“For how much?”
“Haifa million bucks on each.”
“Come on, Sufi. That doesn’t make any sense. Derek wouldn’t kill his own daughter.”
“Kitty isn’t dead, though, is she?”
“But why would he kill Bobby? He’d have to be nuts. The first thing the cops are going to do is turn around and look at him.”
“Kinsey,” she said patiently. “Nobody ever said Derek had brains. He’s an idiot. A fool.”
“He’s not that big a fool,” I said. “How could he hope to get away with it?”
“Nobody’s got any proof that he did anything. There never was any evidence from the first accident and Jim Fraker seems to think this one came about because Bobby had a seizure first. How can they pin that on Derek?”
“But why would he do it? He’s got money.”
“Glen’s got money. Derek doesn’t have a dime. He’d go for anything that would get him out from under her. Don’t you know that?”
All I could do was stare at her, running the information through my mental computer. She took another sip of wine and smiled at me, loving the effect she’d produced.
Finally, I said, “I just don’t believe it.”
“You can believe anything you like. All I’m saying is you better check that out before you do anything else.”
“You don’t like Derek, do you?”
“Of course not. I think he’s the biggest ass who ever lived. I don’t know what Glen saw in him in the first place. He’s poor. He’s dumb. He’s pompous. And those are his good qualities,” she said with energy. “Aside from all that, he’s ruthless.”
“He doesn’t seem ruthless to me,” I said.
“You haven’t known him as long as I have. He’s a man who’d do anything for money and I suspect he’s got lots he’s not anxious to discuss. Doesn’t he strike you as a man with a past?”
“Like what?”
“I’m not sure. But I’d be willing to bet you his buffoonery is just a cover for something else.”
“Are you saying Glen’s been hoodwinked? She seems smarter than that.”
“She’s smart about everything but men. This is her third time around, you know, and Bobby’s father was a mess. Husband number two I don’t know about. She was living in Europe when she married him and it didn’t last long.”
“Let’s get back to you for a minute. The day of Bobby’s funeral, I got the impression you were trying to steer me away from the investigation. Now you’re giving me leads. Why the switch?”
She had to stop and pay attention to the tie on her robe, though she was talking to me the whole time. “I guess I thought you’d be prolonging Glen’s pain and heartache,” she said, looking up at me then. “It’s clear now that nothing I say is going to dissuade you in any event, so I might as well tell you what I know.’
“Why’d you meet Bobby down at the beach? What was going on?”
“Oh, poo. Nothing,” she said. “I ran into him a couple of times and he wanted to bitch about Derek. Bobby couldn’t stand him either and he knew I made a good audience. That’s all it amounted to.”
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” “I’m not accountable to you. You show up at my door uninvited and quiz me about all this bullshit. It’s none of your business so why should I answer to you? I don’t think you know how you come off sometimes.”
I felt myself flush at the well-placed insult. I drank the last of my wine. I was having trouble believing her story about meeting Bobby, but it was clear I wasn’t going to get much more out of her. I decided to drop it for the moment, but it didn’t sit well with me. If she’d only been listening to his complaints, why not just say so to begin with?
A glance at my watch showed that it was just after eleven and I decided to try to catch Glen at home. I excused myself abruptly and got out. I’m sure the haste of my departure wasn’t lost on her.
There are times when things begin to break by sheer dint of dumb luck. I don’t pretend to take credit for what happened next. By the time I got to my little VW, I realized how chilly it was. I hopped in and shut the door, locking it as is my habit, and then I turned and started rooting around in my junky backseat for a sweatshirt I’d tossed back there.
I’d just laid my hands on it and I was in the process of hauling it out from under a pile of books when I heard a car start up. I glanced to my right. Sufi’s Mercedes was being backed out of the driveway. I did a quick surface dive, disappearing from view. I wasn’t sure if she knew my car or not, but she must have assumed I was gone because she pulled straight off. As soon as she did, I rolled into the driver’s seat, fumbling for my keys. I started the car and did a quick U-turn, catching a glimpse of her taillights as she hung a right, heading toward State Street.
She couldn’t have had time enough to change her clothes. At best, she might have thrown a coat over her satin lounging outfit. Who did she know well enough to visit unannounced in a Jean Harlow getup at this hour of the night? I couldn’t wait to see.
Chapter 20
In Santa Teresa, the rich are divided into two cliques: half live in Montebello, half in Horton Ravine. Montebello is the old money, Horton Ravine, the new. Both communities have acres of old trees, bridle paths, and country clubs requiring proper sponsorship and entrance fees of twenty-five grand. Both communities discourage fundamentalist churches, tacky yard ornaments, and door-to-door sales. Sufi was headed for Horton Ravine.
As she passed through the main gates on Los Piratas, she slowed to thirty miles an hour, reluctant perhaps to get picked up for speeding while dressed like a call girl on her way to a John. I slowed my car at a pace with hers, hanging back as far as I could. I was worried about having to pursue her along miles of winding road, but she surprised me by turning into one of the first driveways on the right. The house was set back about a hundred yards, a one-story California “bungalow”: maybe five bedrooms, four thousand square feet, not remarkable to look at, but expensive nevertheless. The property was probably five acres all told, surrounded by an ornamental split-rail fence, with rambling roses laid along its length. Exterior lights had come on when Sufi’s Mercedes reached the house. She got out of the car in a blur of peach satin and mink, moving toward the front door, which opened and swallowed her up.
I had passed the house by then. I drove on as far as the first road on the right, where I did a turnaround, dousing my headlights as I drifted back. I parked my car on the berm on the left-hand side, hugging some shrubs. The area was shrouded in darkness, no streetlights at all. Across from me, the tag end of the golf course was visible and the narrow artificial lake that served as a water hazard. Moonlight glimmered on the surface of the lake, making it as glossy as a remnant of gray silk.
I removed the flashlight from the glove compartment and got out of my car, picking my way carefully through the tall grass growing by the road. It was thick and wet, soaking my tennis shoes and the legs of my jeans.
I reached the driveway. There wasn’t any name on the mailbox, but I noted the numbers. I could always stop by my office and check my crisscross directory if I needed to. I had gone about halfway up the drive when I heard a dog barking at the house. I had no idea what kind it was, but it sounded big-one of those dogs that knows how to bark from its balls-deep, businesslike barks, suggestive of sharp teeth and a bad attitude. Furthermore, that sucker had picked up my scent and was anxious to make contact. There was no way I could creep any closer without alerting the occupants of the house. They were probably already wondering what was making Old Dog Tray wet himself with excitement. For all I knew, they’d release him from his three-eighths-inch chain and send him flying down the driveway after me, toenails scratching along the blacktop. I’ve been chased by dogs before and it’s not that much fun. I reversed my course and got back in the car. Common sense is no disgrace in the private-eye trade. I watched the house for an hour, but there was no sign of activity. I was getting tired and this felt like a waste of time. Finally, I started the engine and eased the car into gear, not flipping on my headlights until I was out through the gate again.