T is for Trespass (Kinsey Millhone 20)

We drove home along Cabana Boulevard, the darkened ocean to our left. Offshore the oil rigs twinkled like a regatta with the capacity for spills. It was close to eight by then and the restaurants and motels across from the beach were ablaze with lights. The glimpse we caught of State Street in passing showed a steady march of seasonal decorations as far as the eye could see.

Henry parked in his driveway and we eased the tree out of its restraints. With him toting the trunk end and me struggling along at the midpoint, we wrestled the evergreen around to the street, up his short walk, and in the front door. Henry had rearranged the furniture to clear a place for the tree in one corner of the living room. Once we’d stabilized it in its stand, he tightened the T-bolts and added water to the reservoir below. He’d already pulled six boxes marked X-MAS from his attic and stacked them nearby. Five were filled with carefully wrapped ornaments, and the sixth box contained a formidable tangle of Christmas-tree lights.

“When are you doing the lights and ornaments?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. Charlotte has an open house from two until five and she’ll stop by when she’s done. You’re welcome to join us. I’m making eggnog to get us in the proper spirit.”

“I don’t want to horn in on your date.”

“Don’t be silly. William and Rosie are coming, too.”

“Have they met her?”

“William has and he gave her a thumbs-up. I’m curious about Rosie’s reaction. She’s a tough one.”

“Why the opinion poll? You either like her or you don’t.”

“I don’t know. Something about the woman bothers me.”

“As in what?”

“You don’t find her a bit single-minded?”

“I’ve only talked to her once and I got the impression she was good at what she does.”

“It feels more complicated. She’s smart and attractive, I’ll give you that, but all she talks about is sell, sell, sell. We took a walk after supper the other night and she calculated the value of every house on the block. She was ready to go door-to-door, drumming up sales, but I put my foot down. These are my neighbors. Most are retired and their homes are paid off. So she talks someone into selling, then what? They end up with a pile of cash but no place to live and no way to buy another home because the market’s so high.”

“What was her response?”

“She was good about it and backed off, but I could see the wheels going round and round.”

“She’s a go-getter. No doubt about that. In fact, I was worried she’d talk you into selling this place.”

Henry gestured his dismissal. “No danger there. I love my house and I’d never give it up. She’s still lobbying to get me into rental properties, but that doesn’t interest me. I have one tenant already so why do I need more?”

“Okay, so maybe she’s ambitious. That doesn’t constitute a character flaw. You get hung up in all the fretting and you’ll spoil what you have now. If it doesn’t work out, then so be it.”

“Very philosophical,” he said. “I’ll remember you said that and quote it back to you one day.”

“No doubt.”

At 9:30 I went back to my place and let myself in. I flipped off the porch light and hung up my jacket. I was ready to settle down with a glass of wine and a good book when I heard a knock at my door. At that hour, chances were good it was someone trying to sell me something, or passing out poorly printed pamphlets predicting the End of the World. I was surprised anyone would brave the walk to my door since the streetlights don’t penetrate Henry’s backyard and patio.

I turned on the outside light and peered through the porthole in my front door. The woman standing on my porch wasn’t anyone I knew. She was in her midthirties with a pale square face, thinly plucked eyebrows, bright red lipstick, and a thick bunch of auburn hair that she’d caught in a knot on the top of her head. She wore a black business suit, but I didn’t see a clipboard or a sample case so maybe I was safe. When she saw me looking out at her she smiled and waved.

I put the chain on and then opened the door a crack. “Yes?”

“Hi. Are you Kinsey?”

“I am.”

“My name is Melanie Oberlin. Gus Vronsky’s niece. Am I disturbing you?”

“Not at all. Hang on.” I closed the door and slid the chain off the track, then let her in. “Wow. That was quick. I talked to you two days ago. I didn’t expect to see you so soon. When did you get in?”