by Sue Grafton
“How about I ask you three?” he said.
“Okay.”
“How’d you get along with your old man?”
“Oh great,” I said. “He died when I was five. Both of them did. In a car wreck. Up near Lompoc. Big rock rolled down the mountain and smashed the windshield. Took them six hours to pry me out of the back. My mother cried for a while and then she stopped. I still hear it sometimes in my sleep. Not the sobs. The silence after that. I was raised by my aunt. Her sister.”
He digested that. “You married?”
“Was.” I held up two fingers.
He smiled. “Is that for ‘twice’ or question number two?”
I laughed. “That’s number three.”
“Hey come on. You cheat.”
“All right. One more. But make it count.”
“You ever kill anyone?”
I glanced over at him with curiosity. It seemed like a strange follow-up. “Let’s put it this way,” I said. “I did my first homicide investigation when I was twenty-six. A job I did for the public defender’s office. A woman accused of killing her own kids. Three of them. Girls. All under five. Taped their mouths, hands, and feet, then put them in garbage cans and let them suffocate. I had to look at the glossy eight-by-ten police photographs. I got cured of any homicidal urges. Also any desire for motherhood.”
“Jesus,” he said. “And she really did it?”
“Oh sure. She got off, of course. Pleaded temporary insanity. She might be back on the streets again for all I know.”
“How do you keep from getting cynical?” he asked.
“Who says I’m not?”
While I showered in the trailer next door, I tried to think what else I might learn from Greg. I was feeling restless, anxious to be on the road again. If I could get to Claremont by dark, I could talk to Diane first thing in the morning and then drive back to Los Angeles after lunch. I toweled my hair dry and dressed. Greg had opened another beer for me, which I sipped while I waited for him to get cleaned up. I glanced at my watch. It was 3:15. Greg came into the trailer, leaving the door open, sliding the screen door shut. His dark hair was still damp and he smelled of soap.
“You look poised for flight,” he said, getting himself a beer. He popped the cap.
“I’m thinking I should try to get to Claremont before dark,” I said. “You have any messages for your sister?”
“She knows where I am. We talk now and then, often enough to keep caught up,” he said. He sat down in the canvas chair, propping his feet up on the padded bench next to me. “Anything else you want to ask?”
“Couple of things if you don’t mind,” I said.
“Fire away.”
“What do you remember about your father’s allergies?”
“Dogs, cat dander, sometimes hay fever but I don’t know what that consisted of exactly.”
“He wasn’t allergic to any kind of food? Eggs? Wheat?”
Greg shook his head. “Not that I ever heard. Just stuff in the air—pollens, things like that.”
“Did he have his allergy capsules with him when the family came down here that weekend?”
“I don’t remember that. I would guess no. He knew we’d be out in the desert and the air down here is usually pretty clear even in late summer, early fall. The dog wasn’t with us. We left him at home, so Dad wouldn’t have needed the allergy medication for that, and I don’t think there was anything else he needed it for.”
“I thought the dog got killed. I thought Nikki told me that,” I said.
“Yeah, he was. While we were gone as a matter of fact.”
I felt a sudden chill. There was something odd about that, something off. “How’d you find out about it?”
Greg shrugged. “When we got home,” he said, apparently not attaching much to the fact. “Mom had taken Diane over to the house to pick something up. Sunday morning I guess. We didn’t get back until Monday night. Anyway, they found Bruno lying out on the side of the road. I guess he was pretty badly mangled. Mom wouldn’t even let Diane see him up close. She called the animal-shelter people and they came and picked him up. He’d been dead awhile. All of us felt bad about it. He was a great beast.”
“Good watchdog?”
“The best,” he said.
“What about Mrs. Voss, the housekeeper? What was she like?”
“Nice enough, I guess. She seemed to get along with everybody,” he said. “I wish I knew more but that’s about it as far as I can tell.”
I finished my beer and got up, holding out my hand to him. “Thanks, Greg. I may need to talk to you again if that’s okay.”
