W Is for Wasted

by Sue Grafton

  “I’m not telling you where they are. Why should I help you? You’re the red-hot detective. You figure it out.”

  “My business card is in the envelope . . .”

  “Lady, would you quit going on and on about this? I mean, give me a break. This is insulting enough as it is.”

  “I appreciate your time,” I murmured as I got up.

  Binky was already grabbing for the manila envelope, which she tried to stuff into her mouth without much success. She looked down at it, as though sizing it up for another approach.

  He snatched it away from her and sailed it in my direction. “Take the damn thing.” This time, the baby’s face crumpled and she howled.

  I left the envelope on the floor where it landed. “I’m at the Thrifty Lodge if you need to reach me.”

  “I don’t. Just get the hell out of here and watch the dogs don’t escape.”

  16

  I stood on the porch, waiting for the flop sweat to cool before I headed down the steps. I had to congratulate myself on my efficiency. Here it was only 3:10 and I’d already had my ass handed to me on a plate. Ordinarily, I’d have sat in the car out front, taking notes while the conversation was still fresh in my mind. Instead, I fired up the Mustang and drove half a block, waiting until I’d turned the corner before I pulled over to the curb. I took a deep breath and exhaled. That had most certainly not gone well. I reran the conversation, considering alternative responses, but I couldn’t come up with any that might have served me better than the ones I’d voiced at the time. I’d hoped to persuade Ethan to give me Anna’s contact information, but that was out of the question now. I recited a string of cuss words, calling up some of the really nasty four-letter jobs that trip so refreshingly off the tongue. Didn’t seem to help.

  I couldn’t think what else to do with myself, so I went back to my motel. This was my second mistake in as many moves. The Thrifty Lodge, while thrifty, was a sorry piece of work. When I pulled in, mine was the only car in the lot. Maybe word had gone out on the motel underground that something was afoot. Why wasn’t anyone else staying there, unless they knew something I didn’t? I unlocked the door and stepped into my room. I’d neglected to leave a light on for myself, and even at this hour of the day the room was shadowy. Some of the gloom I attributed to the fact that the drapes were closed, blocking what was otherwise an outstanding view of the parking lot. I crossed to the big window and pulled the drapery cord dangling to the right. I gave a mighty tug, but the drapes refused to budge.

  I went into the bathroom, flipped on the light, and stared at myself in the mirror. Why did I feel so guilty? Why was I chiding myself when there wasn’t a good way to deliver the news I’d been called upon to “share”? I’d known I was doomed to failure before I made the drive to Bakersfield. Ethan couldn’t admit he was in any way responsible for the pain and distress he’d caused his father, and he wasn’t prepared to own up to the part he’d played in the changing of the will. I understood his rage. After years of humiliation, he’d suffered this final insult. During that last visit, his father had talked about the money, and while Ethan probably told himself he didn’t care, the idea must have lingered at the back of his mind in the same way it had in mine. You can’t anticipate a windfall like that without fantasizing what you’d do with it and what a difference it would make. Even with the money divided three ways, he was still looking at something close to two hundred thousand bucks. I could understand that, but I was puzzled by the cynicism he’d expressed about his father’s release from prison. Apparently, regardless of the reality, he still believed his father was implicated in the girl’s abduction and murder.

  Whatever the underlying attitude, I was going to suffer a repeat of the same scene two more times, with Ellen and again with Anna. I assumed Ethan would slap them with the bad news the first chance he got, but I couldn’t be sure of it. I had the option of notifying both by mail, but I still harbored the notion that I could soften the blow if I talked to them in person. Not that I’d done such a sterling job to date. Still, I figured as long as I’d traveled 150 miles, I might as well try. With luck, I wouldn’t see the three of them again in my lifetime.

  I left the bathroom and rounded up my shoulder bag, which I’d tossed on the bed. I checked the outside pockets and found Big Rat’s business card. I picked up the handset and dialed. Three rings . . . four. His machine kicked in.

  “This is Big Rat. You know what to do.”

