Four Sue Grafton Novels

  “The deal you signed before you moved in,” I said. “You want your side heard, you can join a tenants association.”

  “Bitch.” She slammed the door in my face, at least so far as she could manage with the burglar chain in place.

  I got back in my car and headed for the notary’s office, so I could dot all my i’s and cross my t’s.

  15

  When I got back to the office after lunch, the message light was blinking on my answering machine. I pushed the Play button.

  A woman said, “Hello? Oh. I hope this is the right number. This is Dewel Greathouse. I’m calling in regard to a flyer I found in my door yesterday? The thing is, I’m almost sure I’ve seen that gentleman. Could you give me a call when you get this? Thanks. Oh. I can be reached at…” She rattled off the number.

  I snatched up a pen and a pad of paper, and jotted down what I remembered, then replayed the message to verify the information. I punched in the number, which rang half a dozen times.

  The woman who finally answered was clearly out of breath. “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Greathouse? Is that Dewel, or did I misunderstand the name?”

  “That’s right. Dewel with a D. Hang on a second. I just ran up a flight of steps. Sorry.”

  “Not a problem. Take your time.”

  Finally, she said, “Whew! I was on my way back from the laundry room when I heard the phone. Who’s this?”

  “Kinsey Millhone. I’m returning your call. You left a message on my machine in response to one of the flyers I distributed in your neighborhood.”

  “I sure did. I remember now, but I don’t believe you gave your name.”

  “Sorry about that, but I appreciate your calling.”

  “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but why are you looking for this gentleman? I wouldn’t want to get anyone in trouble. The flyer said something about an accident. Did he hit someone?”

  I went back through my explanation, making it clear that the man didn’t cause or contribute to the accident. I said, “He was more the Good Samaritan. I’m working for an attorney who’s hoping he can give us a report of what went on.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, that’s all right then. I don’t know that I can be much help, but when I read the description, I knew exactly who you meant.”

  “Does he live in the area?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve seen him sitting at the bus stop at Vista del Mar and Palisade. You know the one I mean?”

  “At City College?”

  “That’s it, only on the opposite side.”

  “Okay. Right.”

  “I’ve noticed him because that’s my street and I pass him as I’m driving home. I have to slow to make the turn and I’m looking in that direction.”

  “How often do you see him?”

  “Couple of afternoons a week for the past year I’d say.”

  “And this is since last May?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Can you tell me which days of the week?”

  “Not offhand. I moved to my apartment in June of ’86 after I took a new part-time job.”

  “What sort of work do you do?”

  “I’m in the service department at Dutton Motors. What’s nice is I’m only ten minutes from work, which is why I took this apartment to begin with.”

  “What time of day, would you say?”

  “Midafternoon. I get home at two fifty pretty much without fail. I’m just half a mile away so it doesn’t take me long once I’m on the road.”

  “You know anything about him?”

  “Not really. It’s mostly what you said. He’s got thick white hair and he wears a brown leather jacket. I only see him in passing so I really couldn’t guess age or eye color or anything like that.”

  “You think he works in the neighborhood?”

  “That’d be my guess. Maybe as a handyman or something of that nature.”

  “Could he be employed at City College?”

  “I suppose it’s possible,” she said, sounding skeptical. “He looks too old to be a student. I know a lot of older people are going back to school, but I’ve never seen him with a backpack or briefcase. All the college kids I see carry something of the sort. Books at the very least. If you want to talk to him, you might catch him at the bus stop.”

  “I’ll try that. In the meantime, if you see him again, could you let me know?”

  “Certainly,” she said, and with a click she was gone.

  I circled her name and number on the desk pad and put it in the file. I was excited to have even a sketchy confirmation of the man’s existence. Like a sighting of the Loch Ness Monster or the Abominable Snowman, the report gave me hope.

  I worked late that day, paying bills and generally getting my life in order. By the time I got home it was 6:45 and fully dark. The temperature had dropped into the forties from a daytime high of sixty-two degrees, and my turtleneck and blazer offered no protection from the wind picking up. The damp fog emanating from the beach amplified the chill. I knew once I was safely indoors, I wouldn’t want to venture out again. I saw lights on at Gus’s house and decided it was as good a time as any to pay a visit. I was hoping the supper hour was through so I wouldn’t be interrupting his meal.

  As I passed, I saw the Dumpster was half full. Solana was evidently making progress in her junk-elimination project. I knocked on Gus’s door, my arms crossed tightly as I huddled with the cold. I shifted from foot to foot in a vain attempt to warm myself. I was curious to meet Solana Rojas, whose work history I’d researched three weeks previously.

