W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone 23)

He leaned forward and handed me a glossy brochure that featured a color photograph of a sleek boat on a body of water. This was not a 2,600-passenger cruise liner tracking the Norwegian fjords. This was river travel. A village was laid out along the shore, with a low rolling mountain beyond. The bell tower on the church was reflected like a shimmering mirage at the water’s edge. Everything about the image was inviting, including the sight of passengers on the upper deck where a swimming pool was visible. “I could learn to live like that,” I said.

“I told you money has its advantages.”

“For sure. I just couldn’t picture anything I wanted. Now I’m getting it,” I said. “It’d be nice if he’d set aside some cash to pay for the trip. I’m sure Ruthie could use the getaway.”

“You think she’d go without him?”

“Not really. I think if she had the money, she’d pay off his creditors before she did anything else.”

I watched Dietz pick up a sheaf of papers. As his eyes traced the lines of print, he let out a bark of outrage. “Son of a bitch! Look at this! What the hell is he doing here?”

I took the typewritten pages and glanced at the first. “What am I looking at?”

“My report. He stole the whole damn thing. Retyped it and dicked around with the language, but essentially it’s my work, with all my receipts attached. I’ll bet he was reimbursed for everything, including my time. This is my original. Look at that.”

I leafed through both reports, keeping the two documents side by side for comparison purposes. Pete had rewritten Dietz’s account on his own letterhead, embellishing in places, altering the wording so it sounded more folksy. Attached were invoices showing two sets of round-trip tickets from Santa Teresa to Reno, trips he’d certainly never made. He’d done a clumsy job of substituting his name for Dietz’s in the hotel bill, but he probably thought his client wouldn’t know the difference. I couldn’t think why he’d kept Dietz’s original. He’d have been smarter to destroy it unless he’d hoped to lift details to fashion a follow-up report. I doubted he had any intention of paying Dietz at all and what options did Dietz have? Trying to collect in California for work done in Nevada would have been an exercise in frustration. Taking Pete to small claims court would have been time consuming, and even if Dietz had won a judgment, what was he to do with it? Pete was flat broke.

“I hope he made good use of my photographs while he was at it,” he said.

He opened the manila envelope that bore his return address and removed the pictures he’d taken.

I peered over his shoulder. “That’s the gal you were hired to spy on?”

“Mary Lee Bryce, right.” Dietz shuffled through the prints while I looked on. “This is her when she first arrived at the hotel and this is Owen Pensky, the high school classmate she met with. Here’s one of her with the boss she was supposed to be having the affair with.”

“No love lost there,” I remarked.

“Unless they’re really good at faking it.”

“I bet Pete collected up front and in cash. He wasn’t the type to bill after the fact.”

“Depressing, but you’re probably right.”

“So if Willard Bryce has already paid Pete, there’s no point in asking him for the money. He’d turn you down cold.”

“When you said Pete was a scumbag, I thought you were exaggerating.”

“I should point out that you had a better motive to shoot Pete than any armed robber did. All that guy got was an empty wallet and a cheap watch.”

Dietz tossed aside the manila envelope. “You know what bugs me? Here I was so worried his death was connected to the job I did. If I’d known he was ripping me off, I wouldn’t have given it another thought.”

“He did provide a great excuse for spending time with me.”

“Well, there’s that.”

I checked the receipts for the two sets of plane tickets. “You think he actually paid for tickets? These are copies of copies. I wonder what happened to the originals.”

“He had to pay for ’em or he wouldn’t have tickets in his possession in the first place. I’m sure he didn’t make two trips to Reno. Hell, he didn’t even make one.”

“Maybe he has a refund coming.”

“Maybe he collected the money and spent it all. Who cares?”

“I’m sure Ruthie would appreciate the windfall.”

“Fine. Give her the file and let her figure it out.”