  I waited for the beep and said, “Hi, Mr. Rizzo. This is Kinsey Millhone. We spoke earlier. I did manage to find Ethan at his wife’s house and we talked a short time ago. Could you give me the name of the salon where Anna works? I think I better touch base with her as well. My number is . . .”

  I looked down at the phone. Usually there’s a circle in the dialing wheel, with the phone number of the motel, as well as the extension, which is a variation on the room number. I said, “Hang on a second . . .”

  I scanned the room. The furnishings included a desk and a chest of drawers on the far side of the room, but both were bare. I opened the bed table drawer. There was a phone book, but it seemed absurd to take the time to look up the Thrifty Lodge in the yellow pages. No packet of Thrifty Lodge matches, no scratch pad, no promotional pen sporting the pertinent address and phone number. What was I thinking? There was no way the Thrifty Lodge management would pay for advertising gimmicks. Housekeeping hadn’t even bothered to put a wrapper around the plastic bathroom “glass” in a nod to sanitation.

  “Skip the number. I’m at the Thrifty Lodge. I guess you’ll have to look it up. I’d appreciate a call.”

  I hung up. Now what?

  I thought I’d better hang around for a while in hopes that he’d call back. I opened my duffel and retrieved the Dick Francis novel I was reading. I stretched out on the bed and found my place. I reached over and turned on the bed table lamp, which had been equipped with a forty-watt bulb. I could barely see the page. I leaned sideways, holding the paperback elevated at an angle. This was ridiculous. If I couldn’t see to read now, what was I going to do at bedtime, which was my favorite time to curl up with a book?

  I turned off the light, licked my fingertips, and unscrewed the bulb. I slid my room key into my pocket and locked the door behind me with the lightbulb in hand. When I reached the office, the midtwenties desk clerk was on the phone. He wore jeans, a white polyester dress shirt, suspenders, and a bow tie. When he spotted me, he held up a finger, indicating he’d be with me as soon as he was done. From his half of the conversation, I was guessing the matter was personal, so I leaned my elbows on the counter and listened to every word. In fewer than twenty seconds, he’d managed to terminate the call.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said as he turned to me.

  I held up the bulb. “Is there any way I can exchange this for a hundred-watt?”

  “Let me check.”

  He disappeared into the back office and emerged moments later with a replacement. “This is a sixty. It’s the best I can do. Management calculated we could save twenty-five dollars a year using forties.”

  “Oh wow. Good news.”

  I returned to my room and as I let myself in, I caught sight of the phone on the bedside table. The incoming-message light blinked its merry dot of red. I figured it was Big Rat with the information I needed, so I settled on the edge of the bed and made sure I had a pen and a fresh index card at the ready before I picked up the handset and pressed 0. A really nice automated lady told me that I had one message. “First message,” said she.

  It was Henry, sounding distressed. “Kinsey, it’s Henry. I’ve been trying to reach you, but I haven’t wanted to leave a message because I don’t want to worry you unnecessarily. I have bad news about your friend Felix. He’s in the hospital in critical condition. If you’ll give me a call, I’ll tell you as much as I know.”

  The call must have come in during the few minutes I was gone.

  I punched in the Santa Teresa area code and Henry’s number. The l
ine was busy. I waited a minute and dialed again. Still busy. I schooled myself to be patient, giving him sufficient time to complete the call he was on. The third time I tried, the number rang twice and he picked up.

  “Henry, it’s me, Kinsey. What’s going on?”

  “Well, I’m so glad to hear your voice. I’m sorry for the scare, but I thought I should let you know as soon as I could. Dandy showed up at noon. He was looking for you, of course, but I told him you were out of town. He said Pearl left a message for him at the shelter. She was calling from St. Terry’s emergency room. Felix had been picked up by ambulance and he was already on his way to surgery by the time Dandy got back to her.”

  “What happened?”

  “He was jumped by a bunch of thugs and beaten half to death.”

  I closed my eyes, picturing the Boggarts laying into Felix with fists and kicks. “How badly is he hurt?”

  I reached over and turned on the lamp, forgetting the bulb was lying on the bed beside me.

