W Is for Wasted (28 page)

I held up my Champagne glass. “I think I’ll make do with this and fix my own supper when I get home.”

“Don’t be silly. If you don’t eat, you’ll get too snockered to drive.”

“I can’t stay that long anyway. It would have been smarter to postpone. I’m tired.”

“No, no. It was a great idea. Nick won’t roll in for another couple of hours.”

“What’s he going to think if he gets here and I’m in your room?”

Dietz studied me quizzically. “Are you concerned about that?”

“I should have stayed at home. At least I could’ve put on my comfies and read a good mystery.”

“You can do that here. I have two Robert Parker paperbacks in my suitcase,” he said. “Is there something else going on? I’m not reading your mood.”

“I don’t have moods.”

“What is it then?”

I was tempted to tell him about Dace and the money he’d left me, but I was still trying to come to terms with it myself. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t just make my peace with my newfound riches and rejoice. “How did you get so comfortable with money? You seem at home in a place like this while I’m out of my element.”

“I like what money buys. Space, mobility, leisure, freedom from anxiety.”

“I’ve got all those things.”

“No, you don’t. You live like a monk.”

“Don’t change the subject. Where’d your money come from? I thought your father was a roustabout. Isn’t that what you said? The way you talk about your youth, I assumed you were poor.”

“We were dirt poor for years. As it turned out—and I wasn’t aware of this at the time—my dad trained with a man named Myron Kinley. He’s the guy who developed techniques for fighting oil-well fires. It was dangerous work and very lucrative, of course. My dad loved high stakes. At some point, I guess my mother put her foot down. The job was way too risky, so eventually he got out. Meantime, he’d saved up a big chunk of change that was literally burning a hole in his pocket. When we moved from Oklahoma to Texas, he met a guy who fancied himself quite the entrepreneur. This fellow had come up with a scheme to buy oil and gas leases with an eye to flipping them, but he was short on capital. He and my dad each put up a couple of thousand bucks and started picking up expired leases. They’d pay pennies on the dollar, then turn around and resell them to oil companies that actually had the capacity to drill.”

“Sounds like a great idea.”

“To a point. Problem was, they fought all the time. They were both headstrong and opinionated, so they couldn’t agree on anything. Eventually, they split their holdings down the middle and called it square. The other guy went broke. My dad hung on to his shares and eventually cashed in big. I didn’t know anything about it until he died.”

“Nice story. I like that.”

The phone rang and we both turned to look at it. Seemed too early for Nick’s arrival, but who else would be calling? Dietz crossed to the writing desk and picked up. “Dietz.”

He listened briefly and said, “Great. Send him up.” He returned the handset to the cradle. “It’s Nick.”

“It’s good you were here and not out somewhere.”

“I’m sure my being gone never crossed his mind. Kids are egocentric. Parents exist strictly for their convenience. He probably can’t conceive of my having a life of my own.”

I got up and set my glass on the side table. “I should go and leave the two of you to catch up.”

“Stay and say hello. If he hasn’t eaten, the three of us can have dinner downstairs.”

“I’d love to meet him. I didn’t mean I was galloping off right this minute.”

When the knock came, Dietz opened the door. He and Nick grabbed each other in a big enthusiastic hug. Then Dietz put an arm across Nick’s shoulders and ushered him into the room. “Someone I want you to meet,” he said to Nick. “This is Kinsey.” And to me, “My son, Nick.”

Nick turned a dark-eyed look on me, his smile diminishing almost imperceptibly. It was clear he had no idea his father would be entertaining anyone. He was tall and lean with the same striking features I’d seen in his mother’s photograph. In his faded jeans and a leather bomber jacket, he still somehow managed to look elegant. He was actually my concept of a snooty prep school kid who’d had his choice of Ivy League colleges. He was Dietz’s counterpoint and (perhaps) just as appealing in his own way.

As he’d never laid eyes on me, he was already wary and unreceptive. I’d have been willing to swear there was nothing in my demeanor to suggest the nature of my relationship to his dad. It’s not like I was half dressed or my hair was messed up. Neither of us had gone near the bed, so the covers were smooth. Granted we’d been intimate in the past, but we were still in neutral gear this round, so there was no charge whatsoever in the air. Something had cued him and I’d been marked as the enemy.

