the phone number of the motel, as well as the extension, which is a variation on the room number. I said, “Hang on a second . . .”

I scanned the room. The furnishings included a desk and a chest of drawers on the far side of the room, but both were bare. I opened the bed table drawer. There was a phone book, but it seemed absurd to take the time to look up the Thrifty Lodge in the yellow pages. No packet of Thrifty Lodge matches, no scratch pad, no promotional pen sporting the pertinent address and phone number. What was I thinking? There was no way the Thrifty Lodge management would pay for advertising gimmicks. Housekeeping hadn’t even bothered to put a wrapper around the plastic bathroom “glass” in a nod to sanitation.

“Skip the number. I’m at the Thrifty Lodge. I guess you’ll have to look it up. I’d appreciate a call.”

I hung up. Now what?

I thought I’d better hang around for a while in hopes that he’d call back. I opened my duffel and retrieved the Dick Francis novel I was reading. I stretched out on the bed and found my place. I reached over and turned on the bed table lamp, which had been equipped with a forty-watt bulb. I could barely see the page. I leaned sideways, holding the paperback elevated at an angle. This was ridiculous. If I couldn’t see to read now, what was I going to do at bedtime, which was my favorite time to curl up with a book?

I turned off the light, licked my fingertips, and unscrewed the bulb. I slid my room key into my pocket and locked the door behind me with the lightbulb in hand. When I reached the office, the midtwenties desk clerk was on the phone. He wore jeans, a white polyester dress shirt, suspenders, and a bow tie. When he spotted me, he held up a finger, indicating he’d be with me as soon as he was done. From his half of the conversation, I was guessing the matter was personal, so I leaned my elbows on the counter and listened to every word. In fewer than twenty seconds, he’d managed to terminate the call.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said as he turned to me.

I held up the bulb. “Is there any way I can exchange this for a hundred-watt?”

“Let me check.”

He disappeared into the back office and emerged moments later with a replacement. “This is a sixty. It’s the best I can do. Management calculated we could save twenty-five dollars a year using forties.”

“Oh wow. Good news.”

I returned to my room and as I let myself in, I caught sight of the phone on the bedside table. The incoming-message light blinked its merry dot of red. I figured it was Big Rat with the information I needed, so I settled on the edge of the bed and made sure I had a pen and a fresh index card at the ready before I picked up the handset and pressed 0. A really nice automated lady told me that I had one message. “First message,” said she.

It was Henry, sounding distressed. “Kinsey, it’s Henry. I’ve been trying to reach you, but I haven’t wanted to leave a message because I don’t want to worry you unnecessarily. I have bad news about your friend Felix. He’s in the hospital in critical condition. If you’ll give me a call, I’ll tell you as much as I know.”

The call must have come in during the few minutes I was gone.

I punched in the Santa Teresa area code and Henry’s number. The line was busy. I waited a minute and dialed again. Still busy. I schooled myself to be patient, giving him sufficient time to complete the call he was on. The third time I tried, the number rang twice and he picked up.

“Henry, it’s me, Kinsey. What’s going on?”

“Well, I’m so glad to hear your voice. I’m sorry for the scare, but I thought I should let you know as soon as I could. Dandy showed up at noon. He was looking for you, of course, but I told him you were out of town. He said Pearl left a message for him at the shelter. She was calling from St. Terry’s emergency room. Felix had been picked up by ambulance and he was already on his way to surgery by the time Dandy got back to her.”

“What happened?”

“He was jumped by a bunch of thugs and beaten half to death.”

I closed my eyes, picturing the Boggarts laying into Felix with fists and kicks. “How badly is he hurt?”

I reached over and turned on the lamp, forgetting the bulb was lying on the bed beside me.

“His skull was fractured and they broke both his legs. Damage to his kidneys and spleen, probably brain damage as well. This happened outside the bicycle-rental place on lower State Street. Luckily, the owner put a stop to it, but not fast enough.”

“That sounds bad.” This had to be retaliation for Felix and Pearl’s tearing apart the Boggarts’ camp. Still, it seemed harsh. I angled the sixty-watt bulb into the socket and turned it gingerly so the threads would catch. Light bloomed.

Henry went on. “Dandy was on his way to the hospital, so I offered him a ride. Harbor House had given him a bus pass, but it seemed absurd for him to try getting there by public transportation.”

“Where’s Pearl?”

“She’s still at the hospital as far as I know. She keeps saying this is all her fault. That’s about as much as anyone can get out of her. She’s close to collapse.”

“He’s going to be okay, though, isn’t he?”

