W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone 23)

Anna appeared. Here it was October and she was in a tank top and a pair of short shorts. “Can I talk to you?”

I hadn’t seen her for days, but Henry had told me she’d picked up a job in a beauty salon on lower State Street, which allowed her to walk to work. She was still bunking at his place, but since he had no objections, I didn’t see how I could complain.

I said, “Sure. Have a seat. I hear you found work. How’s it going?”

She perched on the edge of one of my visitor’s chairs. “The job’s fine. Still minimum wage, but I like the place.”

“Good. What can I do for you?”

“Gee, well, let’s just get down to business here.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know you came to chitchat.”

“I think I made a mistake.”

This was interesting. I swear if she’d had a hankie in hand, she’d be twisting it. I noticed I wasn’t getting the benefit of those big blue eyes of hers. I waited.

“I talked to Dr. Reed. Henry lent me his car and I drove out to the university.”

“This was Thursday of last week?”

“Well, yes, but I haven’t seen you since then or I’d have told you earlier.”

“I wasn’t accusing you of anything,” I said.

“When I told Dr. Reed I was Terrence Dace’s daughter, he was confused about why I was there when he’d already talked to you earlier that day. He got all pissy and said he couldn’t understand why you hadn’t just passed the information along.”

“To which you replied?”

“I was so rattled I don’t remember now, but that’s not the point. I thought he knew what you did . . .”

“About what?”

“Your work. He didn’t know you were a private detective.”

“How did that come up?”

“I was just making conversation. I told him I hadn’t been in town long. I said I was staying with your landlord, who owns the studio you rent on the same property. I said it worked out well for both of you because you were sometimes on the road. Dr. Reed asked if you were in sales and then I mentioned what you did for a living. He got upset you never identified yourself. He said you acted like you were having any old conversation about a family member.”

“That’s what it was. I wasn’t there in any professional capacity.”

“But you asked all those questions about the program.”

“He volunteered. I didn’t even know enough to ask.”

“That’s not how he remembers it.”

I considered the situation briefly. “I don’t see how any harm was done,” I said. “I’d have preferred your keeping my personal life to yourself, but it’s too late to worry about that now.”

“I lied a little bit and said you’d given me some of the information, but what I’d really come to ask him was something else. I told him Ethan’s concerns that Daddy’s medication might have affected his mind. Dr. Reed blew his stack. The guy’s a basket case. He wanted to know why everybody was suddenly so interested. He said my father didn’t suffer dementia or any other mental impairment. He was taking a placebo and it wouldn’t have had that effect.”

“Good news for me and bad for you,” I said. “I guess the will’s back in effect.”

“You don’t have to make jokes about it.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be flip.”

“Anyway, I didn’t see why he had to get so huffy. I felt like I really put my foot in it. And then to make matters worse, this other business came up.”

“Please don’t make me guess.”

“Well, I knew one of those homeless people gave you a bottle of Daddy’s pills . . .”

I cut in, saying, “Who told you that?”

“Henry.”

I was close to pressing her further when I picked up the unspoken message. “And you told Dr. Reed?”

I was not actually shrieking, but she must have guessed the level of my outrage from the expression on my face.

“I didn’t know it was any big secret.”

“But why would you do that? Why in the world would you do that? Why would the subject even come up?”

“Because he said if I went through Daddy’s things I should keep an eye out. He said fourteen pills were missing and I said you had them.”

“Is the concept of minding your own business completely foreign to you? I told you not to go out there. I knew no good would come of it.”