X (Kinsey Millhone 24)
Their actions bugged me nonetheless. Parceling trash into other people’s bins, while questionable, doesn’t constitute a crime. If Edna and Joseph chose to sidestep a bill from the waste management company, it was no skin off my nose. I put their cost-cutting measure in the same category as snitching discount coupons from someone else’s mailbox. I wouldn’t have done it myself, but as violations go, it wasn’t that big a deal.
I should have reminded myself that people willing to cheat a little bit are generally dishonest throughout.
Once home, I turned on the lights and scanned the living room for a place to hide the mailer. I had no reason to believe Ned Lowe knew where I lived, but he’d managed to find my office, so why not my home address? I stood in the middle of the room and let my gaze move from surface to surface. All the possibilities seemed obvious. I considered locking the package in the trunk of my car, but all he’d have to do then was bash out a window, reach in, and open a door, which would give him access to the lever that opened the trunk.
I made a detour into Henry’s garage, where I placed the mailer on the shelf where he stores empty paint cans before he drops them off at the nearest hazardous waste collection point.
• • •
When I walked into Rosie’s, I headed for an empty four-top, where I placed my shoulder bag, claiming occupancy on the off chance a flock of hard-partying patrons suddenly rushed the place. William was tending bar in a white dress shirt, red bow tie, black dress pants, and a jaunty pair of red suspenders.
“Well, look at you,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you decked out in such finery.”
“No point in getting complacent at my age. I’ve worn the same three-piece suit for close to fifty years. Not that it’s anything to be embarrassed about. The quality’s excellent and the tailor swore it would wear like iron, but a change now and then is good. The bow tie I knotted myself. I don’t believe in clip-ons, do you?”
“Definitely not.”
He reached under the counter and came up with a corksrew and a bottle of Chardonnay sealed with an actual cork. “I bought this for you. I know those screw-top wines make your lips purse. May I pour you a glass?”
“I would love it. Thanks so much.”
“I’ll bring it to the table. Are you on your own?”
“Ruthie’s coming in and we’ll have supper in a bit. Is Rosie cooking anything we should be warned about in advance?”
His expression showed skepticism. “Carp fillets with sauerkraut, which is actually better than it sounds. She’s making quark, but that won’t be ready for another day.” He held up a hand to forestall my question. “Curdled whole milk with the whey drained away.”
“Yum.”
By the time Ruthie appeared, he’d brought a generous pour of Chardonnay for me and an icy vodka martini for her.
She took a sip and I watched a shiver run down her spine. “I can’t believe you don’t drink these,” she said.
“No, thanks. Any sign of your intruder?”
“He’s out of luck. I had the locks changed again and my alarm system went in today. I feel better having all those buttons to push.” She propped her chin on her fist. “So what’s the story you want confirmed? I hate when you say things like that without filling me in.”
I gave her a synopsis of Taryn Sizemore’s tale about Morley Shine breaking into her psychiatrist’s office and stealing enough personal data to blow her lawsuit out of the water. I didn’t go into detail about the facts themselves, just the manner in which Morley acquired them. “Is the story true?”
Ruthie held up a hand. “Gospel. Morley confessed to Pete one night when he was in his cups. He considered it a coup, and Pete said he was positively gleeful about it, chortling on at length. He compared the break-in to Watergate, only without the political fallout. Ha. Ha. Ha. What a card our Morley was.”
“Did Ruffner know what Morley did?”
“He made a point of not probing too deeply. He was happy to have the leverage and didn’t much care how it fell into his hands. Pete was horrified, of course, though he didn’t let Morley know how upset he was. I urged him to tell Ben, but Pete was unsure and he agonized for weeks.”
“What was the debate?”
“He knew he was skating on thin ice. Ben and Morley had been partners for fifteen years and fast friends for years before that. Pete was low man on the totem pole and hardly a pal to either one. He was well-trained—Ben made sure of that—but he didn’t have the social skills to pick up jobs on his own. They’d parcel out the odd assignments, but he was there on sufferance, especially where Ben was concerned. Pete and Morley got along okay, until this came up.”