X (Kinsey Millhone, #24)

“His daughter says you wanted to deliver gifts her mother ordered before she died. It was her impression you expected cash on delivery.”


“I never said anything of the sort. What gifts? I’m not delivering anything. You can search my trunk if you don’t want to take my word for it.” I was hoping it wouldn’t occur to him to ask why I’d called her in the first place.

He kept his tone neutral. “Mr. Lowe wants your assurance you won’t approach the house or initiate contact with Mrs. Staehlings.”

“What is he talking about? I haven’t stepped out of my car and I haven’t exchanged a word with either one of them. Could you make a note of that in your report?”

“I will do that,” he said. “I can see there was a miscommunication. I’m not sure how you two got crosswise with each other, but people sometimes jump to conclusions and the situation escalates. I think cooler heads will prevail. I’m sure Mr. Lowe and his daughter will be good with this.”

“I hope so,” I said. “May I go now?”

He backed up a step and gestured that I could pull away, saying, “I appreciate your patience.”

“And I appreciate your courtesy,” I replied.

I rolled up the car window, started the engine, and pulled into the street, my attention riveted on the road in front of me. It wasn’t until I turned the corner that I let out a deep breath and then shivered as the tension drained away. I could feel a cold damp patch under each arm and I knew the flop sweat would be scented with anxiety.

I reached the office, ready for some peace and quiet so I could compose myself. As I pulled into the drive, I saw Detective Nash sitting in his parked car. He spotted me, and by the time I emerged from my car, he was getting out of his.

I paused. “Didn’t I just talk to you?”

“Something’s come up.”

“I’m having a hard day. I don’t suppose it can wait.”

“Could, but I was in the neighborhood.”

I unlocked the office door and left it ajar, resigned to his following. No need to invite him in when he was intent on tagging after me. I dropped my shoulder bag on the floor behind my desk and settled in my swivel chair. He took a seat in the same guest chair he’d occupied before.

“Fire away,” I said.

“I had a conversation with Ari Xanakis.”

“How did that come to pass? Did you call him or did he call you?”

“I confess I called him. Ordinarily, I’d keep my nose out of it. His relationship with Teddy is his to deal with, but given their rancorous history, I thought he should be aware of that business in Beverly Hills. If she’s cooking up trouble for him, he should be forewarned. I gave him the broad strokes and he said he’d prefer hearing the story from you.”

“I’d have to think about that. I’m not opposed to lousing up Teddy’s life, but I don’t want to get caught in the middle of their hostilities. From what I’ve heard, the two have been battling for years and this is just more of the same,” I said.

“That about sums it up.”

“What have you told him? Does he know about the marked bills?”

“I gave him a quick sketch of the situation. I was reluctant to brief him on an ongoing investigation, but I didn’t think I had much choice. I didn’t want to put you in the position of having to lie if he asked. I told him you did a job for her and that’s how the two bills came to our attention.”

“Speaking of which, I’m still out a hundred bucks on that score.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t do anything about that.”

“So what does Ari want from me?”

“He understands it was your detective work that put Teddy in touch with Satterfield. He’d like to hear your assessment.”

“My assessment? I met the woman once and everything she told me was a lie. I know what I saw, but I can’t begin to guess what she’s up to. Why doesn’t he ask her?”

“Asking is usually a bad move where Teddy’s concerned. If she’s scamming him, she’s not going to ’fess up.”

“I’ll talk to him. Once. And let’s hope that’s the end of it.”

“Thanks. I owe you one. I’ll get back to you.”





30


Tuesday morning, as I was leaving the studio, I found Henry poised on my doorstep, his hand raised as though to knock. I could see his station wagon idling in the driveway. Edna was standing on the far side wearing a black winter coat and a jaunty red knit hat, her pocketbook clasped in front of her like a brown bag lunch.

Henry said, “I’m so glad you’re here. I was worried you’d be gone by now.”

“Late start this morning. Where are you off to?”

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