  Through the glass pane in Gus’s front door, I watched her approach. She flipped on the porch light and peered out, calling through the glass. “Yes?”

  “Are you Solana?”

  “Yes.” She wore glasses with black frames. Her dark hair was the uniform brown of a home-dye job. If she’d had it done in a salon, some “artiste” would have added a few phony-looking highlights. I knew from the application she was sixty-four, but she looked younger than I’d imagined.

  I smiled and raised my voice, hooking a thumb in the direction of Henry’s place. “I’m Kinsey Millhone. I live next door. I thought I’d stop by to see how Gus is doing.”

  She opened the door and a slat of warm air escaped. “The name again is what?”

  “Millhone. I’m Kinsey.”

  “Nice meeting you, Ms. Millhone. Please, come in. Mr. Vronsky will be happy for the company. He’s been a little down in the dumps.” She stepped back, allowing me to enter.

  She was trim but carried a bulkiness in the belly that spoke of childbearing once upon a time. Young moms often lose the baby weight quickly, but it returns in middle age to form a permanent mocking pouch. Moving past her, I automatically gauged her height, which was five foot two or so to my five foot six. She wore a serviceable-looking pastel green tunic with matching pants—not quite a uniform, but wrinkle-free separates bought for comfort and washability. Stains from a patient’s blood or other body fluids would be easy to remove.

  I was struck by the sight of the living room. Gone were the chipped veneer tables with their tacky little knickknacks. The stretchy dark brown slipcovers had been removed from the couch and three chairs. The original upholstery material turned out to be a pleasant mix of florals in tones of cream, pink, coral, and green, probably selected by the late Mrs. Vronsky. The limp drapes had come down, leaving the windows looking bare and clean. No dust, no clutter. The mouse-back carpeting was still in place, but a bouquet of dark pink roses now sat on the coffee table, and it took me a moment to realize they were fake. Even the smells in the house had changed from decades-old nicotine to a cleaning product that was probably called “Spring Rain” or “Wild Flowers.”

  “Wow. This is great. The place has never looked this good.”

  She seemed pleased. “There’s still work to do, but at least this part of the house is improved. Mr. Vronsky’s reading in his room, if you’ll come with me.”

  I followed Solana d
own the hallway. Her crepe-soled shoes made no sound, and the effect was odd, almost as if she were a hovercraft floating before me. When we reached Gus’s bedroom, she peered in at him and then glanced back at me and put a finger to her lips. “He’s fallen asleep,” she whispered.

  I looked past her and saw Gus propped up in bed, supported by a pile of pillows. A book was open across his chest. His mouth was agape and his eyelids were as transparent as a baby bird’s. The room was tidy and his sheets looked new. A blanket was neatly folded at the foot of his bed. His hearing aids had been removed and placed close at hand on his bed table. In a low tone, I said, “I hate to bother him. Why don’t I come back in the morning?”

  “It’s entirely up to you. I can wake him if you like.”

  “Don’t do that. There’s no hurry,” I said. “I leave for work at eight thirty. If he’s up, I can visit with him then.”

  “He’s up at six o’clock. Early to bed and early to rise.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  She pointed. “We should talk in the kitchen.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  She retraced her steps and turned left into the kitchen. I trailed behind, trying to tread as quietly as she did. The kitchen, like the living room and bedroom, had undergone a transformation. The same appliances were in place, yellowed with age, but now a brand-new microwave sat on the counter, which was otherwise bare. Everything was clean, and it looked like the kitchen curtains had been laundered, ironed, and rehung.

  In a belated answer to my query, she said, “He has good days and bad. At his age, they don’t bounce back so quick. He’s made progress, but it’s two steps forward, three steps back.”

  “I gathered as much. I know his niece is concerned about his mental state.”

  The animation dropped like a veil falling away from her face. “You talked to her?”

  “She called me yesterday. She said when they talked on the phone he seemed confused. She asked if I’d noticed any change in him. I haven’t seen him for weeks so I really couldn’t say, but I told her I’d stop in.”

  “His memory isn’t what it was. I explained that to her. If she has questions about his care she should address them to me.” Her tone was slightly testy and the color had risen in her cheeks.

  “She isn’t worried about his care. She was wondering if I’d picked up on anything myself. She said you suspected dementia…”

  “I never said any such thing.”

  “You didn’t? Maybe I’m mistaken, but I thought she said you’d mentioned early signs of dementia.”

  “She misunderstood. I said dementia was one of several possibilities. It could be hypothyroidism or a vitamin B deficiency, both reversible with proper treatment. I wouldn’t presume to make a diagnosis. It’s not my place.”

