W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone 23)

“I had to make a run to the office and I saw the light blinking as soon as I walked in. Can I do anything from here?”

“No, no. Everything’s under control, but it’s been crazy as you might imagine. What about you? How’s it going so far?”

“Not good. I talked to Ethan and told him about the will. He was upset, which came as no big surprise. I’ll give you a full report as soon as I get home.”

“Which is when?”

“I’d hoped to talk to his sister, but now I think I’d be better off hitting the road. I can do more good there than I can stuck here.”

“I don’t like the idea of your heading into rush-hour traffic.”

“I should be fine as soon as I clear town. I don’t anticipate much congestion on the 5.”

“Well, don’t do anything foolish. It sounds like you’ve already had a long, hard day.”

“All the more reason to get home,” I said. “The motel I’m in is such a dump, I’ve had to repent all my miserly ways. I want my own bed. I want to be there lending moral support. Did Rosie get home?”

“Not yet. Her plane gets in at five o’clock. The same United flight William was on. I’ll pick her up while he’s having his last PT appointment of the week. Once I drop her off, I’ll head back to St. Terry’s. You want me to turn on the porch lights for you?”

“Please.”

“Will do, and if there’s anything new, I’ll leave a note on your door.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you in a few.”

“You drive carefully.”

“I will.”

I hung up, grabbed the duffel, and toted it into the bathroom. I tossed in the shampoo bottle, the conditioner, and my deodorant. I paused to brush my teeth and then packed my toothbrush and toothpaste. I set aside thoughts of Felix, knowing I’d have plenty of time to process that development once I was on the road.

I flipped off the light and then picked up my jacket and shoulder bag. I reached the door and took a last look around, making sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. Checking out wouldn’t take long, especially since I didn’t intend to argue about a refund. I thought about returning the sixty-watt bulb to the office but decided it would be my gift to the next guest.

The telephone rang.

With one hand on the doorknob, I stared at the instrument. Probably Big Rat. I’d just spoken with Henry and Big Rat was the only other person who knew I was here . . . except for Ethan, of course, and I couldn’t believe he’d call. Might be the desk clerk calling to say he’d found me a hundred-watt bulb, but that was hardly late-breaking news. What difference would it make? By bedtime, I’d be gone.

Two rings.

Why answer the phone? If I’d been a little quicker through the door, I’d have been gone anyway. I was a heartbeat away from hearing the Mustang grumble to life. I knew how the road would feel under my wheels. If I’d been a dog, I’d be anticipating the wind in my ears, my head hanging out the window.

Third ring. I picked up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Kinsey. This is Big Rat. I just got in. Glad to hear you found Ethan. How’d he take the news about his dad?”

“I wouldn’t say he’s heartbroken.”

“Sometimes takes a while to sink in. I know it was like that with my dad,” he said. “You asked about Anna?”

“I did, but something’s come up and I need to get home. I was on my way to the office to check out when I heard the phone.”

“Good I caught you before you left. Name of the salon is Hair and Nails Ahoy! With an exclamation point. I don’t have the street address, but it’s on Chester down around Nineteenth. Sign’s in the shape of an anchor.”

“Thanks. I appreciate this. It looks like I’ll have to make another trip if I want to talk to her . . .”

“Why not stop by and chat with her on your way out of town? Salon’s open until six, so she’ll be there for sure.”

I was silent. The pull to Santa Teresa was so intense, I thought I’d be sucked out the door.

“You there?”

“I’m here. I’ll think about it,” I said. “But the situation at home is an emergency.”

“Up to you,” he said, and the phone went dead.

I set my duffel on the floor and paused to tally up my mental and physical states. Ethan’s combativeness had taken its toll, but the impact hadn’t really hit me until now when I thought I was safe. This must be what a prizefighter feels like after leaving the ring. During the bout, you’re too busy dancing and feinting and dodging blows, trying to anticipate your opponent’s next move. Now that I was back in the locker room, so to speak, I could assess my psychic injuries. I was exhausted. I felt bruised. There was an ache between my shoulder blades. My neck muscles were tight, and a tension headache was squeezing my skull like a bathing cap two sizes too small. Add to that the news about Felix, and my energy was at a low ebb. I put a hand against my forehead as Aunt Gin had always done when she was checking for a fever. She wasn’t sympathetic to illness, so the gesture was usually the prelude to her telling me to suck it up. Which was exactly the counsel I now gave myself. I’d driven 150 miles to take care of business and I wasn’t done yet. What could I do for Felix except to stand in the hall outside his room and fret? A thirty-minute delay wouldn’t make a difference.