“How did he and Jack get along?”
“I think Jack admired and romanticized him. They didn’t pal around together, but there was always a certain amount of hero worship. Jack thought Guy was like James Dean, rebellious and tragic, you know, misunderstood. They never had all that much to do with one another, but I can remember how Jack used to look at him. Now, Bennet and Jack, they were close. The two younger boys tended to gravitate to one another. I never had much use for Bennet. Something sneaky about him.”
“What about Donovan?”
“He was the smartest of the four. Even then he had a good head for business, always calculating the odds. When I first came to work, he’d already been off to college and was planning to come back and work for his dad full-time. Donovan loves that company more than any man alive. As for Guy, he was the troublemaker. That seemed to be his role.”
“You really think Jack might have been involved in Guy’s death?”
“I hate to believe it but I know he felt Guy broke faith with him. Jack’s a fanatic about loyalty. He always was.”
“Well, that’s interesting,” I said. “Because the first time I was here, he said much the same thing. He was off at college when Guy left, wasn’t he?”
Enid was shaking her head. “That wouldn’t have mattered. Not to him. Somehow, in Jack’s mind, when Guy went off on his great adventure, he should have taken him along.”
“So he saw Guy’s departure as betrayal.”
“Well, of course he did. Jack’s terribly dependent. He’s never had a job. He’s never even had a girl. He has no self-esteem to speak of and for that, I blame his dad. Bader never took the time to teach them they were worth anything. I mean, look at the reality. None of them has ever left home.”
“It couldn’t be healthy.”
“It’s disgraceful. Grown men?” She opened the can of olive oil and poured a short stream in the stockpot while she turned up the flame. She moved the cutting board from the counter and balanced the edge of it on the pot, sliding garlic across the surface. The sound of sizzling arose, followed moments later by a cloud of garlic-scented steam.
“What’s the story on the shoes? Where did they turn up?”
She paused to adjust the flame and then returned the board to the counter, where she picked up an onion. The peeling was as fragile as paper, crackling slightly as she worked. “At the bottom of a box. You remember the cartons of Bader’s clothing Christie packed away? They were sitting on the front porch. The Thrift Store Industries truck stopped by for an early-morning pickup first thing yesterday.”
“Before the body was discovered?”
“Before anyone was even up. I don’t know how I connected it. I saw the receipt lying on the counter and didn’t think much about it.. Later, it occurred to me-if the shoes weren’t on the premises, they must be somewhere else.”
“How’d you figure out where they were?”
“Well, that’s just it. I was loading the dishwasher, you know, humming a little tune and boom, I just knew.”
“I’ve done the same thing. It’s almost like the mind makes an independent leap.”
Enid flashed me a look. “Exactly. He must have realized he left a shoe print on the carpeting upstairs.”
“Did you see it yourself?”
“No, but Myrna says she saw it when she went in Guy’s room.” She paused, shaking her head. “I don’t want to think he did it.”
“It is hard to believe,” I said. “I mean, in essence, he must have killed Guy, seen the footprint, slipped off his shoes and shoved them in the box on his way out of the house. He was lucky-or thought he was.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I just have trouble with the notion. Jack doesn’t strike me as that decisive or quick. Doesn’t that bother you?”
She thought about that briefly and then gave a shrug of dismissal. “A killer would have to depend on luck, I guess. You can’t plan for everything. You’d have to ad-lib.”
“Well, it backfired in this case.”
“If he did it,” she said. She picked up a can and tilted it into the electric opener. She pressed a lever and watched as the can went round and round, rotating blades neatly separating the lid from the can. Kitchens are dangerous, I thought idly as I looked on. What an arsenal-knives and fire and all that kitchen twine, skewers, meat pounders, and rolling pins. The average woman must spend a fair portion of her time happily contemplating the tools of her trade: devices that crush, pulverize, grind, and puree; utensils that pierce, slice, dissect, and debone; not to mention the household products that, once ingested, are capable of eradicating human life along with germs.
Her eyes came up to mine. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
“No, of course not. What makes you ask?”
She glanced toward the corner of the kitchen where I noticed, for the first time, a staircase. “Yesterday I went upstairs to put some linens away. There was a Presence in the hall. I wondered if you believed in them.”
I shook my head in the negative, remembering the chill in the air and the roaring in my ears.
“This one smells of animal, something damp and unclean. It’s very strange,” she said.
SEVENTEEN
I left the Maleks’ shortly after one o’clock. Driving home, I spotted a pay phone at a corner gas station. I pulled in and parked. Outside the service bay, a group of kids from the local, alternative high school had organized a car wash. According to the hand-lettered sign, the price was $5.00 and proceeds were being used to pay for a trip to San Francisco. There was not a customer in sight. Buckets of soapy water waited at the ready and the kids milled around in a manner that suggested they were about to spray one another down with hoses. With luck, I wouldn’t end up in the line of fire.
I looked up Paul Trasatti in the telephone book. There were two numbers listed; one a residence on Hopper Road, the other with no address-simply said Paul Trasatti, Rare Books. I found a handful of loose change at the bottom of my handbag and fed coins into the slots. I dialed the business number first, thinking it more likely I’d catch him at his desk. Trasatti answered before the phone on his end had finished ringing the first time.
“Trasatti,” he said, tersely. He sounded like a man who’d been waiting for a call regarding drop-off instructions for the ransom money.
“Mr. Trasatti, my name is Kinsey Millhone. I’m a private investigator, working with Jack Malek’s attorney. You knew he’d been arrested?”
“I heard about that this morning. I called to talk to Jack and his sister-in-law told me they’d just taken him away. Did she tell you to call?”
“Well, no. Not really. I-”
“How’d you get my number?”
“I looked you up in the telephone book. I need information and I thought maybe you could help.”
“What kind of information?”
“I’ll be talking to Lonnie Kingman and I know he’ll want to hear about Jack’s activities that night.”
“Why can’t he ask Jack?”
“I’m sure he will,” I said, “but we’re going to need someone who can verify Jack’s claims. Christie says he drove you over to the country club Tuesday evening. Is that true?”
There was a fractional hesitation. “That’s right. He picked me up after dinner. Truth is, I ended up trading places with him, so I was the one driving. He was too tipsy. This is strictly off the record, right?”
“I’m not a journalist, but sure. We can keep it off the record, at least for now,” I said.. “Tipsy, meaning drunk?”
“Let’s just say I was the designated driver in this case.”
I closed my eyes, listening for the subtext, while cars passed back and forth on the street behind me. “Were you seated at the same table?”
“Tables were reserved. We had assigned seats,” he said. He was being as cagey as a politician. What was going on here?
“That’s not what I asked. I’m wondering if you can verify his presence at the pairings’ party.”
A brief, most curious silence ensued. “Can I ask you a question?” he said.
“What’s that?”
“If you’re working for this attorney . . . what’d you say his name was?”
“Lonnie Kingman.”
“Okay, this Kingman fellow. I know he can’t repeat anything said between him and Jack, but what about you? Does the same thing apply to you?”
“Our conversation isn’t privileged, if that’s. what you want to know. Anything relevant to Jack’s defense, I’ll be reporting to Lonnie. That’s my job. I can be trusted with information. Otherwise, I’d be out of business by now,” I said. “Were you sitting with Jack?”