K Is for Killer

by Sue Grafton

  The dog was full-grown, probably the same age in dog years as the old man himself. Max nearly quivered, totally focused on the game being played. As we approached, the old man threw the stick into the lap pool. The dog flung himself into the water, moving toward the stick, which was now bobbing in the water at the far end. I recognized Serena's father from numerous pictures that had appeared in the Santa Teresa Dispatch over the years. White-haired, in his seventies, he carried himself with an old-fashioned ramrod-straight posture. If his heart problems had affected him, it was hard to see how.

  Serena smiled, watching them. "This is the first chance he's had to connect with Max. They usually go through this first thing in the morning, and what a sight they are. Dad swims in one lane and the dog swims in the other."

  Vaguely I was aware of the telephone ringing somewhere inside the house. The dog collected the stick in his teeth and swam in our direction, scrambling up the stairs at the near end of the pool. He dropped it at the old man's feet and then barked once sharply. Esselmann threw the stick again. It sailed toward the deep end of the pool, landing with a faint splash. The dog flew off the side and swam, head high. The old man laughed and clapped his hands, urging the dog on. "Come on, Max. Come on."

  The retriever clamped his mouth on the stick again and turned, paddling back to the stairs, where he scrambled out, water pouring off his oily coat. Max dropped the stick at Esselmann's feet and then shook himself vigorously. Water flew out in all directions. Both Serena and her father laughed. Esselmann brushed at the polka dots of water on his cotton robe. I could have sworn Max was grinning, but I might have been mistaken.

  A maid in a black uniform appeared at the French door. "Mr. Esselmann? Phone for you."

  The old man turned and glanced in that direction, then headed toward the house while the dog pranced sideways and barked, hoping for one more toss. Serena caught my eye and smiled. Clearly, her father's hospital discharge had lightened her mood. "Can I offer you a glass of wine?"

  "I'd better not," I said. "Wine makes me sleepy, and I have work to do yet."

  We moved back through the French doors into the kitchen, where the wood fire popped cheerfully. Esselmann was standing near the planning center, on the telephone. He glanced over his shoulder and raised a hand, indicating his awareness of our presence. Beyond him, the door to the hall was open, and the dog's wet footprints led to a second door that was now closed. I had to guess Max had been relegated to the basement until he managed to dry himself. I heard a scratching noise, and then the dog issued one of those brief barks intended to make his wishes known.

  "Don't be ridiculous. Of course, I'll be there.... Well, I'm opposed, of course. We're talking about an allotment of twelve million gallons a year. I'm absolutely adamant about this, and I don't care who knows it." His manner shifted to something slightly less gruff. "I feel fine.... I appreciate that, Ned, and I hope you'll tell Julia I received the flowers she sent and they were lovely.... Yes, I'll do that. I don't have much choice. Serena keeps me on a very tight leash." He turned and rolled his eyes at her, knowing that she was nearby. "I'll see you at the meeting Friday night. Just tell Bob and Druscilla how I'm voting on this. We can talk about it then, but I hope we're in accord.... Thank you. I'll do that.... Same to you."

  He hung up the handset with a shake of his head. "Damn fools. First time my back is turned, they get sweet-talked into something. I hate the oil companies. That Stockton fellow's not going to have his way on this."

  "I thought you were in his corner."

  "I changed my mind," he said emphatically. He held his hand out to me. "Please excuse my bad manners. I shouldn't keep you standing while I rant and rave. Clark Esselmann. You caught me in the middle of my daily romp with the dog. I don't believe we've met."

  I introduced myself. His grip was firm, but I could detect a slight tremor in his fingers. Up close, I could see that his color was poor. He looked anemic, and the flesh on the back of his right hand was bruised from some medical procedure. Still, he had a certain hardy determination that seemed to prevail in the face of his recurring health problems.

  "Dad, you're not seriously thinking of trying to make it to a board meeting."

  "You can bet on it," he said.

  "You just got home. You're in no shape. The doctor doesn't even want you driving yet."

  "I can take a taxi if need be. Or I can have Ned pick me up."

  "I don't mind driving you. That's not the point," she said. "I really think you ought to take it easy for a few days."

