W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone 23)

“I understand. I just can’t think what else to do for him.”

“I appreciate the sentiment. This is nothing against you or Felix. I know my limits. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

I took out a business card and placed it on the counter. “If anything else comes up, could you give me a call?”

“No, but I wish you luck.”

•   •   •

When I returned to the studio, I passed Dietz’s red Porsche parked half a block away. Either he hadn’t found Con Dolan at home or information had been in short supply. There was a parking place on the far side of the street, so I made a U-turn and pulled into it. I grabbed my shoulder bag and the mailing pouch, locked my car, crossed the street, and let myself in through the gate.

When I reached the back patio I stopped dead. Henry sat in one of the two Adirondack chairs. Anna Dace had settled in the other. Her dark hair was pulled up on top of her head and held in place with a series of silver clips. Boots, jeans, a denim jacket, under which she wore a low-cut T-shirt. All well and good. It was the oversize suitcase beside her that caught my attention. I also took note of Ed the cat, who was curled up in her lap sleeping like a baby.

I held Dace’s package against my chest like body armor as I stared at her. “How did you get here?”

“A Greyhound bus.”

“I thought you didn’t have a dime.”

“I had to borrow the money from Ellen. If you’d given me a ride like you said, I wouldn’t have had to bother her.”

“I never said I’d give you a ride.”

“You sure as shit didn’t say no.” She glanced at Henry. “Excuse the trash talk, but I’m sure you can see my point.”

He had the good grace not to comment one way or the other. He ventured a smile at me. “Your father’s side of the family. This is nice.”

I was still focused on her. “You can’t stay with me.”

“Who asked you? I got a place to stay.”

Henry said, “It’s no trouble. I have a spare bedroom. We were just going in to get her settled. I thought you’d enjoy having her close by so the two of you could get to know each other.”

“Did you come up with that plan or did she?”

Henry blinked. “I don’t quite remember now. I thought I did.”

“I have work to do,” I said.

I hadn’t given Dietz a key, but he must have hung on to the one he had made when he was last in town. The apartment was unlocked and the door stood ajar, leaving a plank of October sunshine lying on my floor. I had to stand in the doorway for a moment to regain my self-control. I couldn’t blame Henry. How was he to know how manipulative she was?

I put the package on the desk.

Dietz was sitting on my couch, bare feet propped on the coffee table while he worked his way through my copy of the Sunday Los Angeles Times. This was the very paper he had open across the breakfast table when I’d found him at the Edgewater earlier. He’d put on a fresh pot of coffee and his empty cup was resting within reach. “You’re upset.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You look upset.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said. “It has nothing to do with you.”

“Imagine my relief.”

I tossed my shoulder bag onto one of the kitchen stools and settled on the couch beside him. “I should’ve let you finish reading the paper while you had the chance,” I said.

He smiled. “I can do this all day. I like the bits and pieces buried at the back. I check the personals columns and study the car ads. You never know when you might come across the deal of the century.”

“What did Con say?”

“He wasn’t home. Neighbor said he and Stacy Oliphant went off to Cabo for a couple of weeks. Sport fishing, I gather. We’ll chat with the homicide detectives tomorrow and hope they have information to trade. Your old boyfriend still assigned to the crimes against persons unit?”

“Who, Jonah? He was never a boyfriend. He was a guy I dated when his wife wasn’t jerking him around.”

“Really. I don’t think I knew about him. I was talking about the other one. Curly-haired fellow whose dad has all the dough.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” I said, though I knew perfectly well he was referring to Cheney Phillips.

I wasn’t sure how he could contemplate the subject of my so-called love life. If I’d known he’d been involved with two other women, I’d have been too insecure to mention either one. In my opinion, this was exactly the sort of issue that lengthy and frequent separations bring to the fore. I didn’t want to “share.” I was an only child and I still tend to cling to the notion of “what’s mine is mine.” Actually, Deitz was an only child as well, but he’d gone to the other extreme. Where I was possessive, he was laissez-faire, a free-market kind of guy. I knew it was his coping mechanism, but I wasn’t sure how it worked. Maybe he was casual about bonds because he was always out the door and always moving on. He had no interest in putting down roots. To him, life was a slide show and he was happy with the change of scene. He liked stimulation and novelty. He didn’t attach emotional meaning to what I did, especially since he felt it had nothing to do with him. I don’t understand how men can operate like that. Given my abandonment issues (and I confess I hate talk of that sort), I was always in danger of losing what I longed for most—stability, closeness, belonging. In my head, I knew better. Being needy is actually a way of keeping others at bay. It may seem attractive to those addicted to rescue, but the yearning can never be fulfilled and the clinging ends up driving folks away. Why would you want someone hanging around your neck, worried you don’t care enough and asking for constant reassurance on the point?