W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone 23)

I pushed the covers back, got up, and then turned and made the bed like a good girl. Live alone and you have two choices—be a tidy bun or a slob. I brushed my teeth, showered, and threw on the clothes I’d worn the night before. I drove to the Edgewater Hotel and left my Mustang in the hands of a parking valet. I went through the entrance to the hotel, crossed the lobby, and moved along the wide corridor with its stretches of Oriental carpets over high-gloss Saltillo tiles. To my left, windows looked out onto an enclosed patio. Ficus trees, potted palms, and birds of paradise, like stiffly crested orange cranes, were arranged throughout, separating seating areas and providing the illusion of privacy. I spotted Dietz at a table against the stretch of windows that looked out toward the ocean. He was in jeans and a gray fleece shirt with a zippered placket and long sleeves that he’d pushed up. The paper was spread across the tabletop, one edge anchored by a coffee carafe. He wore round wire-rim glasses.

The hostess moved as though to greet me. I pointed at Dietz, indicating that I’d be sitting with him. She held up a menu that I waved off. Dietz looked up as I approached. He moved a hefty section of the Los Angeles Times from the nearest chair and I sat down. I could see now that my initial take had been correct. He looked tired and the gray in his hair had given way to white. He put his hand on the table, palm up, and gave me that crooked smile of his.

I placed my hand in his. “What happened to you?”

“Naomi died.”

“Of what?”

“Cancer. It wasn’t easy, but it was mercifully brief. Six weeks from diagnosis to the end. The boys were there and so was I.”

“When was this?”

“May 10. I got back to Carson City on the fifteenth and four days later, the call from Pete Wolinsky came in. If you’ll pardon the hocus-pocus sentiment, it felt like a sign. There’s no question I’d have done the work . . . anything to distract myself . . . but there was something in the idea it was coming from you. Naomi always said I used work to avoid being close, a claim I hotly denied until the truth of it came home.”

“Where are the boys at this point?”

“Nick’s in San Francisco, working for a brokerage firm. He graduated from Santa Cruz with a degree in accounting. Naomi steered him toward finance and it seems to agree with him. Graham got his degree this past December. He hung around with Nick for a while and then took off. He’s footloose and fancy-free, for the time being at any rate.”

“Sounds like you.”

“He is like me. Nick was always more like Naomi. Her coloring, her temperament.”

“She got married, didn’t she?”

“Two years ago. He’s the one I feel for. Poor bastard. Marriage was a good one from everything I heard. He’d lost his first wife to cancer and he thought he’d survived the worst of it. Then Naomi got sick and now he’s right back where he was.”

“What about you?”

“She was my touchstone—another revelation in the wake of her death. Whatever happened, I knew she’d be there. I couldn’t live with the woman, but we had those two boys and she was part of my life. I probably only saw her every three or four years. I’m off balance. They say it’s like that when you lose a toe. You take for granted you can walk just fine. You’ve been doing it all your life without giving it a second thought. Suddenly your gait goes wobbly.”

He signaled the waitress and I saw her moving toward the table with a fresh carafe of coffee. Dietz got up and retrieved a coffee cup and silverware setup from the table next to us. It was a nice way of creating emotional space so I could absorb what he’d said. I’d never met Naomi. I’d seen photographs of her and I’d been startled by how beautiful she was. She and Dietz had been apart longer than they’d been a couple. They’d lived together for a time, but she’d refused to marry him. Or maybe he’d never asked.

He returned to the table and sat down.

I said, “The minute you walked into Henry’s kitchen, I knew something was wrong. I could see it in your face.”

“Surprised the hell out of me. This is what’s so weird. We were never in love. There was some kind of chemistry I wouldn’t even classify as sexual. It was more fundamental than that. Ours was a bad mix of personalities. We drove each other nuts. Happiest day of my life was when I left her the last time. Then she died and the bottom dropped out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Being angry with you was a relief.”

“Easier than grief.”

“Right,” he said. “Look, I know you were mad that I left.”