W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone 23)

It wasn’t until I turned to leave that I realized Linton Reed was standing in the shadow of the driveway. He wore a dark overcoat. He looked completely out of place in the midst of such familiar sights. The Adirondack chair and the aluminum lawn chair were still pulled close together, as though William and I hadn’t finished talking. There was a trowel on Henry’s potting bench that he might have left there two minutes ago instead of the hours it had probably been. Clay pots of marigolds awaited placement around the edges of the patio.

Linton Reed had his hands in his coat pockets and he was completely still. This seemed odd to me. Charming people, like great white sharks, are always in motion. Their charm depends on sleight of hand; a smile, a tone, anything to suggest they have an active inner life that fuels the public image. They depend on motion to give them breath. It’s because they’re dead inside that they work so hard to maintain the illusion that they have souls.

“Hi, Dr. Reed,” I said. “Anna said you might stop by.” I moved toward him, showing what a friendly little thing I was.

His reply was late in coming by two beats. “Did she now.” His tone wasn’t accusatory. It was thoughtful, as though he were contemplating the possibility.

“She said you wanted to pick up that bottle of pills.”

Again, the slow response. “When we spoke, you didn’t tell me you had them.”

“Because I didn’t at that point. After you talked about the danger of unidentified medications in circulation, I asked a couple of Dace’s friends if they knew what he’d done with his pills. As it happens, he’d given them to a homeless fellow, who turned them over to me. I threw them in the trash. I hope that was all right.” He’d triggered the chatty side of my nature, which often comes to the fore when I’m worried I’ll wet my pants.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh. Well, good. Because the point is, I don’t have the pills. If I did, I’d give them to you. I certainly have no use for them myself.”

“You led me to believe you had a simple query about a family member when all the time you sat there convinced I’d done something bad. I didn’t come here asking about the pills. You jumped to the subject yourself because you’re guilty of such deceit.”

“I have no reason to feel guilty.”

He ignored that comment. “I received a call from Eloise Cantrell, who says you accosted her on the street, asking questions about me.”

“I didn’t accost her. How ridiculous. I ran into her at St. Terry’s as she was leaving for the day. I knew she worked on the CCU because she’d called me months ago when Dace was admitted. I asked if she knew you and she said she did. That’s all it was. I’d talked to you earlier and it just seemed like a happy coincidence.”

I watched his face cloud over.

He shook his head, frowning. “Something’s off. Let’s go back. You came to my office unannounced hoping to catch me off guard. You presented yourself in a false light, gathering information for reasons known only to yourself.”

“I probably should have been more forthcoming,” I said. “Here’s what happened. I’m sure you know Terrence Dace was suspicious and confused. His behavior was erratic and he harbored paranoid fantasies. I thought I should look into it. It had nothing to do with you personally. I got involved because he’d drawn up a will in which he disinherited his children and left everything to me. I was concerned about a legal challenge, so I was doing my due diligence . . .”

Wincing, he pressed the flat of his hand to the side of his face, like a child with a painful ear infection. “You keep talking and talking. You use talk as a cover for something else, but I don’t know what it is.”

“Really, I don’t. I think you’ve misunderstood.”

“No, I have not. You’re devious. I don’t know how else to describe your behavior.”

“I haven’t meant to be devious.”

“But it’s your nature, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think so. I wouldn’t say that about myself.”

“Do you have any idea how perilous your position is?”

“Perilous?”

“I have you to thank for what’s happening. It’s as simple as that. When we spoke in my office, I didn’t grasp your agenda. I was at fault there for not being quicker off the mark. My apologies.”

In a situation like this, it’s of little comfort knowing you’re right. I was right about Linton Reed. I’d been right all along, but who was I going to tell?