U Is for Undertow (Kinsey Millhone 21)

As I approached I could see that he was creating a stained-glass panel. On the workbench he’d laid out a design, a stylized pattern of trees, leaves, and branches against a white background. He’d cut paper templates for each section of the design, and these he’d glued to various pieces of glass. As I watched he ran a wheel glass cutter along the edge of one template. He’d already cut a number of sections, and I waited while he completed the straight line he was tracing. When he finished he tapped the glass and it broke neatly.

He lifted his goggles and pushed them up on his head.

I said, “Hi, Mr. Holderman. Sorry to interrupt your work.”

He peeled off his gloves and laid them on the work surface with a shake of his head. “Don’t worry about it. I was ready for a break. I get lost in this stuff and it’s good to come up for air now and then. You were the one who knocked on my door and asked to walk the hill. You should have told me what you were up to.”

“Sorry for the omission, but I didn’t think I’d succeed. I should have laid it out for you regardless.”

“I’ve blanked on your name.”

“Kinsey Millhone,” I said. “Did the officers bring you up to speed?”

“After the fact. They seemed to think you were onto something.”

“I did, too, but I’ve been wrong before and such is life.” I peered at the section of stained glass he was working on. “You made the panels in your front door?”

“I did. This one’s a bit more complex, but I’m having a good time.”

“That’s the lead?”

He nodded. “It’s called came. These are U-shaped cross sections for the circumference and H-shaped for the middle of the design. Lead came is meant for two-dimensional panes. You want to do three dimensions, you use a copper foil technique.”

“What will you do with the window when it’s done?”

“Give it away. Just about everybody in my family’s had a window foisted off on ’em at some point. My daughter’s house looks like a church.” He smiled, showing dimples I hadn’t seen before. “What brings you back to the neighborhood?”

“I’m curious about the people who owned the property where the dog was buried. You mentioned the house changed hands twice. Did you know the previous owners?”

“Oh, sure. Patrick and Deborah Unruh. Nice folks. The dog wasn’t theirs, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I know. I’ve talked to the real owner and he has no idea how the dog ended up in someone else’s backyard. There’s probably a simple explanation.”

“That whole section of the hill was overgrown back then. Maybe whoever buried the dog didn’t realize it was private property.”

“Could be,” I said. “When did the Unruhs sell the house?”

“You got me there. It’s been at least fifteen years. I’d say closer to twenty.”

“Did they buy another house in the area?”

“No. They moved to a gated community in Los Angeles. He owned a manufacturing plant, making uniforms, sports gear, and outerwear. He worked down there through the week and drove up here weekends.”

“You think he wanted a place closer to his business?”

“That’d be my guess. The move was abrupt, which I thought was odd. They were here one day, gone the next. I remember chatting with them at a barbecue a few days before and neither said a word about plans to relocate. Next thing I know there’s a moving van in the drive and guys are loading up the household goods.”

“Do you remember when this was?”

“Not a clue. One of the other neighbors might know. The gal next door, Avis Jent, kept in touch for a while. She could tell you more.”

“What about you? No exchange of Christmas cards?”

“We weren’t close friends, more like social acquaintances. Patrick was killed in a plane crash a couple of years ago. After that, I heard Deborah moved back here, but I’ve never had it confirmed. A town this size, you’d think you’d run into people all the time, but you don’t.”

“Do you think she remarried? I ask because I’m wondering if she’s still using the name Unruh.”

“Probably. From what I saw of them, they were one of those magic twosomes who mate for life. They even looked alike. Both tall and trim, fair-haired.”

“Any children?”

“Just one, a boy named Greg. She and Patrick ended up raising his daughter, Rain, so that might count as two kids.”