Haas stopped, waited for comment. I just nodded.
He said, “She was no charm-school gal, Noreen. And he was certainly no prize. But no one let ’em starve.”
“Was she a difficult person?”
“Not difficult, but not exactly pleasant, either. She was sloppy-looking, kind of puffy in the face, like she cried all night. You’d try talking to her and she’d hang her head and mutter. Not as crazy as Ardis, but if you ask me they were both retarded. Him more than her, but she was no genius. It was nothing but kindness on
the Ardullos’ part, taking her and Ardis in. She could cook, but Terri Ardullo was a fine cook herself. It was charity, pure and simple. Done it in a way to give them some dignity.”
“Scott and Terri were charitable people.”
“Salt of the earth. Scott was a nice fellow, but it was Terri had the ideals.
Religious, involved in all the church activities. The church was on land donated by
Butch Ardullo-Scott’s dad. Presbyterian. Butch was born a Catholic, but Kathy- his wife-was Presbyterian, so Butch converted and built the church for her. That was a sad thing. Demolishing that church. Butch and his crew built it themselves-beautiful little white-board thing with carved moldings and a steeple they had made by some
Danish fellow over in Solvang. Butch’s house was something, too. Three stories, also white board, with a big stone porch, land stretching out in all directions. They grew walnuts and peaches commercially but kept a small citrus grove out in back. You could smell the blossoms all the way out to the main road. They gave most of the oranges and lemons away. The Crimmins place was almost as big, but not as tasteful.
Two mansions, opposite sides of the valley.”
His eyes clouded. “I remember Scott when he was a kid. Running around the groves, always cheerful. The house was happy. They were rich folks, but down-to-earth.”
He got up, filled a glass with bottled water from the fridge. “Sure you don’t want a drink?”
“Thanks, I will.”
He brought both tumblers to the coffee table. Two gulps and his was empty.
“Refill time,” he said. “Don’t want to parch up like a raisin. Need more BTUs on the
A.C.”
Another trip to the kitchenette. He drained the glass, ran his finger around the rim, set off a high-pitched note. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
I began with Claire’s murder. Her name drew no look of recognition. When I recounted
Peake’s babbling, he said, “I can’t believe you came all the way up here because of that.”
“Right now, there’s very little else to go on, Mr. Haas.”
“You just said he’s deteriorated, so who cares what he says? Now, what is it exactly you think I can help you with?”
“Anything you can tell me about Peake. That night.”
His hands flew together and laced. Fingertips reddened as they pressed into knuckles. Nails blanched the color of clotted cream.
“I’ve spent a long time trying to forget that night, and it doesn’t sound like you’ve got any good reason to make me go through it again.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “If it’s too difficult-”
“Damn thirst,” he said, springing up. “Must be going diabetic or something.”
22.
HAAS RETURNED LOOKING no happier, but resigned.
“It happened at night,” he said, “but no one found out till the morning. I was the second to know. Ted Alarcon called me-he was one of Scott’s field supervisors. Scott and Ted were supposed to drive up early to Fresno, take a look at some equipment.
Scott was going to pick up Ted, and when he didn’t, Ted called the house. No answer, so he drove over, went in.”
“The door was open?” I said.
“No one locked their doors. Ted figured Scott had overslept, maybe he should go upstairs and knock on the bedroom door. That shows you the kind of guy Scott was-a
Mexican supervisor felt comfortable going upstairs. But on the way, Ted passed through the kitchen and saw it. Her.” He licked his lips. “After that, God only knows how he had the strength to go upstairs.”
“The papers said he followed the bloody sneaker prints.”