by Sue Grafton
“You’re talking about April’s marriage,” Taryn said. “I saw the notice myself and remember thinking her life must be turning out okay after all.”
“Given her mother’s suicide?”
“Yes.”
“What do you know about Shirley Ann Kastle? I’m assuming she’s connected to Ned in some way. As nearly as I remember, she wasn’t named as a party to the lawsuit.”
“She wasn’t. Shirley Ann was peripheral.”
“Meaning what in this context?”
“Meaning I don’t want to go into it quite yet. I’m not saying I won’t, but I have concerns to satisfy first. How much do you know about the lawsuit?”
“Ned’s attorney hired Byrd-Shine while I was there. You sued for intentional infliction of emotional distress, and they were asked to do a deep background check.”
“On me, yes. I’m painfully aware.”
“I thought you dropped the suit.”
“We reached a settlement.”
“Really. According to the talk around Byrd-Shine, you had him nailed. They were sweating bullets. Why did you back off?”
“Because I panicked. When Ned’s attorney—I notice I’m blanking on the name . . .”
“Arnold Ruffner.”
“Of course. How could I forget? When Ruffner took my deposition, he tore me apart. He had information that would have been devastating if we’d gone to trial.”
“Like what?”
She closed her mouth and shook her head once before she went on. “Sorry to do this to you, but I’ve said enough for now. That was a difficult time, and I really don’t want to go into it.”
“When I mentioned Lenore’s name and then Shirley Ann’s, you jumped right to Ned. Why was that?”
“He grew up in Burning Oaks.”
“He was born there?”
“Don’t think so. I know that’s where he went to high school. Phyllis Joplin was his second wife.”
“Well, that’s a help. I take it you weren’t the one who gave Pete the list?”
“He must have put that together on his own.”
“Do you know why?”
“I can make a reasonable guess, but I’d prefer not to spell it out. I hope you won’t push.”
“Of course not. I appreciate what you’ve told me so far, and I want you to feel okay about sharing more. I hate the word ‘sharing,’ by the way.”
“Oh, me too,” she said, and we both smiled. She shifted positions slightly. “Is there a connection between the list and the mailer you mentioned?”
“Don’t know yet. Intuition says yes, but that remains to be seen. Meanwhile, it strikes me the two of us do much the same job. We study people’s lives, determine what went wrong, and try to make it right. That lawsuit was ten years ago. What harm could it do if you talked about it now?”
“That whole subject still makes me squirm because I blew it. It’s embarrassing to admit this, but I made every mistake imaginable. Starting with my attorney.”
“What was wrong with him?”
“He was kind.”
“Oh, boy.”
“Really,” she said. “I was an emotional mess, and he seemed so sympathetic. The minute things got rough, he gave up.”
“So how much was the settlement?”
“I signed a confidentiality agreement, which I’d be violating if I revealed the terms. It was an ugly business. I’ve had to put it behind me and move on with life. I will say the settlement allowed me to finish my degree with enough left over to set up the office I’m in.”
“Doesn’t sound like such a bad deal.”
“It wasn’t. More importantly, I made my peace with it. End of story. Until Pete showed up.”
“To do what?”
She thought about that briefly. “Look, I’m not unwilling to help, but I have to protect myself. If you’ll give me your phone number, I’ll get back to you when I’ve decided what to do.”
“Works for me,” I said. I pulled out a business card and handed it to her. “I hope you’ll see your way clear.”
14
I left my car parked on the street and crossed to Sneaky Pete’s. The meeting with Taryn Sizemore had been promising, but she’d have to decide how far she could trust me before we could continue our conversation. I didn’t object to her wrestling with her conscience as long as she ponied up in the end. In the meantime, I wasn’t going to pass up the consolation of a hot, gooey spiced salami sandwich.
The place was sparsely populated, a mere sprinkling of patrons. The jukebox was dark and the television set turned off. I’d hoped to run into Con Dolan, but there was no sign of him. The bartender was reading the paper, which he’d laid flat on the bar in front of him. I ordered a sandwich and a Diet Pepsi. He conveyed the food order to the kitchen and then popped the top on the Pepsi can and passed it across the bar to me along with a glass of ice. I carried both to a two-top near the front window. I took out a pen and my index cards and took notes on everything I could remember from the conversation with Ms. Sizemore. I took out the sheet of graph paper on which Pete had meticulously encoded the list of names. I put Henry’s breakdown beside the original and studied the number-to-letter translation. Taryn had identified two names on the list: Lenore Redfern, Ned’s first wife, and Phyllis Joplin, his second. She was apparently acquainted with the name Shirley Ann Kastle, though she hadn’t trusted me sufficiently to fill me in. When the sandwich arrived, I set my pen aside and ate with full attention to the gustatory joys at hand.
• • •
I was home by 7:15. Henry’s kitchen was dark, and I assumed he was up at Rosie’s. I let myself in and checked for messages, but there was no winking red light. Ruthie’s appointment with the IRS had been scheduled for 1:00, and I was hoping she’d call to fill me in. I’d done what I could to help, and while she wasn’t obligated to report, it would have been nice. On impulse, I leaned across the desk, picked up the handset, and punched in her number. She picked up after three rings.
