C is for Corpse (23 page)

“I don't think he meant to make a ‘deal.' ”

“Well, I don't like to feel controlled.”

“Kitty, I think you've demonstrated the fact that you can't be controlled. We're all getting that message loud and clear. Bobby loved you.”

“Who asked him to? Sometimes I wasn't even nice to him. And I didn't exactly have his best interests at heart.”

“Meaning what?”

“Nothing. Skip it. I wish he hadn't left me anything is all. It makes me feel crummy.”

“I don't know what to tell you,” I said.

“Well, I never asked him for a thing.” Her tone was argumentative, but I couldn't understand what her position was.

“What's bothering you?”

“Nothing.”

“What's all the fretting about, then?”

“I'm not fretting! God. Why should I fret? He did it so he'd feel good, right? It had nothing to do with me.”

“It had
something
to do with you or he'd have left the money to someone else.”

She started gnawing on her thumbnail, temporarily abandoning the cigarette, which sat on the lip of the ashtray and sent up a tiny trail of smoke like an Indian signal on a distant mountaintop. Her mood was getting dark. I wasn't sure why she was so upset at the notion of two million dollars being dumped in her lap, but I didn't want to alienate her. I wanted information. I shifted the subject again. “What about the insurance your father took out on Bobby's life? Did he mention that?”

“Yeah. That's weird. He does stuff like that, and later, he can't understand why people get upset. He doesn't see anything wrong with it at all. To him, it just makes sense. Bobby'd cracked up his car once or twice so Daddy just figured if he died, somebody might as well benefit. I guess that's why Glen threw him out, huh?”

“I think that's a safe bet. She'd never tolerate his profiting from Bobby's death. My God, it was the worst possible move he could have made as far as she's
concerned. Besides which, it sets him up as a murder suspect.”

“My father wouldn't kill anyone!”

“That's what he says about you.”

“Well, it's true. I didn't have any reason to want Bobby dead. Neither of us did. I didn't even know about the money and I don't want it anyway.”

“Money might not be the motive,” I said. “It's an obvious place to start, but it doesn't necessarily go anywhere.”

“But you don't think Daddy did it, do you?”

“I haven't made up my mind about that yet. I'm still trying to figure out what Bobby was up to and I need to fill in some gaps. Something was going on back then and I can't get a line on it. What was his relationship to Sufi? You have any idea?”

Kitty picked up her cigarette, averting her gaze. She took a moment to tap the ash from the end, and then she took a last, deep drag and put it out. Her nails were bitten down so far the pads of the fingers seemed like little round balls.

She was debating something with herself. I kept my mouth shut and gave her some room. “She was a contact,” she said finally, her voice low. “Bobby was doing this investigation or something for somebody else.”

“Who?”

“I don't know.”

“It had to be the Frakers, right? I talked to Sufi last night, and the minute I left, she hightailed it over to their place. She was in there so long, I finally had to go home.”

Kitty's eyes came up to mine. “I don't know for sure what it was.”

“But how'd he get into it? What was it about?”

“All I know is he told me he was looking for something and he got the job out at the morgue so he could search at night.”

“Medical records? Something stored out there?”

Her face closed down again and she shrugged.

“But Kitty, when you realized someone was trying to kill him, didn't you figure it was connected to that?”

She was chewing on her thumbnail in earnest by now. I saw her eyes flick and I turned around. Dr. Kleinert was standing in the doorway, staring at her. When he realized I'd seen him, he looked over at me. His smile seemed forced and it was not full of merriment.

“Well. I didn't know you were entertaining this morning,” he said to her. Then briefly to me, “What brings you in so bright and early?”

“I just stopped by on my way to Glen's. I've been trying to persuade Kitty to eat,” I said.

“No need for that,” he said easily. “This young lady has an agreement with me.” He gave a practiced glance at his watch, adjusting the face of it on his wrist before it disappeared up his cuff again. “I hope you'll excuse us. I have other patients to see and my time is limited.”