  "Nonsense! I'm not so old or infirm that I can't make decisions about what I'll do on any given day. Now if you girls will excuse me, I'm going up to take a rest before dinner. It's been a pleasure, Miss Millhone. I hope the next time we meet, you'll find me decently dressed. I don't usually meet the public in my bathrobe."

  Serena touched his arm. "You need help getting up the stairs?"

  "Thankfully, I don't," he said. He moved from the room with a shuffling gait that nevertheless propelled him at nearly normal speeds. As he passed the basement, he reached over and opened the door. The dog must have been lurking at the top of the stairs because he appeared at once and trotted after the old man, glancing back at us with satisfaction.

  As Serena turned back to me, she sighed in exasperation. "That man is so stubborn, he drives me nuts. I've never had children, but surely parents are worse. Ah, well. Enough. I'm sure you didn't come here to listen to my gripes. You said you had a question."

  "I'm looking for some money Lorna might have had when she died. Apparently she closed out a bank account on Friday of that week. As far as I can see, there's twenty thousand dollars unaccounted for. I wondered if you'd seen any cash on the premises."

  Serena put a hand to her chest in surprise. "She had that kind of money? That's incredible."

  "She actually had quite a bit more, but this is the only money that seems to be missing."

  "I can tell I'm in the wrong business. Wait till Roger hears this."

  "You didn't see any sign of it the day you found the body? Might have been a cashier's check."

  "Not me. Ask her landlord. I didn't even go in."

  "And he did?"

  "Well, it was only for a minute, but I'm sure he did."

  "He told me once he caught the smell, he turned right around and went back to his place and called the cops."

  "That's true, but then while we were waiting for the police to show up, he opened the door and went in."

  "To do what?"

  Serena shook her head. "I don't know. I guess I thought he wanted to see what it was. I'd forgotten all about it till you brought it up."

  Chapter 13

  * * *

  When I got back to my apartment, Danielle was standing on my doorstep in a shallow pool of light. Her long legs were bare, capped by the shortest pink miniskirt on record. She wore black high heels, a black tank top, and a varsity letter jacket with a big black F across the back. Her hair was so long that it extended below the bottom of the jacket in the back. She smiled when she caught sight of me crossing the yard. "Oh, hey. I thought you were gone. I came to get my dime. The IRS says I'm short on my estimated income tax."

  "Aren't you cold? It's really freezing out here."

  "You must never have lived in the East. It's probably fifty degrees. With this jacket I got on, I'm as warm as toast."

  "What's the F stand for?"

  "What do you think?" she said drolly.

  I smiled as I unlocked the door and flipped the lights on. She followed me in, pausing at the threshold to assess the premises. Her eyes looked enormous, the green offset by dark liner, her lashes headed with mascara. Under all the makeup she had a smooth, baby face: snub nose, sulky mouth. She strolled the perimeter of my living room, tottering on her high heels as she peered at all the bookshelves. She picked up the framed photograph of Robert Dietz. "Well, he's cute. Who's this?"

  "A friend."

  She lifted her brows and gave me a look that sugge
sted she knew what kind of friend he was. She put the picture down again and shoved her hands in her jacket pockets. I hung my own jacket across the back of a director's chair. She sat down on my sofa and rubbed a hand across the surface of the fabric as if to test the weight. Tonight her fingernails were long and perfect, painted a vivid fire-engine red. She crossed one long, bare leg across the other and swung a foot while she completed her survey. "This is not bad. They got any other units as good as this?"

  "This is the only rental. My landlord's eighty-five."

  "I don't discriminate. I like old guys," she said. "Maybe I could give him a discount."

  "I'll pass the word along in case he's interested. What are you doing here?"

  She got up and moved over to the kitchen, where she opened my cabinets to check the contents. "I was bored. I don't go in to work until eleven. It's a problem sometimes what to do before. Mr. Dickhead's in a bad mood, so I'm avoiding him."

  "What's his problem?"