“Hey, Ruthie. It’s Kinsey. How’d it go today?”
“How did what go?”
“Your appointment. I left a message earlier.”
“I didn’t have any messages.”
“Are you sure your machine’s not on the blink? I called to ask how it went with the IRS.”
“Oh. He never showed.”
“You can’t be serious! After the horseshit he put you through?”
Abruptly, Ruthie said, “Is there a chance you could get over here? Something’s come up.”
“I can do that. Are you okay? You sound odd.”
“Someone’s been in my house. The police just left, and I don’t want to be here by myself.”
“Shit. Why didn’t you say so? Absolutely. I’ll be right there.”
• • •
I didn’t break any speed laws, but I’ll admit I slid through two stop signs and a yellow light that turned red while I was still under it. Ruthie’s house was only ten blocks away, so it didn’t take me long to get there. When I pulled up in front, there were so many lights on, the place looked like it was on fire. In rooms downstairs and up, every lamp and overhead fixture was ablaze. I could see Ruthie standing at the front window, peering from behind the sheers. When she spotted my car, she disappeared from sight. I didn’t even have to knock because the door opened before I reached it. She grabbed my hand and pulled me inside as though I might be pursued by demons. Her face was pale and her hands were icy.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing, but I’m freaked out.” She twisted the key in the dead bolt on the front door and moved through the hall to the kitchen. I followed, looking over my shoulder in the same furtive manner she displayed.
She pointed to a seat at the kitchen table where she’d set an open bottle of wine and two glasses, one h
alf full and a second one empty. I settled in the chair while she poured wine for me as though I’d need to fortify myself. She pushed the glass in my direction, picked hers up and drained it.
“What happened?”
She sat down and then she got up again and began to pace. “When I got home from work, the back door was standing open. I will swear to you someone was in here. Not right then, but earlier. I turned around and went straight next door and called the police. Two officers showed up six minutes later.”
“Sounds like they took you seriously.”
“They did. Very much so. They were great. The older one—I think his name was Carew—could tell I was scared to death. I told him it was possible I didn’t close the door all the way when I left for work, but I know I did. I always push until I hear the latch catch, and then I try the knob to make sure it’s locked. Anyway, the other one—a gal named Herkowitz—did a complete walk-through, checked all the doors and windows, looked in closets, looked under the beds, checked for tool marks. There was nothing. House was empty, and as far as I can tell nothing’s missing.”
“Well, that’s good news. You think it was kids?”
“Doing what? I don’t keep cash or drugs on the premises.”
“Addicts will break in anywhere. If neighbors know you’re a nurse, someone might assume you keep narcotics on hand.”
“Doubtful. The medicine cabinets in both bathrooms were untouched. No drawers pulled out and dumped. No evidence that anyone tore through in search of valuables. My camera, TV set, and jewelry are all accounted for. Not that I have much.”
“Maybe someone was trying doors at random and found yours unlocked.”
“The police said the same thing. I can’t rule it out, but it doesn’t feel right. They wrote up an incident report and suggested I get someone in to change the locks. I called a locksmith with a twenty-four-hour emergency service, but I haven’t heard back.”
“Who else has a house key?”
“My next-door neighbor’s the only one with a spare. I have one for his house as well for occasions when one or the other of us is out of town,” she said. “Is it possible someone picked the lock?”
“Of course it’s possible, though picking locks requires more skill and practice than you’d think. You’d still have to wonder why anyone would bother.”
She finished her wine and then refilled her glass. Her hands were shaking so badly, she had to use both to steady the bottle while she poured. She carried the glass with her while she crossed the room and then came back to the table.
I took a few sips of my own wine, hoping to quell the anxiety I was feeling in response to hers. “Why don’t you give me the details?”
“Forget it. I’ll just get all riled up again.”
“Come on. You’ll feel better. It’ll be cathartic. What time did you get home?”
“I don’t know. Six thirty or so. I worked noon to six, covering for another private-duty nurse who had to be somewhere. I put the car in the garage and came in the back way like always. It wasn’t ’til I was halfway up the back porch stairs that I realized the door was standing open. And I’m not talking ‘ajar’ open. This was wide open. If my neighbor hadn’t been home, I don’t know what I would have done. I would not have stepped that first foot inside for any reason. Not on your life. The whole place was cold. Still is. I don’t know how long the house was open. A long time.”
I said, “Sit down. You’re fine. Take a deep breath. You’re doing great.”
She sank into a chair and I covered her hands with mine.
“Look,” I said, “we’ll have the locksmith come in, and once he’s done, you can spend the night at my place. If you stay here, you won’t sleep a wink.”
“I won’t sleep anyway. I feel like I’m hopped up on something . . .”
“Adrenaline.”
“Worse. Feels like my veins are full of Freon.” She put her hands between her knees and then leaned forward and put her arms around her waist, hugging herself.
“Are you feeling faint?”
She pressed two fingers to her lips and shook her head. “Might throw up. I shouldn’t guzzle wine on an empty stomach.”
“You have any cheese and crackers? You should eat.”
“Great idea.”
