X (Kinsey Millhone 24)
“Hadn’t thought of that. You think he lied?”
“Not my point. I’m saying if he’d rented a self-storage unit, you’d have heard about it by now unless he paid a year in advance. Otherwise, the renewal would have come up, don’t you think?”
“True. I guess he might have stuck the paperwork in the attic. I mean, we don’t really have an attic, but we have the equivalent.”
“Which is what?”
“Junk room might be the kindest way to describe it. Most of it’s mine from when my mother died and we had to clean out her house. Always possible Pete shoved a box or two in there. It would be easy to overlook.”
“Sounds like it’s worth a try.”
“I’ve been meaning to do it anyway. I could use the space. Enough about my mess. I better let you get to lunch.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll do a quick search and get back to you within the hour. Will you be there?”
“I’ve got errands to run, but it shouldn’t take me long. I’m not crazy about the idea of your using work time for this. Why don’t you drop the box at my place and I can tackle the job? Play my cards right and I can probably talk the IRS guy into lending a hand. I could swear he was moments away from volunteering.”
“Well, aren’t you the charmer? He’s really falling all over himself. So what’s this guy’s name? If I get audited, I’ll be sure to ask for him.”
“George Dayton, like the city in Ohio. You sure you won’t change your mind about bringing the box to me?”
“No, no. I’ll take care of it. I should have done it a week ago.”
“Well, I thank you. Let me know what you find.”
• • •
I decided I might as well grab lunch at home, thus combining feed-time with the task I’d forgotten. As I rounded the corner of the studio, I spotted Henry standing to one side of the yard in a white T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. He has the long, lean lines of a distance runner, though I’ve never seen him engaged in formal exercise. He’s a man in constant motion, who keeps his intellect sharp by way of crossword puzzles and other tests of memory and imagination. The genetic code for all of the Pitts kids has tapped them for long lives. His brothers William and Lewis share Henry’s lean build. Charlie and Nell, now ninety-seven and ninety-nine years old, respectively, are constructed along sturdier lines, but enjoy the same extended longevity. Charlie’s hearing has dimmed, but the lot of them are smart, energetic, and mentally acute.
I crossed to Henry’s side and looked down, noting he’d dug a twelve-inch-deep hole in the lawn, into which he’d inserted a measuring stick. The cat sat nearby, staring attentively into the hole, hoping something small and furry would appear.
Henry picked up his watering can, filled the hole with water, and took a quick look at his watch.
“What’s this about?” I asked.
“I’m measuring soil perk. This dirt has heavy clay content, and I need to find out how fast the water drains.”
I studied the water in the hole. “Not very.”
“I’m afraid not.” He glanced at me with a wry smile. “I made a discovery today. You know how Ed’s been getting out?”
“No clue.”
“Dryer vent. The tubing came loose and I spotted the hole when I was crawling through the bushes checking water lines.”
“You close it up?”
“I did. He’ll probably find another way out, but for now he’s housebound.”
Apparently, Henry hadn’t noticed the cat at his feet, and I made no mention of him.
On a side table next to one of his Adirondack chairs, I spotted an oversize paper edition of Grissom’s Gray Water Guide.
“I see you got your book.”
“Came in Friday’s mail. I’ve been reading up on the difference between separate flow and collection plumbing.”
“What’s that about?”
“Reuse efficiency, among other things. I’ve set up separate flows, but now I’m not sure that’s the best choice. Grissom’s talking about maintenance and troubleshooting, which hadn’t occurred to me. This fellow’s not a fan of the slapdash.”
“Sounds like you need a plumber.”
“Might,” he said. “My house and yard are small, so I was hoping to minimize the cost, but there’s no point in building a system that doesn’t do the job.”
“Wouldn’t hurt to ask an expert.”