  "Oh, who knows? He's probably raggin' it," she said. She flapped a hand in the air, dismissing his ill temper. She pulled a couple of teabags out of her jacket pocket and dangled them in the air. "You want some peppermint tea? I got some bags if you boil the water. It's good for digestion."

  "I'm not worried about digestion. I haven't had dinner yet."

  "Me neither. Sometimes all I have is tea if Lester's taken my money. He doesn't want me getting fat."

  "What a pal," I said.

  She shrugged, unconcerned. "I look after myself. I'm into megavitamins and high colonies and like that."

  "There's a treat," I said. I filled the kettle with hot water and put it on the stove. I flipped the burner on.

  "Laugh all you want. I bet I'm healthier than you."

  "That wouldn't take much, the way I eat," I said. "Speaking of which, you want dinner? I don't cook, but I can have a pizza delivered. I have to go out in a bit, but you're welcome to join me."

  "I wouldn't mind some pizza," she said. "If you just do the veggies, without all the sausage and pepperoni, it's not even bad for you. Try that place around the corner. I bonk the owner sometimes. He gives me a big discount because I chew his bone."

  "I'll mention that when I call the order in," I said.

  "Here, I'll do it. Where's the phone?"

  I pointed to the phone on the table beside the answering machine. We both noticed the blinking light.

  "You got a message," she said. She reached down automatically and pressed the replay button before I had a chance to protest. It seemed as rude for her to listen as to open my mail. A mechanical computer voice announced that I had one message. Beep.

  "Oh, hi, Kinsey. This is Roger. I just wanted to touch base and see how things were going. Anyway, you don't have to call back, but if you have any more questions, you can reach me at home. Bye. Oh, I guess I better give you the number." He recited his home phone and then hung up with a click.

  "Lorna's boss," she said. "You know him?"

  "Sure. Do you?"

  She wrinkled her nose. "I met him once." She picked up the phone and punched in a number she seemed to know by heart. She turned and looked at me while the phone rang on the other end. "I'm going to have 'em leave the cheese off. It cuts the fat," she murmured.

  I left her to the negotiations while I made us each a cup of tea. The night I'd met her, she'd seemed wary, or maybe that was just her working persona. Tonight she seemed relaxed, nearly buoyant. Her mood was probably drug-induced, but there was actually something charming about her ingenuousness. She had a natural goodwill that animated every gesture. I heard her conducting business with the kind of poise that must come from "bonking" guys from every walk of life. She put a hand over the mouthpiece. "What's the address here? I forgot."

  I gave her the number, which she recited into the telephone. I could have taken her to Rosie's with me, but I didn't trust Rosie to be polite. With William gone, I was worried she might revert to her former misanthropy.

  Danielle hung up the phone and took off her jacket, which she folded neatly and put on one end of the sofa. She came over to the counter, clutching her oversize shoulder bag. Somehow she seemed as graceful as a colt, all arms and long legs and bony shoulders.

  I passed her a mug of tea. "I have a question for you."

  "Hold on. Let me say something first. I hope this is not too personal. I wouldn't want you to take offense."

  "I really hate sentences that start that way," I said.

  "Me too, but this is for your own good."

  "Go ahead. You're going to say it anyway."

  She hesitated, and the face she made conveyed exaggerated reluctance. "Promise you won't get mad?"

  "Just say it. I can't stand the suspense. I have bad breath."

  "That haircut of yours is really gross."

  "Oh, thanks."

  "You don't have to get sarcastic. I can help. Honestly. I was working on my license as a cosmetologist when I first connected up with Lester..."

  "Mr. Dickhead," I supplied.

  "Yeah, him. Anyway, I'm a great cutter. I did Lorna's hair all the time. Give me a pair of scissors and I can turn you into a vision. I'm not fooling."

  "All I have is nail scissors. Maybe after dinner."

  "Come on. We got fifteen minutes until the pizza gets here. And look at this." She opened up her shoulder bag and let me peek. "Ta-da." Inside she had a brush, a little hair dryer, and a pair of shears. She placed the hair dryer on the counter and clacked the scissors like a pair of castanets.

  "You came over here with that stuff?"

  "I keep it with me all the time. Sometimes at the Palace I do haircuts in the ladies' room."

