L is for Lawless (Kinsey Millhone 12)

"What about the statute of limitations? Who's going to point a finger after all this time? Besides, I been tried once and I paid for my sins."

"Take it up with an attorney. You could be right. Just in case you're not, I think I'll steer clear," I said.

Laura was getting impatient. She apparently had no interest in our debate about jurisprudence. She leaned closer to me, hissing, "I wish you'd get off the phone. What if Farley's trying to get through?"

I held a hand up like a traffic cop. The American Airlines ticket agent had just come on the line and introduced himself. I said, "Oh, hi, Brad. My name is Kinsey Millhone. I have an open-ended, round-trip ticket from Santa Teresa, California, to Palm Beach, Florida, and I'd like to book the return. I'm in Dallas now, so I just need the Dallas-Santa Teresa leg."

"And what day would this be for?"

"As soon as possible. Today, if you can do it." While agent Brad and I conducted business, Ray and Laura seemed to be negotiating some sort of father-daughter truce, a financial cease-fire of sorts. Apparently, she was allowing him to gift her with the hotly contended eight grand. Dimly, I was aware that he was telling her he had to go down to his room on the tenth floor and pick up his bags. He wanted permission to leave his bags in her room until he could figure out where to go from here.

Meanwhile she began to pace, becoming more agitated as the agent and I tried to work out my itinerary. There were some alternate routes that would get me home by way of San Francisco or Los Angeles, using short hops for the final leg.

Since this was Sunday, both direct flights were completely full, and his only suggestion was that I get myself on standby and hope for the best. He went ahead and wait-listed me on two flights, one nonstop, the other with a layover. The next flight was scheduled for departure at 2:22. I checked my watch. It was just past 12:30, and with the hotel shuttle or a taxi, I could probably get over to the airport in the next thirty-five to forty minutes.

Laura had crossed back to the bed table, where she stuck her face close to mine and mouthed, "Hang up." She sat down on the other bed and began to unlace her high-top tennis shoes.

I gave her a simpering smile as I began to wind up the conversation, reconfirming my notes about the flights in question. As I replaced the receiver in the cradle, I realized Ray was still in the room. "I thought you were going down to get your bags," I said.

"I was afraid if I left you'd be gone when I got back."

"That's a good bet. What's your inclination? Are you going to fly back to California?"

"Nah, I don't think so. I think I'll hang out with Laura until she hears from Farley. As soon as her situation's settled, I'll take off for Louisville. I got a rental car downstairs. Meantime, if I lay low the management will never know I'm here."

"What about Chester? I hate to spoil all the fun, but half of the money belongs to him, you know."

"Says who?"

"You did. You said you were going to turn it over to him."

"I got news for you. He's screwed. I never really meant to cut him in on the deal."

"Ah. I guess I should have known that, right?"

"You're the one who pointed out how much I lie," he said.

"So I have to be the one to break the news to him? Thanks a lot, Ray. That sucks. What am I supposed to say?"

"You'll think of something. Plead ignorance. Make it up."

"Oh, right."

"The guy's a butt, anyway. I bet you never get reimbursed."

I said, "Your confidence in him is touching."

Laura was still sulking, so we skipped the tender fare-thee-wells. I grabbed my shoulder bag, hoisted it, and backed out of the room. Then I headed for the fire stairs and made my way down twelve floors to the lobby.

I took a taxi to the airport. I could have waited for the shuttle, which was free of charge, but the truth was I didn't want to risk running into management. So far, I'd successfully outmaneuvered the hotel authorities, and I was just as happy leaving Texas without some kind of scrape with the law. I checked my wallet in the cab. Since I was on my way home, I figured I had sufficient cash for the journey… which is to say, plus or minus thirty-five bucks. I'd spent a little on incidentals, but in the main, I'd managed on the few resources I'd had. I'd still have to hassle with short-term parking fees when I got home – seven bucks a day for the two or three days I'd been gone – but in a pinch, I could call Henry and have him bring me the necessary cash. I hadn't formally checked out of my room, but the desk clerk had taken an impression of my credit card when I'd checked in, and I was sure the charges would appear on the next statement I received. Hotels aren't exactly dumb about these things.