by Sue Grafton
I searched the bathroom, including the underside of the toilet tank lid, and found nothing. I opened the dresser drawers and ran a hand around the interiors. Empty. I pulled each drawer all the way out, wondering if there was something secured under or behind. When I reached the bed table, I went through the same routine. I removed the Gideon Bible. Inside the cover there was a Delta Air Lines ticket, first class to Zurich, issued in Garrisen Randolph’s name. The booking was one-way and the flight was scheduled to depart at 9:30 the next morning.
I replaced the ticket between the pages, returned the Bible to the drawer, and closed it. I didn’t believe Marty was coming back, but on the off-chance he made it, the ticket would be waiting. I removed my gloves, plucked the Privacy Please sign from the outside knob, and hung it on the inside. I took the elevator down. I went into the newsstand and bought three dollars’ worth of stamps, which I pasted on the front of the mailing pouch. I penned my home address under Marty’s name and then pinched the adhesive to secure the opening. I took a seat within sight of the concierge’s desk, watching to see if Carl was still on duty. Ten minutes passed and there was no sign of him. A smartly dressed woman, with a name tag pinned to her lapel, had stepped into the job.
I approached the desk. She appeared to be capable, her smile properly cool and professional. “Yes, ma’am.”
I put the mailing pouch on the counter. “I’d like to leave this for Mr. Blumberg in Room 817, but I wonder if you could attach a note. If he hasn’t picked it up by tomorrow afternoon, I’d appreciate someone’s dropping it in the mail to him.”
“Of course.”
She wrote the appropriate note and clipped it to the top edge of the pouch. I said, “Oh, and do you happen to have a stapler? This has popped open.”
“Not a problem.” She reached behind the counter and took out a stapler. I watched while she crunched a succession of staples into the upper edge of the pouch, tightly sealing it. She placed it back on the credenza where it had sat earlier. I thanked her, silently sending up a prayer for Marty’s survival.
At 7:15 I shelled out twenty-five bucks to the bell captain and retrieved my VW. I drove west on Sunset as far as the on-ramp to the northbound 405, traveling up the long hill toward the valley and down the other side. Once I connected to the 101, I pointed the car toward home.
30
I reached Santa Teresa at 9:00 that night. The summer temperatures had cooled rapidly as the sun inched its way down toward the horizon. Along Cabana Boulevard, the streetlights had flicked on and the wide stretch of ocean had turned all silvery and white. I stopped by my apartment, where I dropped my bags and wrote a quick note to Henry letting him know I was home. I left a message to the same effect on Cheney’s answering machine, saying I’d catch up with him when I could.
By 9:20 I was back in the car, heading south toward Montebello and the Lafferty estate. Gingerly I put a hand to the knot on my head—still sore, and still undiminished in size. Happily the headache was gone and I thought it safe to assume that I was on the mend. I didn’t think I’d jog for a day or two, but at least my thinking seemed clear.
The drive up from Los Angeles had given me a chance to reflect. I still had no clue how the two goons had found us in Reno. As odious as Beck was, I didn’t picture him with thugs on his payroll, which meant they were sent by Salustio Castillo. I was baffled by their snatching Marty. Reba’s theft of Salustio’s twenty-five grand made her the logical target. Unless Marty had done something even more foolish than she. Such as what? I wondered if he’d packed the remainder of Salustio’s money in the rolling bag. But to what end? From what he’d said that night at Dale’s, he’d set aside sufficient funds to take care of himself. So why steal more and why pass it on to Reba when all that would do was place her in greater jeopardy than she was in? Meanwhile, where was she?
I thought it was entirely possible she’d commissioned Misty to dummy up a passport and other phony documents for herself as well as for Marty. If that were the case, she might be on her way out of the country, though I couldn’t believe she’d go without saying good-bye to her dad. She might not confide her destination, but surely she’d find a way to let him know that she was okay. Not for the first time, I was thinking my relationship with Reba was at an end. She’d blow off her parole and take her chances as a fugitive.
When I reached the entrance to the Lafferty estate, the gates were closed. I pulled up to the keypad, rolled down my window, and pressed the call button. I could hear the line ring inside. Once. Twice. Freddy picked up, her voice sounding scratchy over the intercom system.
I stuck my head out the window and raised my voice. “Freddy? It’s Kinsey. Can you let me in, please?”
I heard a series of peeps and then a low humming noise as the gates swung open to the full. I flipped on my brights and eased my way down the drive. I could see house lights twinkling through the trees. As I rounded the last curve, I saw that the second story was dark but the lights were on in many of the first-floor rooms along the front. Lucinda’s car was parked in its usual spot and I could feel my eyes cross at the notion of encountering her. As I got out of the car, I caught motion to my right. Rags sauntered along the drive at a pace perfectly calculated to intercept my path. When he reached me, I leaned down and scratched between his ears. His long pumpkin-colored fur was silky, his purr becoming more pronounced as he arched his big head and pushed against my hand. “Listen, Rags. I’d be happy to take you in, but if Lucinda answers the door we got no shot at it.”