I smiled and held out my hand, saying, “Hi, Nick.”

He said, “Hello.”

We shook hands briefly and I covered nimbly for the chill wafting in my direction.

I reached for my jacket and picked up my shoulder bag. “I was just on my way out. Your dad and I are working a case together and we were comparing notes.”

I have no idea why I offered this lame story, which cast the occasion in a false light. The toss-away comment, while true, sounded implausible on the face of it. I found this unnerving since I usually lie with greater finesse. Nick flicked a look at his father and his eyes then strayed to the room service menu I’d left open on the chair behind me. From there his gaze flicked to the Champagne bucket and half-filled flutes. I felt a flash of guilt, as though sharing a meal might have illicit undertones.

Meanwhile, Dietz was looking at me perplexed. “Why take off now?”

“I’ve got things to take care of at home,” I said. “We can chat tomorrow if you have a minute.”

“Sure thing,” he said.

He saw me to the door. Nick’s gaze remained fixed on me while I eased into the hall.

Dietz said, “You drive carefully.”

“I will and thanks for the drink.”

“You bet.”

Over his shoulder, I gave Nick a quick, friendly wave. “Nice meeting you.”

“Same here,” he said.

Uhn-hun, I thought. I turned and walked down the hall, doing a little quick step to speed myself along.

Once outside, I waited for the valet to bring around the Mustang, which he handed over in exchange for a folded bill. I’d given him a five, which I thought was absurd, but I couldn’t bear to be cheap with Dietz’s comment still ringing in my ears. I hadn’t been feeling
cheap
. Twenty-one dollars for a damn cheeseburger was robbery. I got in the car and released the handbrake, putting a gentle pressure on the accelerator. As I turned right out of the hotel driveway, I cranked the heater up full blast and still I shivered most of the way home.

•   •   •

In the morning, I jogged three miles and then continued with my usual routine. I had no idea what I was going to do that day, but I figured I’d better not count on Dietz. By 9:00, I was showered and dressed and drinking a second cup of coffee when the phone rang. I set the paper aside and picked up.

Dietz said, “Hey, it’s me. I just talked to Pete’s landlady. She’ll be in the office shortly if you want to pop over there with me.”

“Great. What about Nick?”

“Still asleep. I told him I had work to do this morning and we’d have lunch when I got back. You want me to pick you up?”

“Sure.”

“Good. I’ll see you in a few.”

•   •   •

I was waiting out in front when Dietz pulled up. I got in the car and we exchanged courtesies, both of us behaving as though everything was fine, which I suppose it was from his perspective.

He sent me a quick, proud smile. “What’d you think of Nick?”

“Nice kid. Handsome,” I said. “I see what you mean about his favoring his mom.”

“Two peas in a pod.”

“So what’s going on with him?”

“He’s got a bug up his butt about quitting his job to go traveling. We chatted about it some, without going into any great detail. The plan seems half-baked, but I didn’t want to argue the point until I heard him out.”

“I thought Graham was the one with the wanderlust.”

“Nick must have caught it from him, or from me for all I know. Fortunately, he’s still cautious enough to want my approval before he flings himself into the abyss.”

“So, he’s in the market for some fatherly advice?”

“Let’s hope not. I’m new at this. What do I know about parenting? This is the stuff Naomi dealt with.”

“Ah, well,” I said. I had nowhere to go with the subject and he didn’t seem that comfortable talking about incipient fatherhood. “How’d you end up talking to Pete’s landlady? You caught me by surprise on that.”

“I’d made a note of the number and called first thing this morning and introduced myself. I said I was representing Pete’s widow and suggested we might make a deal for the back rent.”

“Somehow I was picturing a guy.”

“She sounds like one. Her name’s Letitia Beaudelaire. I notice she didn’t invite me to call her Letty, so maybe that’s reserved for tenants who’re paid in full. I told her we wanted to pick up Pete’s files.”

“Was she receptive?”

“Actually, she was. I thought she’d put up a fuss, but she said come ahead.”

“You did mention money.”

“So I did. Clever me,” he said.