He kissed the back of my hand, pretending to clown but meaning something else, I was almost sure. “Godspeed,” he said softly.
I smiled with unexpected pleasure. “Did you ever see Young Bess? Jean Simmons and Stewart Granger? That’s what he says to her. He was doomed, I think, or maybe she was—I forget. Ripped my heart out. You ought to watch for it on the late movie some night. It killed me when I was a kid.”
“You’re only five or six years older than me,” he said.
“Seven,” I replied.
“Same smell.”
“I’ll let you know what I find out,” I said.
“Good luck.”
As I pulled away, I glanced back out of the car window. Greg was standing in the trailer doorway, the screen creating the ghostly illusion of Laurence Fife again.
15
I reached Claremont at 6:00, driving through Ontario, Montclair, and Pomona; all townships without real towns, a peculiar California phenomenon in which a series of shopping malls and acres of tract houses acquire a zip code and become realities on the map. Claremont is an oddity in that it resembles a trim little midwestern hamlet with elms and picket fences. The annual Fourth of July parade is composed of kazoo bands, platoons of children on crepe-paper-decorated bikes, and a self-satirizing team of husbands dressed in Bermuda shorts, black socks, and business shoes doing close-order drills with power mowers. Except for the smog, Claremont could even be considered “picturesque” with Mount Baldy forming a raw backdrop.
I pulled into a gas station and called the number Gwen had given me for Diane. She was out, but her roommate said she’d be home at 8:00. I headed up Indian Hill Boulevard, turning left onto Baughman. My friends Gideon and Nell live two doors down in a house with two kids, three cats, and a hot tub. Nell I’ve known since my college days. She’s a creature of high intellect and wry humor who’s learned never to be too amazed by my appearances on her doorstep. She seemed pleased to see me nevertheless and I sat in her kitchen, watching her make soup while we talked. I called Diane again after supper and she agreed to meet me for lunch. After that, Nell and I stripped down and soaked in the hot tub out on the deck, with icy white wine and a lot more catching up to do. Gideon graciously kept the children at bay. I slept on the couch that night with a cat curled up on my chest, wondering if there was any way I could have such a life for myself.
I met Diane at one of those brown-bread-and-sprout restaurants that all look the same: lots of natural varnished wood and healthy hanging plants, macrame and leaded-glass windows and waiters who don’t smoke cigarettes but would probably toke on anything else you’ve got. Ours was thin with receding hair and a dark mustache, which he stroked incessantly, taking our order with an earnestness that I don’t think any sandwich ever deserved. Mine was avocado and bacon. Hers was a “vegetarian delite” stuffed in pita bread.
“Greg says he really treated you like shit when you first got down there,” she said and laughed. Some sort of dressing was leaking out through a crack in her pita bread and she lapped it off.
“When did you talk to him? Last night?”
“Sure.” She took another unwieldy mouthful and I watched her lick her fingers and wipe her chin. She had Greg’s clean good looks but she carried more weight, wide rump packed into a pair of faded jeans, and an unexpected powdering of freckles on her face. Her dark hair was pa
rted in the center and pulled up on top with a broad leather band, pierced through with a wooden skewer.
“Did you know Nikki was out on parole?” I asked.
“That’s what Mom said. Is Colin back?”
“Nikki was just on her way up to get him when I talked to her a couple of days ago,” I said. I was struggling to keep my sandwich intact, thick bread breaking with every bite, but I caught the look in her eye. Colin interested her. Nikki did not.
“Did you meet Mom?”
“Yes. I liked her a lot.”
Diane flashed a quick, proud smile. “Daddy was really an asshole to dump her for Nikki if you ask me. I mean, Nikki’s okay, but she’s kind of cold, don’t you think?”
I murmured something noncommittal. Diane didn’t seem to be listening anyway. “Your mother said you went into therapy right after your father died,” I said.
