W Is for Wasted (33 page)

“Tell her thanks. I’ll take care of it.”

“He appreciates the offer,” I said to her. “He says it’s kind of you to ask.”

“Is no worry. Anytime is happy to be of assistance.”

Cheney said, “I got that.”

I watched while he tilted the bottle against the edge and filled the mug with a tawny brew.

Rosie was still waiting.

“He says he’ll take you up on it sometime and thanks so much,” I said.

She told me he was welcome and I passed the news along. When she’d departed for the second time, he paused long enough to sample the beer, which seemed to meet with his approval.

I said, “Bullshit aside, what brings you here?”

“I got a call from Ruth Wolinsky. She tells me you and your friend Dietz are interested in Pete’s clientele.”

“That’s because Pete stiffed Dietz for three grand. We were hoping he had money coming in that hadn’t surfaced yet. So far, no such luck. What’s the story on the shooting?”

“Ballistics says there were two guns at the scene, neither of which was found.”

“Ruthie told me Pete had two guns.”

“He had a Glock 17 and a Smith and Wesson Escort registered in his name. The S-and-W was locked in the trunk of his car. No sign of the Glock. Ruth says he was never without the two. In his bed table drawer we found a shitload of nine-millimeter ammo that matched the slug that killed him. It looks like Pete was shot with his own gun.”

“I take it you weren’t referring to the S-and-W when you mentioned a second gun.”

“Nope. There was one stray casing, a forty-five caliber, which suggests he and his assailant were both armed and probably struggled for control. The slug was buried in the dirt to one side of the path. All in all, four shots were fired—three from the Glock and one from the forty-five.”

“With his watch and his wallet missing, you think the robber stole his gun as well?”

“Took it or tossed it. We had guys in wet suits wading the lagoon. Water’s shallow for a distance of fifteen feet or so before the bottom falls away. Mud and algae are such that visibility is zilch. We also did a grid search of the surrounding terrain. Location of the two guns may be a function of how well the guy could throw, unless he took them with him.”

“What about Pete’s car keys?”

“In his pocket. We dusted the Fairlane inside and out, but the only prints we identified were his. The shooter might have been reluctant to add grand theft auto to his other offenses.”

“Any chance Pete knew him?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. There were no eyewitnesses and no one heard the shots. Not to speak ill of the dead, but Pete was a bit of a shady character.”

“No need to tell me. I notice I’m feeling more charitable, but that’s because I feel sorry for his wife.”

“I’m with you,” he said. “So what’s this I hear about you and some homeless guy? Is the last name Dace?”

“Randall Terrence Dace. Turns out we’re cousins—fourth, once removed, by marriage—one of those.” I decided not to mention the proximity of his youngest child. If Cheney so much as glanced in her direction, she’d gallop over and fling herself onto his lap, the better to slurp him.

“What happened to him?”

“He drank heavily for years. He was also hooked on prescription meds. When he died, he was fifty-three years old and he looked like an old man. When I saw him at the morgue I had no idea we were related. Turns out I’m his sole heir and executor of his estate.”

“That ought to keep you hopping.”

“Actually, it has. The man left me half a million bucks.”

Casually, Cheney leaned forward. “Are you dating anyone?”

I laughed and he had the good grace to look sheepish.

“That came out wrong. No connection. I was just wondering,” he said.

Robert Dietz popped to mind, but I didn’t know what to make of him. Were we on again or off?

“That’s a tough one,” I said. “I’ll have to think about it and let you know.”

I watched Anna’s departure without moving my head. No point in calling attention to her when Cheney had just declared himself. I kept him company for an additional half hour just in case she was lurking outside.

Tuesday morning, I caught my alarm clock one split second before it went off and rolled out from under the covers. The loft felt chilly and I was tempted to crawl right back in. Instead, I pulled on my sweats and laced up my running shoes before I brushed my teeth. I avoided the sight of myself in the mirror. I pulled on a knit hat, which I knew would be too hot once I got into the run. For now it did double duty: to contain my coiffeur and to muffle my ears against the damp morning air.

