W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone 23)

“Hey, Daddy.”

“School go okay?”

“Fine.”

“You want a snack, you can get yourself some cookies, but share with Scottie and the Bink, okay?”

“’Kay.”

She disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later with the box of cookies. She got out a Fig Newton and held it in her teeth while she sat down at the children’s table, opened her backpack, and took out her homework. Binky used the table leg to pull herself up so she could bang on Amanda’s paper with the flat of her hand. She slid it back and forth rapidly.

“Daddy, Binky’s tearing my paper.”

“She’s not doing anything.”

“She’s messed it up and now I’ll get a bad grade.”

Ethan didn’t really seem to be listening, but Scott got up and put his arms around Binky’s waist from behind. He lifted her off her feet and carried her across the room in our direction. I was afraid he’d throw his back out, but maybe at his age he was so limber that picking up half his body weight had no effect. He propped her against the coffee table and went back to his work. She held on, momentarily diverted by the uncapped blue marker pen she’d snagged in passing.

I was struck by Ethan’s management style, which was competent but disengaged. Granted, neither of the dogs had barked, slobbered, or jumped on me, and none of the kids had cried, screamed, or shrieked. I already liked the lot of them better than I liked most.

Meanwhile, I noticed the marker pen was dyeing Binky’s lips and tongue the color of blueberries. Surely, the manufacturer made a point of using nontoxic inks, since the pens were made for kids.

I glanced at Ethan. “Is she okay with that?”

He reached over and took the pen. I expected a howl to go up, but she’d fixed her attention on the doorknob.

I removed the manila envelope from my shoulder bag. “These are copies of the will and a couple of forms I filled out. There’s a hearing in December if you want to challenge the terms of the will.”

Ethan had his head in his hands, slowly shaking it back and forth. “This is too much. Man, I don’t believe it.”

I placed the manila envelope on the table. “There’s something else as long as I’m here.”

Ethan looked over at me with a pained expression. “What?”

“I wondered what you wanted done with his remains?”

“His remains? You mean his corpse? You can’t be serious. I don’t give a shit!”

“I thought you might want a voice in decisions about his funeral. I delayed making arrangements until I talked to you.”

“You can do anything you want. Just don’t think I’m paying you one red cent.”

“Don’t you want to talk to Ellen and Anna first?”

“And drop the same bomb on them? That sounds like a fun idea.”

“If you’ll tell me how to get in touch, I can explain it all to them.”

“I’m not telling you where they are. Why should I help you? You’re the red-hot detective. You figure it out.”

“My business card is in the envelope . . .”

“Lady, would you quit going on and on about this? I mean, give me a break. This is insulting enough as it is.”

“I appreciate your time,” I murmured as I got up.

Binky was already grabbing for the manila envelope, which she tried to stuff into her mouth without much success. She looked down at it, as though sizing it up for another approach.

He snatched it away from her and sailed it in my direction. “Take the damn thing.” This time, the baby’s face crumpled and she howled.

I left the envelope on the floor where it landed. “I’m at the Thrifty Lodge if you need to reach me.”

“I don’t. Just get the hell out of here and watch the dogs don’t escape.”

16

I stood on the porch, waiting for the flop sweat to cool before I headed down the steps. I had to congratulate myself on my efficiency. Here it was only 3:10 and I’d already had my ass handed to me on a plate. Ordinarily, I’d have sat in the car out front, taking notes while the conversation was still fresh in my mind. Instead, I fired up the Mustang and drove half a block, waiting until I’d turned the corner before I pulled over to the curb. I took a deep breath and exhaled. That had most certainly not gone well. I reran the conversation, considering alternative responses, but I couldn’t come up with any that might have served me better than the ones I’d voiced at the time. I’d hoped to persuade Ethan to give me Anna’s contact information, but that was out of the question now. I recited a string of cuss words, calling up some of the really nasty four-letter jobs that trip so refreshingly off the tongue. Didn’t seem to help.