Diane rolled her eyes, taking a sip of peppermint tea. “I’ve been in therapy half my life and my head’s still not on straight. It’s really a drag. The shrink I got now thinks I should go into analysis but nobody does that anymore. He says I need to go into my ‘dark’ side. He’s into this real Freudian horseshit. All those old guys are. You know, they want you to lie there and tell ’em all your dreams and kinky fantasies so they can whack off mentally at your expense. I did Reichian before that but I got sick of huffing and puffing and pulling on towels. That just felt dumb to me.”
I took a big bite of sandwich, nodding as if I knew what she was talking about. “I’ve never been in therapy,” I murmured.
“Not even group?”
I shook my head.
“God, you must really be neurotic,” she said respectfully.
“Well I don’t bite my nails or wet the bed.”
“You’re probably the compulsive type, avoiding commitments and shit like that. Daddy was like that some.”
“Like how?” I said, skipping right over the reference to my character. After all, it was just a wild guess.
“Oh. You know. Fucking around all the time. Greg and I still compare notes on that. My shrink says he was just warding off pain. My granny used to manipulate the shit out of him so he turned around and manipulated everyone else, including Greg and me. And Mom. And Nikki, and I don’t even know who else. I don’t think he ever loved anybody in his life except Colin maybe. Too threatening.”
She finished her sandwich and spent a few minutes wiping her face and hands. Then she folded the paper napkin carefully.
“Greg told me you missed the trip to Salton Sea,” I said.
“What, before Daddy died? Yeah I did. I had the flu, really grisly stuff, so I stayed with Mom. She was great, really poured on the TLC. I never slept so much in my life.”
“How did the dog get out?”
She put her hands in her lap. “What?”
“Bruno. Greg said he got hit by a car. I just wondered who let him out. Was Mrs. Voss staying at the house while the family was gone?”
Diane looked at me with care and then away. “I don’t think so. She was on vacation, I think.” Her eyes strayed to the clock on the wall behind me. “I’ve got a class,” she said. Her face was suffused with pink.
“Are you okay?”
“Sure. Fine,” she said, casually gathering up her purse and books. She seemed relieved to have something to do. “Oh, I nearly forgot. I’ve got something for Colin if you’re going to see him.” She held out a paper bag. “It’s an album I put together for him. We had all those pictures in a box.” She was all business now, her manner distracted, her attention disengaged. She gave me a brief smile. “I’m sorry I don’t have any more time. How much is my part of the lunch?”
“I’ll take care of it,” I said. “Can I drop you someplace?”
“I’ve got a car,” she said. All the animation had left her face.
“Diane, what’s going on?” I said.
She sat down again abruptly, staring straight ahead. Her voice had dropped about six notes. “I let the dog out myself,” she said, “the day they left. Nikki said to let him have a run before Mom picked me up so I did but I just felt like shit. I lay down on the couch in the living room to wait for Mom and when she honked, I just grabbed my stuff and went out the front. I never even thought about the dog. He must have been running around for two days before I remembered. That’s why Mom and I drove over there. To feed him and let him in.”
Her eyes finally met mine and she seemed close to tears. “That poor thing,” she whispered. The guilt seemed to take possession of her totally. “It was my fault. That’s why he got hit. Because I forgot.” She put a trembling hand against her mouth, blinking. “I felt awful about it but I never told anyone except Mom and nobody ever asked. You won’t tell, will you? They were so upset that he got killed that nobody ever even asked me how he got out and I never said a word. I couldn’t. Nikki would have hated me.”
“Nikki’s not going to hate you because the dog got killed, Diane,” I said. “That was years ago. What difference does it make now?”
Her eyes took on a haunted look and I had to lean forward to hear what she was saying. “Because someone got in. While the dog was out. Someone got into the house and switched the medication. And that’s why Daddy died,” she said. She fumbled in her purse for a Kleenex, her sobs sounding like a series of gasps, involuntary, quick, her shoulders hunching helplessly.
Two guys from the next table looked over at her with curiosity.
“Oh God, oh God,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with grief.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said, grabbing up her belongings. I left too much money on the table for the check. I took her by the arm, propelling her toward the door.