The three-mile jog satisfied my need for oxygen, for action, for solitude, and for a sense of accomplishment. With daylight savings time in effect until the end of the month, the tag end of my run was accompanied by a spectacular dawn. At the horizon, above the silver band of the Pacific, a wide expanse of brooding gray changed to a dark red, and from that to a matte blue. Within a minute, the atmosphere had lightened and all the rich hues were gone. Gulls rode the air currents, screeching with happiness. The wind was down and the tops of the palms scarcely moved. Slow-motion waves thundered along the sand and the surf, then receded to a hush. By the time the sun was fully up it was 7:06, and I was back in my living room, prepared for a final go-round with the remaining two boxes of Pete’s crap.

Instead of getting cleaned up, I sat down and ate my cereal, put on a pot of coffee, and then washed my bowl and spoon while the coffee-maker gurgled to its conclusion. Still in sweats, I sat on the floor with my coffee cup and made quick work of the first box, which was filled with old catalogs and outdated service manuals for appliances I suspected were long gone. The contents yielded no receipts and no personal correspondence. I did come across a black-and-white newspaper photo of Pete and Ruthie on their wedding day. Saturday, September 24, 1949. They’d have been married forty years when September rolled around again.

Pete was gaunt-faced and young. His hair seemed comically thick back then and he had eyebrows to match. His shoulders protruded like the rounded metal ends of a coat hanger. The sleeves of his suit jacket were too short, so his bony wrists extended a good two inches. He did look pleased with life and more than proud to have Ruthie on his arm. She was easily as tall as he was. The dress she wore was a pale chiffon with shoulder pads and ruffles down the front. Her hair was concealed beneath a white straw hat with a broad brim, a length of white tulle serving as a band. She had a corsage pinned to her left shoulder. I looked closer and identified white roses and white carnations. The newly married couple stood on the low steps of the First United Methodist Church with a scattering of wedding guests in the background. I set the photo aside for her.

The second box contained nothing of interest. I repacked the files I’d spread on the floor and hauled fourteen boxes out to the Mustang. I kept the fifteenth, which contained the Byrd-Shine files, Pete’s eavesdropping equipment, and the Bryce file, which was largely Dietz’s work. I took another look at the papers Pete had photocopied, which included the proposal Linton Reed had submitted in support of his theory about Glucotace. This is what had netted him the operating funds for the study he was running. I wondered what Pete had made of it.

By the time I’d loaded the car, the trunk was full, the passenger seat was impassable, and the backseat was stacked two boxes high and four across. There wasn’t much room back there to begin with and now the view out the rear window was largely blocked.

I slipped the wedding photo into my shoulder bag and then drove to Pete and Ruthie’s house. I pulled around to the alleyway that ran behind the property. I could have parked in front and let the engine idle while I knocked on her door and explained what I was up to, but I wasn’t
taking
Pete’s possessions, I was returning them. Since he stored his boxes in the garage, I figured I should unload them there and talk to her afterward.

Pete’s Ford Fairlane was no longer parked by the shrubs. I surmised, correctly as it turned out, that the new owner had put in an appearance and had made off with his new vehicle, such as it was. He’d left Pete’s gun-cleaning kit and the bag of birdseed in the alley, along with a bulging plastic bag that I was guessing contained the contents of the two map pockets and the glove compartment. I toted the items as far as the side door to the garage and left them there while I moved boxes into the already overcrowded space. When I’d finished, I grabbed the kit, the birdseed, and the bag of odds and ends, and knocked on the back door.

Ruthie appeared in an old-fashioned floor-length peignoir, a filmy pale blue with pin-tucking down the bodice and a matching nightgown under it. For the first time in all the years I’d known Pete, it dawned on me he had a sex life. The notion was so embarrassing, I averted my gaze. Ruthie’s hair was plaited in a long gray-and-blond braid that lay over her left shoulder. It was 9:30 by then and I’d assumed she was the sort who’d be up at the crack of dawn and ready to start her day.