He trailed up the walk with me, sometimes running around in front to inspire additional stroking and conversation. I could see where owning a cat would render a grownup completely goofy in time. I reached for the bell, but the front door swung open in advance of my ring. Lucinda was framed in the porch light, wearing a crisp-looking yellow coatdress, with pale hose and matching yellow heels. She looked tanned and fit, her streaky blond hair arranged as though permanently swept by wind. She said, “Oh! Freddy said someone rang at the gate, but I didn’t realize it was you. I thought you were out of town.”
“I was. I just got back and I need to talk to Mr. Lafferty.”
She let that sink in. “I suppose you might as well come in.” She stepped aside to let me enter, frowning with annoyance when she caught sight of Rags. She barred him with a quick foot and pushed him out of the way. That’s the kind of person she was, a cat-kicker. What a bitch. As I stepped into the foyer, I spotted a small overnight case sitting near the door. She’d set her purse on the console table and she paused to check her reflection in the mirror, adjusting an earring and an errant strand of hair. She opened her purse, apparently searching for her keys. “Nord’s not here. He collapsed this morning and I had to call the paramedics. He’s been admitted to Saint Terry’s. I’m on my way over to take him his toiletries and robe.”
“What happened?”
“Well, he’s desperately ill,” she said, as though I’d been stupid to inquire. “All this upset over Reba has taken its toll.”
“Is she here?”
“Of course not. She’s never here when he needs her. That’s a job that falls to Freddy or me.” Her smile was self-satisfied and brittle, her manner brisk. “Well now. What can we do for you?”
“Is he allowed to have visitors?”
“You must not have heard me. He’s ill. He shouldn’t be disturbed.”
“That wasn’t what I asked. What floor is he on?”
“He’s on the cardiac ward. If you insist, I suppose you could speak to his private-duty nurse. What is it you want?”
“He asked me to do a job. I’d like to give him my report.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t.”
“But I don’t work for you. I work for him,” I said.
“She’s in trouble again, isn’t she?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“You don’t understand what this has done to him. He’s had to rescue her all his life. Reba keeps putting him in the same position.
She sets it up so that if he doesn’t step in, she’ll be doomed, or so she’d like him to think. I’m sure she’d deny this, but she’s really still a child, doing anything she can to get her father’s attention. If anything happened to her, he’d forever blame himself.”
“He’s her father. He gets to help her if he wants.”
“Well, I may have put an end to that.”
“How so?”
“I called Priscilla Holloway, Reba’s parole officer. I thought she should be aware of what’s been going on. I’m sure Reba’s been drinking and probably gambling as well. I told Ms. Holloway Reba left the state, and she was furious.”
“You’ll get her sent back to prison.”
“That’s my hope. We’d all be better off, including her.”
“Great. That’s perfect. Who else did you tattle to?” I meant the question as a piece of sarcasm, but the silence that followed suggested I’d scored an unexpected bull’s-eye. I stared at her. “Is that how Beck found out where she was?”
She dropped her gaze. “We had a conversation on the subject.”
“You told him?”
“That’s right. And I’d do it again.”
“When was this?”
“Thursday. He came to the house. Nord was sleeping so I spoke to him myself. He’d been looking for her and he was very concerned. He said he didn’t want to cause a problem, but he thought she’d taken something. He was quite uncomfortable and I had to work very hard persuading him to tell me what it was. He finally admitted she stole twenty-five thousand dollars. He said he didn’t want to make trouble, but I thought that was nonsense and told him where she was.”
“How’d you get Misty’s address?”
“I didn’t have her address, I had yours. Nord scribbled a note to himself the night you called. The Paradise Motel. I saw it written on the pad beside his bed.”
“Lucinda, Beck manipulated you. Don’t you see that?”
“Hardly. He’s a lovely man. After what she did to him, I’d have told him even if he hadn’t asked.”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? A man was kidnapped because of you.”
She laughed, tucking her purse under one arm as she picked up the overnight case. “No one was kidnapped,” she said, as though the notion were absurd. “Really. You’re just like her, creating drama where there is none. Everything’s a crisis. Everything’s the end of the world. It’s never anything she’s done. She’s always the victim, always expecting someone else to pick up after her. Well, this time she’ll have to take responsibility. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get over to the hospital and leave these items for Nord.”
She opened the door and snapped it shut behind her. In the face of her conviction, I hadn’t managed to challenge her view or express even the first shred of protest. There was an element of truth in what she’d said, but it wasn’t the whole truth.
“Miss Millhone?”
I turned to find Freddy standing in the hall behind me. “Did you hear her? The woman’s horrible,” I said.
“Now that she’s gone, I wanted to let you know. Reba was here. She arrived shortly before Miss Cunningham stopped by to pick up Mr. Lafferty’s things.”
“Where’d she go?”
“I don’t know. She came by cab and she was only home long enough to pick up her car and a change of clothes. She said she’d go over to the hospital to see her father, but she’d time it to avoid crossing paths with Miss Cunningham. She’s going to call Mr. Lafferty’s doctor and have his visitors restricted to family only, including me, of course.” Freddy permitted herself a sly smile. “That was my idea.”
“Serves Lucinda right. How serious is his condition?”
