J is for Judgment (Kinsey Millhone 10)

“Sure, why not?”

“That’s good. Now, Mrs. Millhome, are you single, married, divorced, or widowed?”

I was really liking her sincere, spontaneous manner as she read from the laminated card in front of her. I said, “Widowed.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said in a perfunctory manner as she breezed right on. “Do you own your home or rent?”

“Well, I used to own two homes,” I said casually. “One here in Santa Teresa and one in Fort Myers, Florida, but now that John’s passed away, I’ve had to sell the property down there. The only place I rent is an apartment in New York City.”

“Really.”

“I do quite a bit of traveling. That’s why I’m helping you with the research,” I said. I could practically hear her making frantic flagging motions to her supervisor. She had a live one on the line, and she might need help.

We moved on to the matter of my annual income, which I knew would be substantial with that extra million coming in. I proceeded to lie, fib, and equivocate, amusing myself with the questions while I honed my prevarication skills. We quickly worked our way down to the part where I only needed to write a check for $39.99 to claim the prize I’d won: a complete nine-piece set of matching designer luggage, retailing for over $600.00 in most department stores.

My turn to be skeptical. “You’re kidding,” I said. “And this is not a gimmick? All I pay is thirty-nine ninety-nine? I don’t believe it.”

She assured me the offer was genuine. The luggage was absolutely free. All I was being asked to cover was the shipping and handling, which I could also charge to my credit card if that was more convenient. She offered to send someone over to pick up the check within the hour, but I thought it was easier to go ahead and put it on my card. I gave her the account number, inventing a nice series of digits, which she dutifully read back to me. I could tell from her tone of voice she could hardly believe her good luck. I was probably the only person that day who hadn’t damaged her hearing by promptly hanging up. Before the end of the business day, she and her cronies would be trying to charge off merchandise to that account.

For lunch I ate a carton of nonfat yogurt at my desk and then took a nap, leaning back in my chair. In between car chases and gun battles, we private eye types have occasional days like this. At two I roused myself, reaching over to pluck up the phone, trying Harris Brown again.

The number rang four times and then somebody picked up. “Harris Brown,” he said, sounding cranky and out of breath.

I took my feet off the desk and introduced myself.

His tone underwent a shift and his interest picked up. “I’m glad you called. I was surprised to hear the guy had surfaced.”

“Well, we still don’t have confirmation, but it’s looking good to me. How long did you work the case?”

“Oh, geez, probably seven months. I never for a minute believed he was dead, but I had a hell of a time convincing anyone else. I never did manage it, as a matter of fact. It’s nice to have an old hunch confirmed. Anyway, tell me what kind of help you need.”

“I’m not sure yet. I guess I was hoping to brainstorm,” I said. “I’ve got a line on the woman he was traveling with, a gal named Renata Huff, who has a house down on the Perdido Keys.”

He seemed startled by the information. “Where’d you come up with that one?”

“Uhm, I’d prefer not to spell it out. Let’s just say I have my little ways,” I said.

“Sounds like you’re doing pretty good.”

“Working on it,” I said. “The problem is she’s the only lead I have, and I can’t figure out who else he’d turn to for help.”

“To do what?”

I could feel myself backpedal, uncomfortable articulating my theory about Wendell. “Well, I hesitate to say this, but my hit on this is he heard about Brian

“The escape and shoot-out.”

“Right. I think he’s coming back to help his kid.”

There was a fractional silence. “Help him how?”

“I don’t know yet. I just can’t think of any other reason he’d risk coming back.”

“I might buy that,” he said after giving it some thought. “So you’re figuring he’d either contact close family or old pals of his.”

“Exactly. I know who his ex-wife is and I’ve talked to her, but she doesn’t seem to have a clue.”

“And you believe that.”

“Actually, I’m inclined to. I think she’s being straight.”