When she opened the door, she said, “Oh, it’s you. I couldn’t imagine who was knocking at my back door. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have put on some clothes. I have the day off, so I was having a lazy morning.”

“I was just dropping off the boxes we picked up from Pete’s landlady. I left everything in the garage.”

I held up the kit and the two bags. “His car’s gone. Looks like the guy who bought it cleared out the trunk, the map pockets, and the glove compartment.”

Ruthie relieved me of the items and put them on the kitchen counter. “Come in and have a cup of coffee. I could use the company.”

“I’d like that, thanks.”

I followed her into the kitchen. During the earlier visit, the front rooms had been tidy and I suspected the disorder here had accrued as a function of too much stuff and no clear sense of what to do with it. My guess was that for a short time after Pete’s death, she’d worked with efficiency, thinking if she kept everything shipshape, she’d stay on top of the process. Little by little, though, she’d lost control. In her shoes, I’d have called the junk man and had him haul everything away, but something of Pete’s obsession with storage cartons must have been contagious. Truly, there was no way to know what he might have hidden away. Pack rats by nature are attached to the objects they accumulate—old newspapers, tires, vintage soda bottles, bobbleheads, canned goods, shot glasses, baseball caps. Pete had an issue with cardboard boxes, which he’d apparently found irresistible. I’m sometimes reluctant to toss one myself, especially if it’s in pristine condition. What if you have to ship something? What would you pack it in?

As soon as we settled at the kitchen table with our coffee cups, I leaned down and removed the wedding clipping from my shoulder bag and passed it across the table. “I thought you might like to have this.”

She took the picture and studied it, smiling to herself. “Nineteen forty-nine. It seems like yesterday and then I’m reminded how young we were. I swear that dress felt very stylish at the time.”

“How’d you meet him?”

“I’d just completed my AA degree at City College and I was waiting to get into nursing school. I was working at the front desk at a walk-in clinic. He came in to pick up a prescription for an antibiotic in advance of some dental work. We chatted and when I got off work, he was waiting in the parking lot. He asked if I wanted to have coffee and I said sure.”

“And that was that,” I said.

“More or less. I was smitten with him from the first. He was sweet and unassuming and almost pathologically shy because of his Marfan’s, which wasn’t that severe. He had scoliosis and those long white fingers of his. His eyesight was bad, too, but none of that bothered me.”

“What did your family think?”

“They were puzzled, but they didn’t discourage the relationship. I’m sure they didn’t think it would last. I was never interested in motherhood, and with his Marfan’s, kids were out of the question because the condition’s genetic and the risk is too high.”

“So you didn’t have to explain.”

“Right, and I didn’t have to justify the choice. Nobody understood what I saw in him, but I didn’t care about that.”

“He was a lucky man.”

“I was lucky, too,” she said. “I take it there was no sign of accounts receivable and no cash hidden away.”

“No, though I confess I skimmed over much of it. I don’t know how you’ll decide what to keep and what to toss, but most of it looked like trash. No offense.”

“It’s the same with his belongings here. Clearly, he was secretive and it worries me to think there are items of value tucked into the nooks and crannies.”

“If there’s any way I can help, I’ll be happy to,” I said.

“I appreciate that.”

“There’s one issue I want to clear with you. For some reason, Pete had files that belonged to the old agency run by Ben Byrd and Morley Shine. I held on to the box because I’m uneasy at the idea of those contracts and reports in circulation. Throw files in the trash and you really never know where they’ll end up.”

“I wouldn’t have known a box was missing, but thanks for telling me.”

We chatted for a while and then I decided I’d better be on my way. I gave her one of my business cards in case she needed to get in touch. My car was still parked in the alley, so I left by way of the back door.