“I'm on my way out,” I said. I glanced at Kitty. “I may give you a call in a little while. I'll see if Glen can stop in to visit you.”

“Great,” she said. “Thanks.”

I waved and moved out of the room, wondering how
long he'd been standing there and how much he'd heard. I was trying to remember what Carrie St. Cloud had said. She'd told me Bobby was involved in some kind of blackmail scheme, but not the usual kind with money changing hands. Something else. “Somebody had something on some friend of his and he was trying to help out,” was the way she'd put it as nearly as I could remember. If it was extortion, why didn't he go to the police? And why was it up to him to do anything?

I got back in my car and headed out to Glen's place.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was just after nine when I pulled into Glen's driveway. The courtyard was deserted. The fountain sent up a column of water fifteen feet high, cascading back on itself in a tumble of pale green and white. I could hear a power mower whining from one of the terraces in the rear and rainbirds were jetting a fine spray into the giant fern, dappled with sunlight, that bordered the gravel walks. The air seemed tropical, scented with jasmine.

I rang the bell and one of the maids admitted me. I asked for Glen and she murmured something in Spanish, raising her eyes to the second floor. I gathered that Glen was upstairs.

The door to Bobby's room was open and she was seated in one of his easy chairs, hands in her lap, her face impassive. When she caught sight of me, she smiled almost imperceptibly. She was looking drawn, dark lines etched under her eyes. Her makeup was subtle, but it only seemed to emphasize the pallor in her cheeks. She wore a knit dress in a shade of red too
harsh for her. “Hello, Kinsey. Come sit down,” she said.

I sat in the matching plaid chair. “How are you doing?”

“Not that well. I find myself spending much of the day up here. Just sitting. Waiting for Bobby.”

Her eyes strayed to mine. “I don't mean that literally, of course. I'm far too rational a person to believe the dead return. I keep thinking there's something more, that it can't be over yet. Do you know what I mean?”

“No. Not quite.”

She stared at the floor, apparently consulting her inner voices. “Part of it is a feeling of betrayal, I think. I was brave and I did everything I was supposed to. I was a trouper and now I want the payoff. But the only reward that interests me is having Bobby back. So I wait.” Her gaze moved around the room as if she were taking a series of photographs. Her manner seemed very flat to me, despite the emotional content of her speech. It was curious, like talking to a robot. She said human things, but mechanically. “You see that?”

I followed her eyes. Bobby's footprints were still visible on the white carpeting.

“I won't let them vacuum in here,” she said. “I know it's stupid. I don't want to turn into one of those dreadful women who erect a shrine for the dead, keeping everything just as it was. But I don't want him erased. I don't want him wiped out like that. I don't even want to go through his belongings.”

“There's no need to do anything yet, is there?”

“No. I guess not. I don't know what I'll do with the room anyway. I have dozens and they're all empty. It's not like I need to convert it into a sewing room or a studio.”

“Are you taking care of yourself otherwise?”

“Oh, yes. I know enough to do that. I feel like grief is an illness I can't recover from. What worries me is I notice there's a certain attraction to the process that's hard to give up. It's painful, but at least it allows me to feel close to him. Once in a while, I catch myself thinking of something else and then I feel guilty. It seems disloyal not to hurt, disloyal to forget even for a moment that he's gone.”

“Don't get mean with yourself and suffer more than you have to,” I said.

“I know. I'm trying to wean myself. Every day I mourn a little less. Like giving up cigarettes. In the meantime, I pretend to be a whole person, but I'm not. I wish I could think of something that would heal me. Ah, God, I shouldn't go on and on about it. It's like someone who's had a heart attack or major surgery. It's all I can talk about. So self-centered.”

Again, she paused and then she seemed to remember polite behavior. She looked at me. “What have you been doing?”

“I went over to St. Terry's this morning to see Kitty.”

“Oh?” Glen's expression was devoid of interest.

“Is there any chance you might stop by to see her?”

