“To take the focus off himself.”
I could tell she was getting agitated. “He told us Sloan used that tape to threaten Austin, which means it’s much more likely she gave it to someone for safekeeping. I doubt she’d have entrusted it to Iris, but Poppy’s a good bet. Actually, it could have been anyone. The point is, I’m not paying you to implicate my son.”
“All I’m saying is, I don’t think we should rule anything out at this point.”
“I’m ruling it out, so let’s move on to something else.”
“What do you suggest?” I asked, trying to keep the frostiness out of my tone.
“The obvious move is to find Troy and Bayard and ask if they’ll corroborate Fritz’s claim about the missing scenes. If there were cuts and the tape was a hoax, the two aren’t in any jeopardy as far as I can see.”
“True in theory, but without the original, who’s going to believe them?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” she said irritably. “If Troy confirms what Fritz is telling us, you can move on to the issue of outtakes and tracking those down. Right now, all we have is his word for it. You should also contact Poppy and see if she knows what Sloan did with the tape.”
“I can do that,” I said. I made a face at the phone to show I wasn’t knuckling under without a protest.
Once we hung up, I took out the list of names I’d jotted down after my initial meeting with her. I thought my suspicions about Fritz had merit. Clearly she did not. The fact remained that I was an employee and she had every right to call the shots. At least I’d planted the idea and if Fritz was involved in the scheme, he might tip his hand.
I’d met Iris, but Poppy, Troy, and Bayard were still unknown entities. I should also talk to Sloan’s mother to see what she knew. I didn’t relish talking to the mother of the dead girl and quickly convinced myself it would be better to cover the easy ones first. I pulled the phone book from the bottom drawer and did a finger search. There was no listing for Poppy, who might have married or left town in the past few years. I did see a Dr. Sherman and Loretta Earl with an address on Eden Way in Horton Ravine. His office address and phone appeared in the listing below and I copied those as well, noting that he was a cardiologist. Bayard Montgomery and Troy Rademaker were both listed and I made a note of their respective addresses and telephone numbers. I put in a quick call to Ruthie and picked up the name of the automobile repair shop where Troy Rademaker was employed. This would give me a running start.
Fortified with the information, I pulled on my windbreaker and grabbed my shoulder bag. I armed the system, locked the office, and then headed for my car. Before I hit the road, I locked my gun in the trunk, not wanting to alarm anyone I chanced to interview. I took my city guide from the glove compartment and spent a couple of minutes looking for Eden Way. Fifteen minutes later, I was swinging through the wrought-iron gate, which stood open at the entrance to the enclave. The cobblestone driveway bordered a sloping front lawn that swept up to the left and terminated in a circular parking area. The house was gray stone, in a mock Tudor style, complete with cross-timbers and mullioned windows. How many of these houses did we have in town? Seemed like every time I turned around, I was looking at a Tudor-style house, expecting Ann Boleyn to emerge. A yardman on a riding mower had created a manicured path across the bright green shaggy grass and I took brief note of his progress.
At the top of the drive, I parked and followed the front walk to the door, where I rang the bell. I turned and looked out, admiring the massive oaks that dotted the grounds. I realized the sound of the mower had ceased and the yardman was coming up the driveway in my direction, wiping his sweaty face with a handkerchief.
“Can I help you?” He wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap that he removed, revealing a balding pate with short-cropped gray hair on either side.
“Is this the Earls’ address?”
“It is. I’m Dr. Earl.” He held out his hand and I shook it.
“It’s nice meeting you. I’m Kinsey Millhone. I assumed you worked here and I apologize.”
“Not a problem,” he said. He was in his late fifties, not heavy-set, but he’d apparently picked up the pounds as the years went by and hadn’t yet adjusted the size of his pants. “This is my afternoon off. I mow because it’s mindless and allows me time to collect my thoughts. You’re the private investigator?”
“That’s right. Have we met?”
“I remember reading about you in the paper when Dowan Purcell disappeared.”
“That was a bad deal,” I said. “Were you a friend of his?”
“We belonged to the same country club, though we didn’t socialize. Are you here with regard to him?”
I shook my head. “I’m hoping to locate Poppy. She isn’t listed in the phone book, so I thought maybe you could steer me in the right direction.”
“My daughter’s a popular girl these days. The fellow who just got out of prison was hoping to connect with her as well.”
“Fritz McCabe? I wasn’t aware of that.”
His gaze shifted to a point behind me and I turned to see a black Lincoln Continental easing up the drive with scarcely a sound.
“My wife,” he said.
We watched as she pulled into the parking area. The trunk popped open with a muffled thunk. She got out and walked around to the rear, where she pulled out a number of Saks Fifth Avenue shopping bags. She wore a full-length mink coat that seemed excessive in the tangible autumn heat.
When she reached her husband, the two exchanged one of those dutiful kisses that signify marital niceties, but not much else.
“My wife, Loretta,” he said. “This is Kinsey Millhone.”
We shook hands briefly before he went on. “She’s looking for Poppy.”
Loretta said, “What’s this about, or has Sherman already asked?” Her hair was dark at the roots, the strands highlighted with blond as though the sun had done the job. Her smile carried little warmth and her tone, while polite, had an edge to it.
“I just arrived, so he hasn’t had the chance. I’m sorry to stop by unannounced.”
“It’s a little late to worry about that now, isn’t it?” Her smile became more winsome, as though she were being witty instead of rude. Just my luck. Bitchy and brittle as a dry stick.
Dr. Earl put on his cap. “If you ladies don’t mind, I’ll get back to work.”
Loretta moved toward the front door. Over her shoulder, she said, “As long as you’re here, you might as well come in.”
“If this is inconvenient, I can try you another time.”
She didn’t deign to reply. She opened the door and paused briefly in the foyer to shed her mink coat, which she tossed across an occasional chair before she continued toward the back of the house.