T is for Trespass (Kinsey Millhone 20)

“Sounds about right. When I’m sick, all I want to do is sleep. The last thing I need is someone sitting there making chitchat. Talk about exhausting.”

“Have you spoken to him recently?”

“It’s been a couple of weeks.”

“Which I’m sure suits her fine. She’s made it clear she doesn’t want me over there. I have to rack my brain to get a foot in the door.”

“She’s protective of him. What’s so bad about that?”

“Nothing if he were doing better. The man is going downhill.”

“I don’t know what to say. Solana and I talk every couple of days and I’m not getting this from her.”

“Of course not. She’s the one doing it. Something’s wrong. I can feel it in my bones.”

“I hope you’re not saying I should make another trip. I was out there six weeks ago.”

“I know it’s a hassle, but he needs the help. And I’ll tell you something else. If Solana knows you’re coming, she’ll cover her tracks.”

“Come on, Kinsey. She’s asked me three or four times if I’d come out to see him, but I can’t get away. Why make an offer like that if she were doing something wrong?”

“Because she’s devious.”

Melanie was quiet and I imagined the little wheels going round and round. I thought maybe I was getting through to her, but then she said, “Are you sure you’re okay? Because this is all sounding very weird if you want to know the truth.”

“I’m fine. Gus is the one I’m worried about.”

“I don’t doubt your concern, but all this cloak-and-dagger stuff is a bit melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“No.”

She made one of those long, low exasperated sounds in her throat, like this was all too much. “Okay, fine. Let’s assume you’re correct. Give me one concrete example.”

Now I was the one silent for a beat. As usual, when confronted with a demand of that sort, my mind went blank. “I can’t think of one offhand. If you want my best guess, I’d say she’s drugging him.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. If you think she’s so dangerous, then fire her.”

“I don’t have the authority. That’s up to you.”

“Well, I can’t do anything until I talk to her. Let’s be fair about it. There are two sides to every story. If I fired her strictly on the basis of what you’ve said, she’d file a complaint with the labor relations board about unfair treatment or dismissal without cause. You know what I’m saying?”

“Shit, Melanie. If you talk to Solana about this, she’ll go ballistic. That was her response the last time around when she thought I was checking up on her.”

“How else am I supposed to find out what’s going on?”

“She’s not going to admit to anything. She’s too smart.”

“But so far it’s just your word against hers. I don’t mean to be hardnosed, but I’m not flying three thousand miles based on a ‘feeling’ in your bones.”

“Don’t take my word for it. You think I’m so nuts, why don’t you call Henry and ask him?”

“I didn’t say you were nuts. I know you better than that. I’ll think about it. We’re swamped right now at work and taking the time off would be a pain in the butt. I’ll talk to my boss and get back to you.”

Typical of Melanie, that was the last conversation we had for a month.

At 6:00 I walked up to Rosie’s and found Henry sitting at his usual table in the bar. I’d decided my sterling behavior entitled me to a meal out. The place was jumping. This was Wednesday night, which is known as “hump day” to working stiffs, the week being more than half done. Henry got up graciously and held my chair while I slid in next to him. He bought me a glass of wine, which I sipped while he finished his Black Jack over ice. We ordered, or, rather, we listened, while Rosie debated what we’d have. She decided Henry would enjoy her ozporkolt, a venison goulash. I told her about my nutritional goals, begging and pleading to be spared the sour cream and its many variations. She took this in stride, saying, “Is very good. No worry. For you, I prepare guisada de guilota.”

“Wonderful. What’s that?”

“Is quail braised in tomatillo-chili sauce.”

Henry shifted in his seat with a look of injury. “Why can’t I have that?”

“Okay. You both. I bring right away.”