“The doctors won’t say. It’s one of those wait-and-see situations. At least for the next few hours.”

“This is awful. I feel sick.” I flashed on a quick succession of images. Most of them involving Pearl. Felix did whatever she did, but he wasn’t the instigator. I’d known better myself, even at the time, and I hadn’t raised enough of a fuss to head her off. It was a dumb idea and I’d gone along with it, which made me as guilty as she was. Why so savage a response to what amounted to a load of mischief? “Did someone call the police?”

“Pearl intends to file charges, but so far she’s been sticking close to Felix’s side. She says she knows who they are.”

“Did she actually see the attack?”

“No, but she swears it’s those bums who live at a hobo camp near the bird refuge.”

“She can’t swear to something she didn’t witness firsthand.”

“You’d have to talk to her about that. Meanwhile, they have Felix in a medically induced coma, hoping the swelling in his brain will subside. That’s the crux of it for now.”

“Have you seen him?”

“They don’t allow visitors in ICU. I was able to peer in briefly, but there wasn’t much to see. Pearl’s claiming he’s her brother, so she’s been with him since he came out of the recovery room. Dandy and I hung out for a while and then I came home. Between calls, I left that message for you but didn’t expect to hear back so soon.”

“I had to make a run to the office and I saw the light blinking as soon as I walked in. Can I do anything from here?”

“No, no. Everything’s under control, but it’s been crazy as you might imagine. What about you? How’s it going so far?”

“Not good. I talked to Ethan and told him about the will. He was upset, which came as no big surprise. I’ll give you a full report as soon as I get home.”

“Which is when?”

“I’d hoped to talk to his sister, but now I think I’d be better off hitting the road. I can do more good there than I can stuck here.”

“I don’t like the idea of your heading into rush-hour traffic.”

“I should be fine as soon as I clear town. I don’t anticipate much congestion on the 5.”

“Well, don’t do anything foolish. It sounds like you’ve already had a long, hard day.”

“All the more reason to get home,” I said. “The motel I’m in is such a dump, I’ve had to repent all my miserly ways. I want my own bed. I want to be there lending moral support. Did Rosie get home?”

“Not yet. Her plane gets in at five o’clock. The same United flight William was on. I’ll pick her up while he’s having his last PT appointment of the week. Once I drop her off, I’ll head back to St. Terry’s. You want me to turn on the porch lights for you?”

“Please.”

“Will do, and if there’s anything new, I’ll leave a note on your door.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you in a few.”

“You drive carefully.”

“I will.”

I hung up, grabbed the duffel, and toted it into the bathroom. I tossed in the shampoo bottle, the conditioner, and my deodorant. I paused to brush my teeth and then packed my toothbrush and toothpaste. I set aside thoughts of Felix, knowing I’d have plenty of time to process that development once I was on the road.

I flipped off the light and then picked up my jacket and shoulder bag. I reached the door and took a last look around, making sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. Checking out wouldn’t take long, especially since I didn’t intend to argue about a refund. I thought about returning the sixty-watt bulb to the office but decided it would be my gift to the next guest.

The telephone rang.

With one hand on the doorknob, I stared at the instrument. Probably Big Rat. I’d just spoken with Henry and Big Rat was the only other person who knew I was here . . . except for Ethan, of course, and I couldn’t believe he’d call. Might be the desk clerk calling to say he’d found me a hundred-watt bulb, but that was hardly late-breaking news. What difference would it make? By bedtime, I’d be gone.

Two rings.

Why answer the phone? If I’d been a little quicker through the door, I’d have been gone anyway. I was a heartbeat away from hearing the Mustang grumble to life. I knew how the road would feel under my wheels. If I’d been a dog, I’d be anticipating the wind in my ears, my head hanging out the window.

Third ring. I picked up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Kinsey. This is Big Rat. I just got in. Glad to hear you found Ethan. How’d he take the news about his dad?”

“I wouldn’t say he’s heartbroken.”

“Sometimes takes a while to sink in. I know it was like that with my dad,” he said. “You asked about Anna?”

“I did, but something’s come up and I need to get home. I was on my way to the office to check out when I heard the phone.”

“Good I caught you before you left. Name of the salon is Hair and Nails Ahoy! With an exclamation point. I don’t have the street address, but it’s on Chester down around Nineteenth. Sign’s in the shape of an anchor.”

“Thanks. I appreciate this. It looks like I’ll have to make another trip if I want to talk to her . . .”

“Why not stop by and chat with her on your way out of town? Salon’s open until six, so she’ll be there for sure.”