I is for Innocent (Kinsey Millhone 9)

"Of course it wasn't David. What's the matter with you? If she committed a crime-"

"The girl was sixteen years old!"

"The girl was drunk," I said. "I don't care what age she was. She has to take responsibility-"

"Don't try that righteous tone on me. I don't have time for this," she said and began to walk away. She reached her car and fumbled with her keys. She got in and slammed the door shut.

"You're pissed because this gets David Barney off the hook."

She rolled the window down. "I'm pissed because David Barney is a horrible man. He's despicable. I'm pissed because good people have to suffer while the bad people walk away with everything."

"You think just because you don't like some guy it's okay to see him falsely convicted of murder?"

"He hated Iz." She put the key in the ignition, turned the engine over, and released the hand brake.

"That doesn't mean he killed her. You were not exactly without a motive yourself."

"Me?"

"The accident you were involved in was her fault, wasn't it? I heard she was drunk and left the car in the drive without the brake pulled on. Because of her, you lost any hope of having children. That's a big price to pay when you'd been cleaning up after her for most of your life. It couldn't have sat well with you-"

"That's ridiculous. People don't murder other people over things like that."

"Of course they do. Pick up the newspaper any day of the week."

"David Barney's full of shit. He'd do anything to shift the blame."

"This didn't come from him. It came from someone else."

"And who was that?"

"I'd rather not go into that…"

"Well, you're a fool if you believe it."

"I didn't say I believed it, but the point is a good one."

"Which is what?"

"Other people had a motive for wanting her dead. We've all been so busy believing David Barney did it, we haven't looked at anyone else."

She seemed momentarily stumped by the thought and then her gaze shifted slyly. "Well, then. Why don't you look in the right direction?"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying Yolanda Weidmann. Isabelle wrecked Peter's business pulling out when she did. He really promoted her career. He put in a lot of time and money when no one else would lift a finger. You have to understand just how crazy Isabelle was. Erratic, self-destructive, all the booze and the dope. She didn't have a degree. She didn't have a reputation until Peter took her up. He was her mentor and she shafted him royally. She turned her back on him after all he did. And then, that heart attack of his. That was the finishing touch. In theory, it was brought on by stress and overwork. The truth is, she broke his heart. That's the long and short of it."

"But he didn't seem bitter when I talked to him."

"I didn't say he was bitter. Yolanda's the one. She's really a spider, not a woman you'd want to cross."

"I'm listening."

"You've met the woman. You tell me."

I shrugged. "Personally, I couldn't stand her. I spent half an hour over there and she put him down constantly, all these barbs and zingers, little ha-has at his expense. I'd rather see a knock-down, drag-out fight. At least it's honest. She seemed… I don't know… wily."

Simone smiled slightly. "Ah, yes. She's very cunning. Under it all, I assure you, she's fiercely protective. She can treat him any way she likes, but you try it and look out! I think it makes her a very good candidate."

"But the woman must be sixty-five years old if she's a day. It's hard to believe she'd turn to murder."

"You don't know Yolanda. I'm surprised she didn't do it sooner. As for her age, she's in better shape than I am." She broke off eye contact and her manner became brisk. "I have to go. I'm sorry I blew my stack." She put the car in reverse and backed out of the slot. I stared after her with interest as she pulled away.

18

I retraced my steps, moving toward the entrance. I could see Henry heading off across the parking lot toward his car. The first cluster of mourners had dispersed to some extent and those who remained in the chapel were just emerging. William appeared from the cool depths of the funeral home, looking somehow offended and confused. He was holding his fedora, which he placed squarely on his head with a slight adjustment to the brim. "I don't understand what denomination that was."