“The doctor says he’ll be fine. He was dehydrated and his electrolytes were out of balance. I believe he’s suffering from anemia as well. The doctor intends to keep him for a couple of days.”
“Well, good. That’s one less thing to worry about, especially if the staff can keep Lucinda at bay. Did Reba say anything at all about where she’d be?”
“Staying with a friend.”
“She doesn’t have a friend. Here in town?”
“I believe so. This was a fellow, someone she met after she got home.”
I thought about that briefly. “Maybe someone from AA…though now that I say that, it seems unlikely. I can’t see her at a meeting this late in the game. What about reaching her? Did she leave a number?”
Freddy shook her head. “She said she’d call by the house at nine, but she was concerned Mr. Beckwith would find her again.”
“I’ll bet. Lucinda’s been dishing out the information right and left,” I said. “Look, if you hear from her, tell her it’s important we talk. Did she leave a suitcase by any chance?”
“No, but she did have one with her. She put it in the trunk of her car before she left.”
“Well, let’s hope she calls in.” I glanced at my watch. “I’ll be at my office for the next couple of hours and then I’ll head home.”
My office always feels odd at night, its flaws and shabbiness exaggerated by the artificial light. As I sat at my desk, all I saw through the window was dinginess reflected back at me, the dust and ancient rain streaks barring any view of the street. On weekends this part of downtown Santa Teresa is dead after 6:00 P.M., city buildings closed for the night, the courthouse and public library dark. The bungalow I occupied was the middle unit of three; identical stucco structures that, at some point, represented modest housing. Since I’d moved in, the bungalows on both sides of mine had remained vacant, which afforded me the quiet I preferred, at the same time creating an unsettling sense of isolation.
I sorted through the mound of mail the carrier had shoved through my slot. Much junk, a few bills, which I sat down and paid. I was restless, eager to get home, but felt I should stay, in the hopes that Reba would call. I did some filing. I straightened out my pencil drawer. It was make-work but gave me something useful to do. I kept glancing at the phone, willing it to ring, so when someone rapped on my side window, I nearly leaped out of my skin.
Reba was outside, concealed in the shadowy space between my bungalow and its twin next door. She’d traded her shorts for jeans and her white T-shirt looked like the one she’d been wearing when she left CIW. I unlocked the window and raised the sash. “What are you doing?”
“You have access to those garages out back?”
“Sure, the one for this unit. I’ve never used it, but the landlord did give me the keys.”
“Grab ’em and let’s go. I gotta get my car off the street. I’ve had those goons on my tail ever since I left the house.”
“The ones we saw in L.A.?”
“Yeah, only one of ’em now has a black eye, like he walked into a door.”
“Oh, dear. Wonder if I did that with my widdle chair,” I said. “How’d you get away?”
“Fortunately, I know this town a lot better than they do. I led ’em around for a while, then sped up, doused my lights, turned down a little side road, and then behind a hedge. The minute I saw their car pass, I doubled back and came here.”
“Where have you been all this time?”
She seemed agitated. “Don’t ask. I’ve been busy as a little bee. Get a move on. I’m cold.”
“I’ll meet you out back.”
I closed the window and locked it. In my bottom desk drawer I lifted aside the phone book and picked up two silver keys hooked together on a paper clip. I picked up my bag and found my trusty penlight, checking the strength of the batteries as I moved down the hallway and out the rear door. A short patch of stubby grass separated the bungalows from the row of three garages along the alley. Reba’d parked her car in the shadow of a pyracantha bush that had probably scratched the shit out of the paint on the right-hand side. I could see her at the wheel, smoking a cigarette while she waited for me.
There was a light fixture with a forty-watt bulb attached to the wood beam above the middle garage, which was
the one assigned to me. The bulb yielded just enough light to see by if your eyes were good. I fumbled with the padlock and finally popped it open. I unhooked it from the hasp and hauled up the overhead door with a labored groaning of wood and rusty hinges. I flashed my penlight across the walls and floor, which were bare, smelling of motor oil and soot. There were cobwebs everywhere.
Reba flipped her cigarette out the window and started her car. I stood back as she pulled into the garage. She got out, locked her car door, and came around to the rear. She popped the trunk lid and hauled out a suitcase of a size appropriate for an airplane carry-on, though you’d have to maneuver it to get it in the overhead bin. The bag had an extendable handle and a set of wheels. She seemed preoccupied, caught up in a mood I couldn’t read.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Fine.”
“Just for the yucks, are you going to tell me what’s in there?”
“Want to see?”
“I do.”
She collapsed the handle and laid the suitcase flat, unzipped the top portion and flipped it open.
I found myself looking at a metal box, maybe fifteen inches high, eighteen inches long, and eight inches deep. “What the hell is that?”
“You’re joking. You don’t know?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t ask, Reeb. I’d exclaim with joy and surprise.”
“It’s a computer. Marty took his with him when he left. He also stopped by the bank and picked up all the floppy disks from the safe-deposit box. You’re looking at Beck’s business records—the second set of books. Hook it up to a keyboard and monitor, you’ve got access to everything: bank accounts, deposits, shell companies, payoffs, every dime he laundered for Salustio.”