“Absolutely none. For one thing, I'm furious that
she's alive while Bobby's not. I hate it that he left her all that money. As far as I'm concerned, she's grasping, self-destructive, manipulative—” She broke off, closing her mouth. She was silent for a moment. “Sorry. I don't mean to be so vehement. I never liked her. Just because she's in trouble now doesn't change anything. She's done it to herself. She thought there'd always be someone who'd bail her out, but it won't be me. And Derek's not capable of it.”

“I heard he left.”

She stirred restlessly. “We had a terrible fight. I didn't think I'd ever get him out of here. I finally had to call one of the gardeners. I despise him. Truly. It makes me sick to think he was ever in my bed. I don't know which is worse . . . the fact that he took out that ghoulish policy on Bobby's life or the fact that he hadn't the faintest sense how despicable it was.”

“Can he collect?”

“He seems to think so, but I intend to fight him every step of the way. I've put the insurance company on notice and I've contacted a firm of lawyers in L.A. I want him out of my life. I don't really care what it costs, though the less of mine he gets the better. Fortunately, we signed premarital agreements, though he swears he'll challenge me on that if I thwart his insurance claim.”

“Jesus, you're really drawing up battle lines.”

She rubbed her forehead wearily. “God, it was horrible. I called Varden to see if I can get a restraining order out on him. It's lucky there wasn't a gun in the house or one of us would be dead.”

I was silent.

After a moment, she seemed to collect herself. “I don't mean to sound so crazy. Everything I say comes out so manic somehow. Anyway. Enough of that. I'm sure you didn't come here to listen to me rave. Would you like some coffee?”

“No thanks. I just wanted to touch base with you and bring you up to date. Most of this has to do with Bobby, so if you don't want to talk about it now, I can stop back another time.”

“No, no. That's fine. Maybe it will give me something new to think about. I do want you to find out who killed him. It may be the only form of relief I can look forward to. What have you come up with so far?”

“Not a lot. I'm putting it together piece by piece and I'm not really sure of my facts. For one thing, I may have people lying to me, but since I don't really know the truth, I can't be sure,” I said.

“I understand.”

I hesitated, oddly reluctant to pass on my conjecture. It felt intrusive to speculate about his past, in poor taste somehow to discuss the intimate details of his life with the woman who was trying so hard to cope with his death. “I think Bobby was having an affair.”

“That's not surprising. I think I mentioned that he was dating someone.”

“Not her. Nola.”

She stared at me as though waiting for the punch line. Finally, she said, “You can't be serious.”

“From what I've heard, Bobby was having an affair with someone and he fell in love. That's why he broke
up with Carrie St. Cloud in the first place. I have reason to believe it was Nola Fraker, though I haven't confirmed it yet.”

“I don't like that. I hope that's not true.”

“I don't know what to tell you. It seems to fit the facts.”

“I thought you said he was in love with Kitty.”

“Maybe not ‘in love.' I think he loved her a lot. That doesn't mean he acted on it. She claims there was nothing going on between them and I tend to believe her. If they'd had a sexual relationship, I'm sure you'd have been the first to know—for the shock value if nothing else. You know how she is. She's obviously immature and confused and he was certainly aware of your attitude toward her. Anyway, whatever he felt for her wouldn't have precluded an involvement with someone else.”

“But Nola's happily married. She and Jim have been here dozens of times. There was never even a hint of anything between her and Bobby.”

“I hear what you're saying, Glen, but that's the way the game is played. You're having a clandestine affair. You and your lover end up at the same social event and walk around chatting politely, ignoring each other . . . but not too pointedly because that would be conspicuous. Sly little hand touches by the punch bowl, secret glances across the room. It's a big hot joke and later you giggle about it in bed like a couple of kids because you put one over on the grown-ups.”

“But why Nola? The whole idea is ludicrous.”

“Not at all. She's a beautiful woman. Maybe they ran into each other and suddenly the spark was there. Or maybe they'd been eyeing each other for years. Actually, it must have started last summer because I don't think his relationship to her could have overlapped his to Carrie by much. He didn't strike me as the type who'd have two affairs running at the same time.”