She got up and opened the refrigerator, rummaged in the meat drawer, and then seemed to lose track of what she was looking for. I moved over to the kitchen counter and opened one cabinet after another until I unearthed a box of Ritz crackers that I placed on the table.
I took her place at the refrigerator and found a block of cheddar while she took a cue from my action and pulled a slicer out of the utensil drawer. I took the slicer and began carving off chunks, which I mounted on crackers and passed to her in rapid succession. I couldn’t help but make one for myself while I was at it. I was still chewing, holding a hand in front of my mouth lest I spray her with crumbs, as I said, “At Rosie’s the other night, you mentioned the house giving you the creeps.”
“I know. I remember.”
She took over the cheese-and-cracker duties and fed herself two more, which seemed to calm her to some extent. “Something else. I had another friend complain about my not returning calls, and it bothered me. When you said you left that first message, I shrugged it off, thinking you dialed wrong or there’d been a power outage, something like that. But then I couldn’t figure out how your message and hers could just evaporate. So then I held down the Play button and brought up old messages. I had sixteen, which I played and deleted as fast as I could because most I’d heard but neglected to erase. Then yours popped up, and two from her were on there as well. I had to ask myself what the hell was going on, and the only answer I could think of was someone was in here and listened to them first. Once you play a message, the message light no longer blinks.”
“Which means you’d have no idea the message was ever there.”
“That’s what I concluded.”
“You think someone was in here before the incident today?”
“I do. On more than one occasion.” She dropped her gaze and shook her head. “Once it occurred to me, I realized I’ve had the same feeling for the past couple of weeks. Like something was off.”
“Give me an example.”
“Little things. Nothing obvious. I’d put mail on the counter and come back later to find it not quite where it was. I’d see books leaning at odd angles in the bookcase, which is a bugaboo of mine. Or a light would be on when I distinctly remembered turning it off. I do that automatically because it’s what my mother taught me. Leave a room, turn the light off. I kept dismissing and discounting my perceptions.”
“This is bringing up the hair on the back of my neck.”
“Well, it’s scaring the shit out of me, too.”
Suddenly, the phone rang and we both jumped.
Ruthie crossed to the counter, and when she picked up, it was quickly apparent she was talking to the locksmith who’d returned her call. I disconnected my attention while she went through the exercise of explaining what had happened and what she needed done. He was available, and the two agreed to his arrival within the hour. Once she hung up, she sat down again, and I could tell she was feeling better now that help was on the way.
“Why would someone do that?” I asked.
“What, move things around? To spook me, I guess. It wasn’t with an eye to ripping me off. There was ample opportunity for that. This was something else. ‘Sly’ is the only way I can describe it.”
“Had to be a guy. I can’t picture a woman pulling the same stunt.”
“A woman would certainly be capable, but I agree. You know what’s weird? Anybody who could slip in like that could slip out again without leaving a trace. This was deliberate. It wasn’t until today I felt the reality sink in. Even then, if you’d told me it was my imagination, I’d have taken your
word for it.”
“No alarm system?”
“Well, no. When Pete was alive, we didn’t need one. After he died, I could’ve had one installed, but I’m not used to thinking that way. The neighborhood is quiet and it’s always felt safe. It’s not like we have vandals or burglars. I’ve checked all the windows and doors, and there’s nothing out of line. Locks, window latches, everything’s closed up tight, so how’s this fellow getting in?”
“We’ll come over in the morning and do a proper search. I’d rather tackle it by day so we can see what we’re doing.”
“I’m not making this up, am I? Really, this is making me feel crazy.”
“Don’t worry about being crazy. I just met a good shrink and I can probably get you a discount.”
It took her three seconds to realize I was joking, and even then I knew the attempt at humor was lame.
The locksmith arrived and rekeyed the front and back doors, along with a little-used side door. While Ruthie threw a change of clothes and toiletries in an overnight bag, I gave Henry a call to tell him Ruthie would be spending the night and asking if she could leave her car in his driveway. I knew I’d manage to find parking, but I didn’t want her driving around in the dark in an unfamiliar neighborhood. Of course Henry agreed. I didn’t stop to explain what was going on, and he didn’t press. There’d be plenty of time for that when I knew what we were dealing with.
When the locksmith was finished, she wrote him a check and then walked him to the front door. After that, the two of us made the rounds, assuring ourselves that the windows and doors were secure. I followed Ruthie upstairs and walked with her from room to room, watching as she turned out the lights one by one. I was dimly aware that something was bothering me, but the immediacy of the moment required my undivided attention. The notion was like someone knocking at a distant door. Twice, I paused and turned my head as though I might identify the source.
I walked with her to the garage at the rear of the property and waited while she backed her car into the alleyway. I closed the garage door after her and circled the house to the front, where my Honda was parked. Meanwhile, she’d driven along the alley and pulled around to the front, where she eased her car in behind mine. We proceeded in a slow two-car motorcade. I kept an eye on her in my rearview mirror, noting how anxiously she scanned the darkened streets. At Henry’s, I left my car with the engine running while she parked in his drive. I let her into the studio and then went back out to scout for a parking place of my own.