As it turned out, the real estate company that handled Pete’s lease was in the same building, one floor up. We passed the empty office again on our way to the entrance and couldn’t help but notice the For Lease sign had been removed. Inside we could see a painter at work on the interior walls; drop cloths, a ladder, and all the attendant paraphernalia.

Dietz said, “Hope she’s got a new tenant. That might make her receptive to a negotiation.”

A woman came close on our heels as Dietz pushed open the glass door to the lobby. We entered and Dietz paused to hold the door for her. She was short and round, dressed in a business suit and spike heels, a ribbon of perfume streaming in her wake.

We crossed to the elevators and he pushed the button for the second floor. We got in, the doors closed, and the three of us rode up in silence. I watched her fumble in her purse, apparently looking for a pack of cigarettes, which she found. She shook one loose and put it between her teeth, where it tilted at a jaunty angle while she searched for a light. Her lipstick was bright red and she wore a matching shade of polish on her short blunt-cut fingernails.

When the doors opened on 2, she got off the elevator, firing up her cigarette while she walked. Smoke rose above her head and drifted back at us. Dietz paused to study the directional arrows, indicating which office numbers were to the left and which to the right. “Two-thirteen’s the one we want,” he said. We ended up turning left as she had.

Meanwhile, the woman had stopped in front of an office door, topped with half a panel of opaque glass.

As we caught up with her, Dietz said, “Are you Letitia?”

“I wondered when you’d figure that out. You’re my nine-thirty appointment.”

“I am, indeed,” he said.

“I pictured you alone. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Kinsey. She’s a private eye like me. You two should get along fine. She’s tough as nails.”

Letitia removed the cigarette from her lips, appraising me with a long look as she unlocked and opened the door. She placed her bag on a desk and crossed to the window, where she opened the Venetian blinds. I was hoping she’d grace us with fresh air, but I guess she didn’t want to dilute the effect of all the secondhand smoke.

The office consisted of two adjoining rooms with a short hall leading to what I was guessing was a third room with the door currently shut. It was unclear how many people the company employed. The furniture wasn’t arranged to accommodate a receptionist and boss or even two equal partners. Too many chairs and not enough working space. I counted three phones, two of which were unplugged. Most of the surfaces, including the windowsills, were stacked with office supplies. Ten mismatching file cabinets had been jammed into a space better suited for eight. The last two were angled so none of the drawers would open to the full.

When Letitia removed her coat, I could see that what I’d thought was a business suit was really a wool skirt and matching vest with big mother-of-pearl buttons down the front. The fit was tight and I was betting she was in denial about the extra thirty pounds she’d gained the day she reached menopause. The skirt waist had inched up her midriff, which shortened the hem to a coquettish three inches above her knees. The lapels on her vest no longer met in the front, but that might have been due to the size of her breasts, which threatened to topple her.

In her smoke-husky voice, she said to Dietz, “How’d you get tied up with Pete Wolinsky? You know he’s a deadbeat.”

“That’s our Pete,” Dietz said, equably. “On the other hand, his wife’s a lovely woman who’s now facing the mess he left.”

That netted him no response.

Dietz allowed his gaze to skirt the room. “What happened to his office furniture? Ruthie intended to have it moved to the house.”

“And I was supposed to know this how? She hasn’t even bothered to get in touch.”

“A call from you might not have been out of line. She had a lot on her mind.”

“I sold his stuff for two hundred bucks and that included that rickety rolling chair of his. I couldn’t even give away that piece-of-shit typewriter, so I tossed it in the trash.”

“Too bad. That was a collector’s item.”

“Liar,” she said.

Dietz smiled. “What about his file cabinets?”

“You’re looking at ’em. I took those for my own use.”

“All we’re interested in is the contents. She needs his business records for tax purposes.”

“It’s all in boxes.”

“Mind if we take a look?”

“Actually, I do mind. He died owing me a bundle. I thought you were here to haggle over his back rent. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Words to that effect.”

“Think of his files as collateral.”

“In other words, if his wife wants them back she’ll have to come up with the ransom money.”

“Why would she not? Somebody’s gotta pay me. I got fifteen boxes of his crap.”