High Country Nocturne (David Mapstone Mystery 8)

“You’re that passionate about historic preservation?”

Her face assumed an adult seriousness. “As a matter of fact, yes. And about the environment. Chip did all this and flipped those ugly tilt-up warehouses for twelve million dollars before the bust. He didn’t even have tenants. I don’t need an angle, David. It’s the right thing to do. It’s what I was taught by my father.” The legs uncrossed and her perfect knees met demurely.

“May I keep these copies?”

“Please,” she said.

County corruption didn’t figure into the wallet Diane had found in Elliott Whitehouse’s closet. I did come down here to write up the report for Melton, so I decided to turn the conversation to my needs.

I said, “Why would I despise your father?”

She nodded to the photo. “He’s one of the developers who took all this away. I’m a serious environmentalist and it’s hard for me to reconcile.”

I thought about that issue, not for the first time.

“Historians might call that ‘presentism’ and it gets in the way of understanding,” I said. “Men like your father were part of a moment in history.”

“Meaning?”

“The mass-produced subdivisions that started with Levittown back East were in vogue. Gasoline was cheap and driving was pleasant. Phoenix had a serious housing shortage after World War II and plenty of land.”

I paused to see if she was bored. Her eyes were engaged and bright. Or she was a good actress. Either way, I continued, “It was growing, and men like Elliott Whitehouse and John F. Long provided good housing for the former GIs who were starting families. Not only that, but Arizona was rife with land swindles. These men operated honestly.”

“So they didn’t know what it would become, or the external economic and social costs of sprawl.”

“That’s the objective way to approach it.” I said. “What’s happened in recent years is more unforgivable. Now we know the consequences. It became a Ponzi scheme.”

“The American Dream.” Sarcasm tinted her voice. “And look at all that’s lost. I wish I could have seen it the way you must have when you were young. The Japanese flower gardens. Superstition Mountain without all the houses.”

“It was a beautiful place.”

She gave an exaggerated shiver. “I would never live in the Valley again. Once I graduate, I’m staying in the Bay Area. None of my friends are coming back, either. Why do you stay?”

I didn’t answer.

Her lips made a sad smile. “You’re a sucker for lost causes, David Mapstone.

I asked Zephyr what her father was like.

“He doted on me.” The smile widened, showing perfect teeth. “I was a daddy’s girl. Diane was jealous of me. But what was he like?” She stared at the high ceiling. “He was sixty when I was born, so I get the sense he had mellowed. He was very kind. I got a very different father than Chip and Tanker grew up with. He would get down on the floor and play with me. This big man playing like he was six again. He built me a very elaborate dollhouse. I still have it.”

“Was he faithful to your mother?”

She nodded to my ring finger. “Have you always been faithful to your wife, David? Don’t worry. I won’t put you on the spot. I know he and Diane fought about one woman she was sure he was having an affair with.”

I wrote down the woman’s name.

“What about men?” I asked.

“Men?” She laughed and stroked her knees. “Are you kid

ding me? Daddy was a terrible homophobe. Racist. Anti-Semitic. He was a privileged white man of his generation. My half brothers aren’t much different and they don’t have any excuses. They support the ‘Papers Please’ law, think all our problems are because of illegal aliens, even though they employ them and pay them dirt. Hypocrites. You probably think I’m a hypocrite, too, growing up in the big house, copping to environmentalism from privilege.” She paused. Then, “What’s Daddy got to do with this?”

A shadow appeared behind the pebbled glass and I tensed. Then Kate Vare burst in without knocking. I made introductions.

“Is she leaving?” Vare said.

“Yes,” Zephyr said, standing. She was a head taller than Vare. “It was very nice to meet you, Sergeant Vare. Thanks for all that you do, David. I’ll text you my number.”