  “His skull was fractured and they broke both his legs. Damage to his kidneys and spleen, probably brain damage as well. This happened outside the bicycle-rental place on lower State Street. Luckily, the owner put a stop to it, but not fast enough.”

  “That sounds bad.” This had to be retaliation for Felix and Pearl’s tearing apart the Boggarts’ camp. Still, it seemed harsh. I angled the sixty-watt bulb into the socket and turned it gingerly so the threads would catch. Light bloomed.

  Henry went on. “Dandy was on his way to the hospital, so I offered him a ride. Harbor House had given him a bus pass, but it seemed absurd for him to try getting there by public transportation.”

  “Where’s Pearl?”

  “She’s still at the hospital as far as I know. She keeps saying this is all her fault. That’s about as much as anyone can get out of her. She’s close to collapse.”

  “He’s going to be okay, though, isn’t he?”

  “The doctors won’t say. It’s one of those wait-and-see situations. At least for the next few hours.”

  “This is awful. I feel sick.” I flashed on a quick succession of images. Most of them involving Pearl. Felix did whatever she did, but he wasn’t the instigator. I’d known better myself, even at the time, and I hadn’t raised enough of a fuss to head her off. It was a dumb idea and I’d gone along with it, which made me as guilty as she was. Why so savage a response to what amounted to a load of mischief? “Did someone call the police?”

  “Pearl intends to file charges, but so far she’s been sticking close to Felix’s side. She says she knows who they are.”

  “Did she actually see the attack?”

  “No, but she swears it’s those bums who live at a hobo camp near the bird refuge.”

  “She can’t swear to something she didn’t witness firsthand.”

  “You’d have to talk to her about that. Meanwhile, they have Felix in a medically induced coma, hoping the swelling in his brain will subside. That’s the crux of it for now.”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “They don’t allow visitors in ICU. I was able to peer in briefly, but there wasn’t much to see. Pearl’s claiming he’s her brother, so she’s been with him since he came out of the recovery room. Dandy and I hung out for a while and then I came home. Between calls, I left that message for you but didn’t expect to hear back so soon.”

  “I had to make a run to the office and I saw the light blinking as soon as I walked in. Can I do anything from here?”

  “No, no. Everything’s under control, but it’s been crazy as you might imagine. What about you? How’s it going so far?”

  “Not good. I talked to Ethan and told him about the will. He was upset, which came as no big surprise. I’ll give you a full report as soon as I get home.”

  “Which is when?”

  “I’d hoped to talk to his sister, but now I think I’d be better off hitting the road. I can do more good there than I can stuck here.”

  “I don’t like the idea of your heading into rush-hour traffic.”

  “I should be fine as soon as I clear town. I don’t anticipate much congestion on the 5.”

  “Well, don’t do anything foolish. It sounds like you’ve already had a long, hard day.”

  “All the more reason to get home,” I said. “The motel I’m in is such a dump, I’ve had to repent all my miserly ways. I want my own bed. I want to be there lending moral support. Did Rosie get home?”

  “Not yet. Her plane gets in at five o’clock. The same United flight William was on. I’ll pick her up while he’s having his last PT appointment of the week. Once I drop her off, I’ll head back to St. Terry’s. You want me to turn on the porch lights for you?”

  “Please.”

  “Will do, and if there’s anything new, I’ll leave a note on your door.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you in a few.”

  “You drive carefully.”

  “I will.”

  I hung up, grabbed the duffel, and toted it into the bathroom. I tossed in the shampoo bottle, the conditioner, and my deodorant. I paused to brush my teeth and then packed my toothbrush and toothpaste. I set aside thoughts of Felix, knowing I’d have plenty of time to process that development once I was on the road.

  I flipped off the light and then picked up my jacket and shoulder bag. I reached the door and took a last look around, making sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. Checking out wouldn’t take long, especially since I didn’t intend to argue about a refund. I thought about returning the sixty-watt bulb to the office but decided it would be my gift to the next guest.

  The telephone rang.

  With one hand on the doorknob, I stared at the instrument. Probably Big Rat. I’d just spoken with Henry and Big Rat was the only other person who knew I was here . . . except for Ethan, of course, and I couldn’t believe he’d call. Might be the desk clerk calling to say he’d found me a hundred-watt bulb, but that was hardly late-breaking news. What difference would it make? By bedtime, I’d be gone.