Before we parted company, she reached out impulsively. “I have a favor to ask. And please . . . if this is something you’re not comfortable with, feel free to speak up. I’d like to have a memorial service for Pete. Not right away, but in a month or so. He didn’t have close friends, but people around town knew him and I think he was well liked. He was a gentle soul and I can’t imagine he had enemies. I wondered if you’d be willing to give the eulogy. You knew him better than anyone else since you worked together for so long.”

I could feel the heat coming up in my face. Given my disdain for Pete, I was the last person in the world she should’ve asked to stand up and testify as to his sterling character. But Ruthie was good-natured and oblivious, and I felt bad at the state he’d left her in. All of this flashed through my mind before I opened my mouth.

“I don’t know,” I said, uneasily, and I could feel the lie bubble up in my throat like acid indigestion. “I’m terrified of public speaking. Occasions like that trigger panic attacks. I once fainted when I was asked to read a Bible verse in Sunday school. Much as I’d love to help, I couldn’t handle it.”

“I understand. Just give it some thought and let me know if you change your mind. I know how much it would have meant to Pete.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said, reciting the second lie in as many sentences. I’d already put the idea out of my mind.

She gave my hand a pat and I was on my way.

By the time I got to my car, the horror of the request had made my hands clammy. Even as accomplished a liar as I am, giving testimony about a man I’d liked so little would have been my undoing.

•   •   •

After I left her, I stopped by the office to make sure pipes hadn’t broken and there were no pressing calls to return. I gathered bills, flyers, and catalogs from the floor where the mail had been pushed through the slot. Those I tossed onto my desk to deal with at a later time. After that, I headed for home and let myself in the gate. Once in the backyard, I saw Henry’s back door was shut and his kitchen was dark. No telling what Anna had talked him into buying for her now.

Ed had left two dead lizards on my welcome mat. I unlocked the door and as I opened it, he appeared out of nowhere and strolled in ahead of me. I was about to object, but the cat seemed so interested in the place, I didn’t have the heart to shoo him out.

I’d no more than closed the door when I heard a knock. I looked out the porthole and opened the door.

Anna was standing on my welcome mat, her arms crossed as though for warmth, her expression subdued; same boots and jeans, navy fleece top.

She said, “I know I shouldn’t have showed up in Santa Teresa out of the blue. I would’ve called, but I was afraid you’d tell me not to come.”

“It’s your business, Anna. Do anything you want.”

“I know you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad. I’m annoyed. I don’t want you taking advantage of Henry. He’s a sweetheart.”

“I know that. He’s a nice man.”

“And you’re a mooch. I know you can’t help yourself. I get that. Just do not mooch off him.”

“I don’t intend to stay at Henry’s more than a couple of days. As soon as I get a job, I’ll find a place of my own.”

“On your lavish minimum-wage income. Thank you for the reassurance. One reason I would have told you not to come is because you can’t afford it.”

“I’m here because of my dad. I’m not saying that’s the only reason, but I’d like to know what happened to him. Henry told me you’d been trying to find out, so I thought maybe we could talk about it sometime. If you have a minute.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Anyway, I apologize for not letting you know I was on my way.”

“I appreciate the apology.”

She sent me a tentative smile and I didn’t shut the door in her face. I said I’d see her later and waited until she was halfway back to Henry’s.

The studio smelled of the coffeepot that had been sitting far too long and I realized I’d neglected to turn off the machine before I’d left. I leaned across and flipped the switch, then looked over at the answering machine. The red message light blinked merrily. I slung my shoulder bag onto the desk and pressed play. Sure enough, it was Drew again with apologies for not catching me, like it was his fault I was gone. The call had been recorded a mere ten minutes earlier, so I punched in his number and held my breath, waiting to see if I was in luck.

Two rings and he picked up.

“Is that you, Drew? This is Kinsey Millhone.”

“Hey, great! I can’t believe I’m actually talking to you.”

We spent a few minutes congratulating ourselves on finally managing to connect and then we moved on to the subject at hand.

“We’re talking about five grand, right? Because that’s what I have.”

“Works for me,” I said. “It might take me a couple of days to find a replacement. What’s your time frame?”