J is for Judgment (Kinsey Millhone 10)

Once my rear window had been installed, I tooled on back to the office and spent the next hour and a half at my desk. I felt I should stay near the phone in case Eckert called in. In the meantime, I gave Mac a buzz and filled him in on what was happening. I no sooner put the phone down than it rang. “Kinsey Millhone Investigations. Kinsey Millhone.”

An instant of silence and then a woman said, “Oh. I thought this was an answering machine.”

“No, this is me. Who is this?”

“This is your cousin Tasha Howard, up in San Francisco.”

“Ah, yes. Tasha. Liza mentioned you. How are you?” I said. Mentally I’d begun to drum my fingers, hoping to get her off the line in case Wendell phoned in.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Something’s come up and it occurred to me you might be interested. I just had a chat with Grand’s attorney down in Lompoc. The house where our mothers lived is either being moved or torn down. Grand’s been fighting with the city for the last several months, and we’re supposed to hear something soon about the disposition of the matter. She’s trying to have the house protected under the local historical preservation act. The original structure dates back to the turn of the century. The house hasn’t been lived in for years, of course, but it could be restored. She owns another lot where she can put the house if she can get the city to agree. Anyway, I thought you might want to see the place again since you were there once yourself.”

“I was there?”

“Oh, sure. You don’t remember? The four of you—Aunt Gin, your parents, and you—came up when Burt and Grand were off on the big cruise for their forty-second anniversary. It was really meant for their fortieth, but it took ‘em two years to get organized. All the cousins got to play together, and you fell off the sliding board and cut your knee. I was seven, so you must have been about four, I’d say. Maybe a little older, but I know you weren’t in school yet. I can’t believe you don’t remember. Aunt Rita taught us all to eat peanut-butter-and-pickle sandwiches, which I’ve adored ever since. You were supposed to come back in the next couple of months. It was all set up for when Burt and Grand got home.”

“Only my parents never made it,” I said, thinking, Jesus, the peanut-butter-and-pickle sandwiches aren’t even mine anymore.

“I suppose not,” she said. “Anyway, I thought if you saw the house, it might jog your memory. I have to come down on business, and I’d be happy to give you the nickel tour.”

“What sort of work do you do?”

“I’m an attorney. Probate and estate administration, wills, intervivos trusts, tax planning. The firm has an office up here and another one in Lompoc, so I end up flying back and forth all the time. What’s your schedule look like in the next few days? Are you free any time soon?”

“Let me think about that. I appreciate the offer, but I’m currently tied up with a case. Why don’t you go ahead and give me the address? If I have a chance to get up there, I can take a look and if not, well…so be it.”

“I suppose that would do,” she said reluctantly. “I was actually hoping I could see you. Liza wasn’t entirely happy with the way she handled the situation. She thought maybe I could smooth the waters a bit.”

“No need for that. She did fine,” I said. I was keeping my distance, and I’m sure the maneuver wasn’t lost on her. She gave me the address and a sketchy set of directions, which I jotted on a sheet of scratch paper. I was already struggling with an urge to toss it in the trash. I started making good-bye noises, using that airy tone that says, Okay, thanks a lot, nice talking to you.

Tasha said, “I hope this doesn’t seem too personal, but I get the impression you’re really not interested in cementing any family ties.”

“I don’t think that’s too personal,” I said. “I guess I’m in the process of assimilating the information. I don’t really know what I want to do about it yet.”

“Are you angry with Grand?”

“Of course I am, and why wouldn’t I be? She threw my mother out. That estrangement must have gone on for twenty years.”

“That wasn’t all Grand’s doing. It takes two to make a rift.”

“Right,” I said. “At least my mother was on her way to make amends. What did Grand ever do? She sat back and waited, which I notice she’s still doing.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, where’s she been all these years? I’m thirty-four years old. Until yesterday I never even knew she existed. She could have gotten in touch.”