By the time we got out to the parking lot, she was almost in control of herself. “God, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I did that,” she said. “I never fall apart that way.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I had no idea I’d set you off like that. It was just something that stuck in my mind after Greg mentioned it. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything.”
“I couldn’t believe you said it,” she said, tears rising again. She looked at me earnestly. “I thought you knew. I thought you must have found out. I never would have admitted it otherwise. I’ve felt so awful about that for so long.”
“How can you blame yourself? If someone wanted to get into the house, he would have let the dog loose anyway. Or killed it and made it look like an accident. I mean, who’s going to get upstairs with a goddamn German shepherd barking and snarling?” I said.
“I don’t know. Maybe so. It could be, I guess. I mean, he was a good watchdog. If he’d been in, nobody could have done anything.”
She let out a deep breath, blowing her nose again on the damp twisted Kleenex. “I was so irresponsible in those days. They were always on my case, which just made things worse. I couldn’t tell ’em. And nobody seemed to make the connection when Daddy died except me and I couldn’t admit it then.”
“Hey it’s over,” I said, “it’s done. You can’t beat yourself to death with it. It’s not as if you did it deliberately.”
“I know, I know. But the result was the same, you know?” Her voice lifted up and her eyes squeezed shut again, tears running down her cheeks. “He was such a shit and I loved him so much. I know Greg hated his guts, but I just thought he was great. I didn’t care if he screwed around. That wasn’t his fault. He was just so messed up all his life. He really was.”
She wiped her eyes with the wad of Kleenex and then took another deep breath. She reached in her purse for a compact.
“Why don’t you skip your class and go home?” I said.
“Maybe I will,” she said. She looked at herself in the mirror. “God, I’m a wreck. I can’t go anywhere looking like this.”
“I’m sorry I triggered this. I think I feel worse than you,” I said sheepishly.
“No, that’s all right. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I guess I’ll even have to tell my shrink now. He’l
l think it’s cathartic. He loves that shit. I guess everyone will know now. God, that’s all I need.”
“Hey, I may or may not have to mention it. I really don’t know yet, but I don’t think it matters now. If someone was determined to kill your father, it would have been done one way or the other. That’s just a fact.”
“I guess so. Anyway, it’s nice of you to say that. I feel better. Really. I didn’t even know it was still weighing on me, but it must have been.”
“You’re sure you’re okay now?”
She nodded, giving me a little smile.
We said our good-byes, which took a few minutes more, and then she walked to her car. I watched while she drove off and then I tossed the album for Colin in the backseat of my car and pulled out. Actually, though I hated to admit it, she was probably right. If the dog had been in the house, no one could have messed with anything. With the dog in or out, dead or alive, it certainly wouldn’t have protected Libby Glass. And at least one piece of the puzzle now fit. It didn’t seem to mean much, but it did seem to establish the approximate date of entry to the house, if that’s how the killer had effected the switch. It felt like the first blank I’d really filled in. Small progress but it made me feel good. I drove back to the San Bernardino Freeway and headed for L.A.
16
When I got back to the Hacienda, I went into the office to check for telephone messages. Arlette had four, but three of them turned out to be from Charlie Scorsoni. She leaned an elbow on the counter, munching on something sticky and dark brown enclosed in cookie dough.
“What is that thing?”
“Trimline Diet Snack Bar,” she said. “Six calories each.” Some of the filling seemed to be stuck to her teeth like dental putty and she ran a finger along her gums, popping goo into her mouth again. “Look at this label. I bet there’s not one natural ingredient in this entire piece of food. Milk powder, hydrogenated fat, powdered egg, and a whole list of chemicals and additives. But you know what? I’ve noticed real food doesn’t taste as good as fake. Have you noticed that? It’s just a fact of life. Real food is bland, watered-down-tasting. You take a supermarket tomato. Now it’s pathetic what that tastes like,” she said and shuddered. I was trying to sort through my messages but she was making it hard.