The Bookwoman's Last Fling (5 page)

“Nobody. There's been no one living here except Mr. Geiger and me for a long time.”

“How long?”

“Since Sharon moved to her own place, seven, eight years ago.”

“So before that, anybody who had easy access to the house could have gone in there.”

He nodded, just barely, and I said, “Who might such a list include?”

“Mr. Geiger's three sons.”

“What are their names?”

“Cameron, Damon, and Baxter.”

I already knew that but now I wrote it all down and raised my eyes in a
go on
motion. “His daughter Sharon,” he said reluctantly.

“That's still a small list.”

“There were some servants, a cook, some house people, and stable hands. They never lived here, though, and they're gone now too.”

“Gone where?”

“Mr. Geiger had me let them go after we realized we might have a problem.”

“After you discovered there were books missing.”

“Yes.”

“No particular reason to suspect them?”

“No. When something like this happens, you hate to look at the people close to you.”

“Have you kept tabs on those servants?”

“Sharon hired them.”

He looked annoyed as I wrote a long entry in the notebook. “Let's not go there,” he said.

“Why not? Is Sharon suddenly off limits?”

“If that's how you want to put it.”

“How long did the servants work here before Sharon hired them?”

“You don't hear so well, do you?” he said, and now what had begun on a testy note and seemed to be improving was testy again.

“This really is a simple question, Mr. Willis.”

“Suppose I decline to answer it…or any other questions along that line?”

“Is that what you're doing?”

This time the silent stalemate extended across one minute and into the next.

“I think I should tell you,” I said: “I'm not inclined to take this on, as things stand.”

He sneered at me. “Yeah, right. You're not about to walk out on this.”

“Try me.”

Another minute passed. “I can't work for somebody who wants to dictate how I must do it,” I said. “If you know so much about investigation work, do it yourself.”

He flushed a bright red and finally said, “All right, what was the question?”

“How long did the house people and stable hands work here before they were fired and Sharon hired them?”

“The older ones, years. I hated to let them go, but…”

“Who else might've gotten in there?”

“Some people, just visitors. Some friends of Sharon's, friends of the three sons as well. But that's been long ago, and they were only here for short periods of time. You don't frisk people going in and out of your house.”

“Maybe you should have. Who else? Any wives of the brothers?”

“Damon married young, they split almost before the ink was dry. I never met her.”

“What about Sharon? She got a husband?”

He shook his head and I studied his face deadpan.

“Of course there's me,” he said. “If you want to go that route.”

My pen was still, poised on the notebook. “Did Geiger ever give you any reason to believe he suspected you?”

“Would I have the keys to those rooms if he did?”

I had a clever-as-hell answer for that but the moment was awkward enough. Instead I settled for a straight question. “Since you brought it up, what is your standing here?”

I couldn't tell for a moment whether the question had offended him. He said, “I am the man who has paid you to do a job. The executor says I'm to continue running things the way I've always been doing.”

“Until the estate is out of probate.”

He nodded.

“So as things now stand we've got two angry blood relatives and one more who might show up at any time.”

“Afraid you're gonna get arrested?”

“It wouldn't be the strangest thing that's ever happened. I just believe in playing it straight, Mr. Willis, doing things according to Hoyle. If I can.”

“You can ask the executor.”

“And meanwhile, if Damon or one of the others shows up and demands to get in here…?”

“Leave that to me.”

Another awkward moment passed.

“What's wrong now?” he said. “Do you think I took the books?”

“Mr. Willis, I have no idea yet what I think. I barely know you and I haven't seen the others at all. Right now I'm just asking some questions.”

I made a few notes and returned to my premise. “Whoever did this didn't do it in a weekend. Those books were carefully removed over time, maybe for years, which points to Geiger's children, maybe the servants…”

“And me.”

I made a note. “And maybe the friends of the children. Do you have their names?”

“Not handy. Maybe I could come up with 'em. They were horse people. No reason for them to care about books.”

“I can think of a million reasons, and none of them have anything to do with a love of literature. You could buy a pretty nice racehorse for what one of these books might bring.”

I waited through another silence; then I said, “Would you please get the names?”

“If I can find 'em. If not, you're on your own. I don't know, I haven't seen or heard of them in years.”

“Off the top of your head, who do you remember?”

“Sandy Standish. Another horse trainer. Years ago he worked for Mr. Geiger. And there was a fellow the brothers knew…what the hell was his name?”

“Don't try so hard, maybe it'll come to you. What about Standish?”

“You don't follow racing much, do you? He wins a lot of races; won a big stakes race at Golden Gate last year with a 40–1 shot.”

I wrote down the name
Sandy Standish
in the notebook. “Anybody else?”

“There were some others who hung around. I haven't thought of them in years. Sharon might remember their names.”

“Okay then, back to Geiger's sons. Where do they live now?”

“They spend most of their time in California. They are middle-aged and in charge of their own lives.”

