G is for Gumshoe (Kinsey Millhone 7)

Dietz put his keys in his pocket. "What about groceries? Let me know what we need and I can stop by a supermarket on my way back."

I didn't even have to look. The refrigerator was empty and my cupboards were bare.

"Any requests?"

"Whatever you want. I don't really cook."

"Me neither. We'll have to fake it. I want us eating in whenever possible. While I'm gone, please stay here and keep the door locked. We'll set up the alarm in the morning first thing. I don't want you going out. And no answering the telephone. You have a machine on it?"

I nodded.

"Let the machine pick up."

"I can stay with her if you think it's wise," Henry said.

Dietz looked at me to check my reaction. The guy was a quick study. I'd have to give him that.

"I'd like to have some time by myself," I said. Who knew when I'd ever get to be alone again?

Dietz was apparently willing to honor the request. Henry offered to cook for us, but I really didn't feel up to it. I was tired. I was sore. I was irritable. I just wanted to grab a quick supper and go to bed. My culinary repertoire was limited to peanut-butter-and-pickle sandwiches and hot sliced hardboiled egg with lots of mayonnaise and salt. I'd have to quiz Dietz later on his specialties. Surely, he could do something.

I showered while Dietz was gone, remembering numerous items I wished I'd asked him to pick up. Wine for one. I gave my hair a quick shampooing, feeling antsy and distracted. The sound of running water masked other sounds in the apartment. Someone could be breaking one of my windows out and I wouldn't hear it. I should have had Henry baby-sit. I cut the shower short, wrapped myself in a towel, and peered over the loft railing. Everything looked just as it had before-no broken window, no bloodied hand reaching through to turn the latch.

I put on jeans and a fresh shirt, found clean sheets in the linen closet and made up the sofa bed. It was odd to have a houseguest even in the guise of a bodyguard. I wasn't used to living in the place by myself, let alone with a guy I'd only met that day.

I unpacked the duffel and tidied up the living room. Dietz had told me not to answer the telephone, but he hadn't said anything about phoning out. It was only 6:15. I needed the comfort of business as usual.

I put a call through to Mrs. Gersh. "Irene? This is Kinsey Millhone. I just wanted to touch base and check on your mother. Is she up here yet?"

"How nice of you. Yes, she is. Mother arrived about three this afternoon," she said. "We had an ambulance meet her at the airport and take her right to the nursing home. I just got back from seeing her, as a matter of fact, and she seems fine. Tired, of course."

"The trip must have been hard on her."

Irene's voice dropped slightly. "They must have sedated her, though nobody said as much. I expected her to be raising Cain, but she was very subdued. At any rate, I can't tell you how grateful I am you were able to locate her, and so quickly, too. Even Clyde seems relieved."

"Good. I'm glad. I hope everything works out."

"What about you, dear? I heard about your accident. Are you all right?"

I squinted at the phone with puzzlement. "You heard about that?"

"Well, yes. From your associate. He called here this afternoon, wondering when you'd be home."

All of my internal processes came to a dead halt. "What associate?"

"I don't know, Kinsey. I thought you'd know that.

He said he was a partner in your agency. I really didn't catch the name." A note of doubt had crept into her voice, probably in response to the chilly note in mine.

"What time was this?"

"About an hour ago. I told him I hadn't heard from you, but I was certain you'd be driving back this afternoon. That's when he mentioned that you'd had an accident. Is something wrong?"

"Irene… I don't have a partner. What I have is some guy hired to kill my ass…"

I could practically hear her blink. "I don't understand, dear. What does that mean?"

"Just what it sounds like. A hit man. Someone hoping to murder me for money."

There was a pause, as if she were having to translate from a foreign tongue. "You're joking."

"I wish I were."

"Well, he seemed to know all about you and he sounded very nice. I never would have said a word if he hadn't seemed so familiar."

"I hope you didn't give him my home address or phone number," I said.

"Of course not. If he'd asked me that, I'd have known something was amiss. This is awful. I feel terrible."