  Two rings.

  Why answer the phone? If I’d been a little quicker through the door, I’d have been gone anyway. I was a heartbeat away from hearing the Mustang grumble to life. I knew how the road would feel under my wheels. If I’d been a dog, I’d be anticipating the wind in my ears, my head hanging out the window.

  Third ring. I picked up. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Kinsey. This is Big Rat. I just got in. Glad to hear you found Ethan. How’d he take the news about his dad?”

  “I wouldn’t say he’s heartbroken.”

  “Sometimes takes a while to sink in. I know it was like that with my dad,” he said. “You asked about Anna?”

  “I did, but something’s come up and I need to get home. I was on my way to the office to check out when I heard the phone.”

  “Good I caught you before you left. Name of the salon is Hair and Nails Ahoy! With an exclamation point. I don’t have the street address, but it’s on Chester down around Nineteenth. Sign’s in the shape of an anchor.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate this. It looks like I’ll have to make another trip if I want to talk to her . . .”

  “Why not stop by and chat with her on your way out of town? Salon’s open until six, so she’ll be there for sure.”

  I was silent. The pull to Santa Teresa was so intense, I thought I’d be sucked out the door.

  “You there?”

  “I’m here. I’ll think about it,” I said. “But the situation at home is an emergency.”

  “Up to you,” he said, and the phone went dead.

  I set my duffel on the floor and paused to tally up my mental and physical states. Ethan’s combativeness had taken its toll, but the impact hadn’t really hit me until now when I thought I was safe. This must be what a prizefighter feels like after leaving the ring. During the bout, you’re too busy dancing and feinting and dodging blows, trying to anticipate your opponent’s next move. Now that I was back in the locker room, so to speak, I could assess my
psychic injuries. I was exhausted. I felt bruised. There was an ache between my shoulder blades. My neck muscles were tight, and a tension headache was squeezing my skull like a bathing cap two sizes too small. Add to that the news about Felix, and my energy was at a low ebb. I put a hand against my forehead as Aunt Gin had always done when she was checking for a fever. She wasn’t sympathetic to illness, so the gesture was usually the prelude to her telling me to suck it up. Which was exactly the counsel I now gave myself. I’d driven 150 miles to take care of business and I wasn’t done yet. What could I do for Felix except to stand in the hall outside his room and fret? A thirty-minute delay wouldn’t make a difference.

  I trotted up to the office as intended and turned in my key. I returned to the car, threw my duffel into the backseat, and slid under the steering wheel. I pulled out of the parking lot and headed east. At Chester I turned right, watching the numbered streets drop from Twenty-second to Nineteenth. The salon wasn’t hard to spot. Right-hand side, halfway down the block. There was even a nice long stretch of curb out front.

  At 4:00, I was seated in the reception area at Hair and Nails Ahoy! It was fortunate for me the salon took walk-ins and Anna was the only manicurist. She was currently with a client. I didn’t want a manicure, but when the receptionist asked what she could do for me, it seemed easier to book an appointment than to stop and explain. While I waited, I leafed through a three-ring binder filled with photographs showing a variety of hairstyles. Most were clipped from magazines and none looked right for me. Why pay a salon when you can take care of it yourself at home?

  Of the two hairdressers I could see, one was clipping a gentleman’s hair and the other worked on a woman customer, painting strands of hair laid out on a band of aluminum foil. A third customer came in and another stylist appeared from somewhere in the back. I watched the woman take her seat while the stylist assembled her tools. She flapped out a cape that she placed backward over the woman’s clothing to avoid showering her with clippings. The gentleman got up, left a tip, and stopped at the front desk long enough to pay for his cut. Anna moved the client from her work station to an empty one close by. The woman sat down and placed her newly painted nails in the maw of a tiny cave where a violet light bathed her fingertips, apparently to speed the drying process. I glanced at my watch and saw that ten minutes had passed. I was itchy to be on my way, but resigned to completing the task I’d set for myself.