“What do they do?”

“They are all horsemen.”

“Like father, like sons.”

“Hardly.”

I waited him out. At last he said, “What's eating you now?”

“That disapproval in your voice. It's pretty hard to miss.”

“Mr. Geiger was an extraordinary horseman. Not many people, even blood relatives, could come up to his level of excellence.”

“What do you think of the sons as people?”

He shrugged: The disapproval was still heavy in the room with us. Again he went into that sullen, moody silence, almost like a murder suspect in the box downtown. If I wanted to get anything I'd have to pry it out of him piece by piece, which might be difficult since he was paying my freight.

“Mr. Willis…”

“It doesn't matter what I think,” he said shortly. Mr. Geiger had no relationship with any of them. “That shouldn't be so difficult to understand. He hadn't seen them in years.”

“So was there some reason for that, or did he just wake up one morning and decide he didn't like his children?”

“Don't you dare make light of this, Janeway…”

“Did Mr. Geiger have a falling-out with his sons?”

“Oh Christ, it was one thing after another. After Mrs. Geiger's death, they became impossible. Cameron in particular turned out…wrong. He has a twisted soul.”

“And he's a horse trainer?”

He nodded. Then, so softly I barely heard him, he said, “God help any horse that falls into his hands.”

“Aren't there rules against abusing horses?”

“You know what they say about rules.”

I scribbled some notes. “Where's he at now?”

“He's here in town, living in some cheap flophouse. He comes back here every year or two, always broke, hoping to get his dad to give him some money so he can go racing, probably at some small track till he goes broke again. He's a bush-leaguer.”

“Did he ask for money this time?”

“He never got that far. I wasn't about to let him get to Mr. Geiger.”

“Did you ever tell Mr. Geiger he was here?”

“Mr. Geiger was sick. And he had made it abundantly clear how he felt about Cameron.”

“So the answer to that question is no.”

“I took care of Mr. Geiger's affairs. Especially the unpleasant ones.”

“The answer then is no.”

He looked to be on the verge of a major explosion. “Goddammit, Janeway, I don't like your tone much. And I don't like the implication at all.”

“There is no implication, and if I had a tone I apologize. I'm just trying to get a few simple questions answered and so far you aren't helping me much.”

“If you think asking offensive questions is part of your job, maybe we should forget about the whole thing and find someone else. Is that what you want?”

I fought back the urge to tell him what I really wanted.
Assume the position, Mr. Willis. Roll this job into a big wad and see how it fits where the sun absolutely does not shine.
I thought but did not say these things. My restraint was little short of heroic, but then he found the words to send our relationship to a new low. “You need to understand something, pal. You are an employee here, you don't have any standing or authority at all, you're a work-for-hire hand, a temporary grunt, and we will get along much better if you remember that.”

I sighed. “
Oh,
boy.”

“Oh, boy what? Oh, boy what? What does that mean?”

We stared at each other for at least twenty seconds. “Oh, boy
what
?” he said, much louder now. I shook my head and said, “It means oh, boy, it is
such
a thrill to work for a lovable fellow like yourself. Oh, boy, this is so much fun I think I'll have to give you your money back and do it for you free. It means oh,
boy,
Junior, what charm school did you graduate from? Oh, boy is a superlative, meaning wow, terrific, unless it's used sarcastically; then it means your slip is showing, Junior, I've caught you being an asshole again. Can we figure it out from there?”

His hands trembled and I waited while he got control of himself. Softly I said, “This really doesn't look like it's gonna work out, does it?”

“Easy for you to say, you've already been paid. What the hell are the ethics in that?”

But then he began to back out of his rage; I could actually see it leaving him, like the steam rising off one of the horses on a chilly fall morning. The moment passed; he shook his head at the floor and said, “Never mind me. I don't mean what I say.”

“Then why do you say it?”

“I'm just pissed over losing those books. Go on, ask your questions.”

“So the missing books were first noticed when? A couple of years ago?”

“Yeah,” he said sullenly.

“Who first noticed it?”

“I don't remember.”

“I'm sorry, you don't
remember
?”

“Goddammit, that's what I said.”

“Why'd it take you this long to start an inquiry?”

“Mr. Geiger's decision.”

We looked at each other.

“Mr. Geiger had his own way of doing things. Me, I might have done it differently.”

“Okay then, back to the brothers,” I said. “Cameron's a jerk. What about the other two?”

“Damon races at Santa Anita and Hollywood Park.”

“Until he showed up here, you mean.”

“Yeah, that's what I meant.”

“Hollywood Park, Santa Anita…those are pretty classy racetracks.”

“He trains for other people. Some of his clients have money, but that doesn't mean he knows anything.”

“Sounds like you two don't get along.”

“It's a dicey arrangement. That's what we have.”

“I couldn't help overhearing you talking out on the porch and in the other room. Sounded really dicey, what I heard of it.”

“The man drives me crazy. But for now we've got to work together.”