  I ended up sitting on a kitchen stool with a hand towel pinned around my neck, my hair wet from a dousing at the kitchen sink. Danielle was chatting happily while she trimmed and clipped. Snippets of hair began to tumble around me. "Now don't get scared. I know it looks like a lot, but it's just because the whole thing's uneven. You got great hair, nice and thick, with just the tiniest touch of curl. Well, I wouldn't call it curl so much as body, which is even better."

  "So why didn't you get your license?"

  "I lost interest. Plus, the money's not that hot. My father always said it'd be a great fallback position if the economy went sour, but hooking's better, in my opinion. A guy might not have the bucks to get his hair blown dry, but he's always got twenty for a BJ."

  I mouthed the term BJ silently. It took me half a second to figure that one out. "What are you going to do when you get too old to bonk?"

  "I'm taking classes at city college in financial management. Money's the only other subject that really interests me."

  "I'm sure you 11 go far."

  "You gotta start somewhere. What about you? What will you do when you're too old to bonk?"

  "I don't bonk now. I'm pure as the driven snow."

  "Well, no wonder you get cranky. What a drag," she said.

  I laughed.

  For a while we were silent as she concentrated on her work. "What's the question? You said you had something you wanted to ask."

  "Maybe I better check my cash supply first."

  She pulled my hair. "Now don't be like that. I bet you're the kind who kids around to keep other people at a distance, right?"

  "I don't think I should respond to that."

  She smiled. "See? I can surprise you. I'm a lot brighter than you think. So ask."

  "Ah, yes. Did Lorna mention pulling twenty grand out of a hank account before she was supposed to go out of town?"

  "Why would she do that? She always traveled with a guy. She never spent her own money when she went someplace."

  "What guy?"

  "Anyone who asked," she said, still clipping away.

  "You know where she was headed?"

  "She didn't talk about that stuff."

  "What about a diary or an appointment book?"

  Danielle touched her temple with the tip of her scissors. "She kept it all up here. She said ot
herwise her clients didn't feel safe. Cops raid your place? They got a search warrant, you're dead, and so's everybody else. Quit wiggling."

  "Sorry. Where'd the money go? It looks like she closed out the whole account."

  "Well, she didn't give it to me. I wish she had. I'd have opened an account of my own just like that." She snapped the scissors near my ear, and seven hairs fell to earth. "I meant to do that," she added. She set the scissors on the counter and plugged in the hair dryer, picking up locks of hair on the bristles of the hairbrush. It's incredibly restful to have someone fooling with your hair like that.

  I raised my voice slightly to compete with the noise. "Could she have paid off a debt or posted bail for someone?"

  "Twenty G's in bail would be a hell of a crime."

  "Did she owe anybody?"

  "Lorna didn't have debts. Even credit cards she paid off before finance charges went on," she said. "I bet the money was stolen."

  "Yeah, that occurred to me, too."

  "Must have been after she was dead," she added. "Otherwise Lorna would have fought tooth and nail." She turned the dryer off and set it aside, stepping back to scrutinize her handiwork. She took a moment to fluff and rearrange individual strands and then nodded, apparently satisfied.

  The doorbell rang, Mr. Pizza Man on the doorstep. I handed Danielle twenty bucks and let her conclude the deal while I ducked into the downstairs bathroom and checked myself in the mirror. The difference was remarkable. All the choppiness was gone. All the blunt, stick-out parts that seemed to go every which way were now tamed and subdued. The hair feathered away from my face in perfect layers. It even fell into place again if I shook my head. I caught sight of Danielle reflected in the mirror behind me.

  "You like it?" she asked.

  "It looks great."

  "Told you I was good," she said, laughing.

  We ate from the box, splitting a large cheeseless veggie pizza, which was tasty without causing all my arteries to seize up. At one point she said, "This is fun, isn't it? Like girlfriends."

  "You miss Lorna?"

  "Yeah, I do. She was a kick. After work, her and me would pal around downtown, find a coffee shop, have breakfast. I remember once we bought a quart of orange juice and a bottle of champagne. We sat out in the grass at my place and drank mimosas until dawn."