X (Kinsey Millhone 24)

“Do you intend to talk to her?”

“Not yet. There’s no point in tipping our hand. If she’s a party to the scheme, let her go on thinking she’s gotten away with it.”

“I’m about to freeze my butt off out here.”

His smile was sheepish. “I’ll let you go.” He stood, all six-plus sweaty feet of him.

I untied the sleeves of my hoodie and zipped myself into it, momentarily warmed. “So what now? I’m not crazy about the idea of Teddy recruiting Christian Satterfield.”

“I’ll bet not. Especially since you were the one who set him up.”

•   •   •

On my way to work, I stopped off at the bank and moved money from savings to my checking account. My alarm system would go in the next morning and I’d have to write S.O.S. a check as soon as the work was done. I continued to the office and parked in the driveway between my bungalow and the one to the right of mine. As Taryn Sizemore had suggested, I unlocked and opened the door with a sense of trepidation. I didn’t actually believe Ned would return to trash the place, but I paused on the doorstep and braced for it anyway. I sniffed. The air was neutral, and a quick peek at my reception area showed nothing out of place. I peered into my office proper, reassured to see all was in order there as well. Nonetheless, I did a cautious walk-about before I sat down at my desk.

I had no phone messages and the mail that had come in was quickly dispatched. One sorry consequence of being short of work was that any unresolved matter was cause for brooding—Teddy Xanakis being a case in point. Even in retrospect, her long sad tale about giving up her baby seemed just offbeat enough to be true, and while I no longer believed a word of it, I couldn’t imagine why she’d wanted to make contact with Christian Satterfield unless she suffered a pathological compulsion to orchestrate personal makeovers on parolees. He’d certainly benefited from her sense of style and her willingness to spend big bucks. No harm had befallen him in that regard, but why was she doing it?

That question aside, the fact was she could have found the kid without help from me. I wasn’t sure how she’d have gone about it, but she was smart and it was clear she could bullshit with the best of them. Why had she roped me in? The problem from my perspective was that I’d provided her the information and now I felt responsible. Satterfield was a big boy and he could look after himself, but I’d put him in a strange position. He was thirty-two years old, an ex-con with no job, no income, and he was living with his mom. How embarrassing was that? If I knew what Teddy had in mind for him, I could either go to his rescue or quit worrying about him.

My thoughts drifted to Vera, who probably knew all the gossip about Teddy and Ari Xanakis. I was hesitant about asking her because I’d virtually abandoned our relationship. Now I wanted to pump her for information and I had no emotional bank account to draw upon. I picked up the phone and punched in her number.

She picked up almost before the line had rung.

“Hey, Vera. This is Kinsey. I thought I’d check and see how you were doing.”

“Great. I’m good. I’ve got three hooligans running circles around me.”

“Any sign of Travis and Scott?”

“Currently, the twins are trying to kick their way to freedom, so far without success. What’s up with you?”

“I was hoping to pick your brain.”

“What a thrilling proposition: talking to an adult. Why don’t you come on over?”

“I’d love to. What’s your schedule this afternoon?”

“I’m not going anyplace. Park in the drive and let yourself in the kitchen door.”

“Will do. I’ll see you shortly.”

On my way over, I stopped by a toy store, thinking I should come up with a “hostess” gift to atone for my neglect. In the past, I’d arrive with a bottle of pricy wine in hand, but as pregnant as she was, alcohol would be a no-no, along with spicy foods and cruciferous vegetables that in the past she claimed made her flatulent. Not that I’d give her a box of Brussels sprouts. My plan was to bring gifts for the kids and thus ingratiate myself. Their ages ranged from baby Abigail, whose date of birth was unknown, to Peter, who was close to four, with Meg’s age falling somewhere between theirs. I needed something that would entertain all three. Oh, geez.

Not surprisingly, the toy store was jammed with toys and I was at a loss. A clerk followed me patiently while I drifted from aisle to aisle, pondering the merchandise. Shoppers were few and I suspected she’d offered to help for her own amusement, observing how inept I was. I rejected packages of balloons, knowing the kids would surely choke to death. I decided against guns or dolls in case the parents were dead set against gender stereotypes. I knew better than to get anything with a thousand little bitty pieces, for both the choking hazard and the certainty of plastic parts being crushed underfoot. Nothing with batteries. I was hoping for something that cost less than ten bucks, which narrowed my choices to just about none. Well, okay, coloring books, but Abigail was probably not old enough to enjoy crayons unless she was eating them.