  “She didn’t say you’d made any kind of claim. She was just alerting me to the situation.”

  “‘Situation.’” She was looking at me intently, and I could see she’d somehow taken offense.

  “Sorry. I guess I’m not expressing myself well. She said he sounded confused on the phone and thought it might have been his medication or something like that. She said she called you right afterward and the two of you discussed it.”

  “And now she’s sent you to double-check.”

  “On him, not on you.”

  She broke off eye contact, her manner prickly and stiff. “It’s unfortunate she felt the need to have a conversation with you behind my back. Apparently, she wasn’t satisfied with my account.”

  “Honestly, she didn’t call to talk about you. She asked if I’d noticed any change in him.”

  Now her eyes bored into me, hot and dark. “So now you’re the doctor? Perhaps you’d like to see my notes. I keep a record of everything, which is what I was taught. Medications, blood pressure, his bowel movements. I’d be happy to send her a copy if she doubts my qualifications or my dedication to her uncle’s care.”

  I didn’t actually squint at her, but I felt myself focus on the skewed exchange. Was she nuts? I couldn’t seem to extract myself from the misinterpretation. I was afraid if I uttered two more sentences, she’d quit the job in a huff and Melanie would be up a tree. It was like being in the presence of a snake, first hissing its presence and then coiled in readiness. I didn’t dare turn my back or take my eyes off her. I stood very still. I let go of my fight-or-flight defense and decided to play dead. If you run from a bear, it gives chase. That’s the nature of the beast. Likewise a snake. If I moved, she might strike.

  I held her gaze. In that flicker of a moment, I could see her catch herself. Some kind of barrier had come down and I’d seen an aspect of her I wasn’t meant to see, a flash of fury that she’d covered up again. It was like watching someone in the throes of a seizure—for three seconds she was gone and then back again. I didn’t want her to realize the extent to which she’d revealed herself. I moved on, as though nothing had occurred. I said, “Oh. Before I forget, I wanted to ask if the furnace is working okay.”

  Her focus cleared. “What?”

  “Gus had a problem with the furnace last year. As cold as it’s been, I wanted to make sure you were warm enough. You haven’t had a problem?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Well, if it starts acting up, feel free to give a yell. Henry has the name of the heating company that worked on it.”

  “Thank you. Of course.”

  “I better scoot. I haven’t had dinner yet and it’s getting late.”

  I moved toward the door and I could feel her following at my heels. I glanced back and smiled. “I’ll pop over in the morning on my way to work.”

  I didn’t wait for a reply. I gave a casual wave and let myself out the front door. As I trotted down the porch steps, I sensed her standing at the door behind me, watching through the glass. I resisted the urge to check. I took a left on the walk and the minute I was out of her sights, I allowed myself one of those shudders that shakes you from head to toe. I unlocked my apartment and spent a few minutes turning on all the lights to dispel the shadows in the room.

  In the morning before I took off for work, I made a second trip next door, determined to talk to Gus. I thought it was odd that I’d found him asleep so early in the evening, but maybe that’s what old men did. I’d played and replayed Solana’s reaction to my question about Gus’s mental state. I hadn’t imagined the flash of paranoia, but I didn’t know where it came from or what it meant. In the meantime, I’d told Melanie I’d check on him and I wasn’t going to let the woman scare me away. I knew she didn’t start work until midafternoon, and I was just as happy at the notion of avoiding her.

  I climbed the porch steps and knocked on the door. There was no immediate response so I cupped my hands against the glass and peered inside. There were no lamps turned on in the living room, but it looked like the kitchen light was on. I rapped on the glass and waited, but there was no sign of anyone. I’d borrowed the key Gus had given Henry, but I didn’t think I should take the liberty of letting myself in.

  I went around to the back door with its glass upper section. A note had been taped to the inside:

  Meals on Wheels Volunteer. Door is unlocked. Please let yourself in. Mr. Vronsky is hard of hearing and may not respond to your knock.

  I tried the knob and sure enough, the door was unlocked. I opened it wide enough to stick my head in. “Mr. Vronsky?”

  I glanced at the kitchen counters and the stove top. There was no sign he’d eaten breakfast. I could see a box of dry cereal set out beside a bowl and a spoon. No dishes in the sink. “Mr. Vronsky? Are you here?”

  I heard a muffled thumping in the hallway.

  “Hell and damnation! Would you quit all that hollering? I’m doing the best I can.”

  Within seconds, the querulous Gus Vronsky appeared in the doorway, holding on to a walker for support as he shuffled into the room. He was still in his robe, bent nearly double by his osteoporosis, which left him staring at the floor.

  “I hope I did
n’t wake you. I wasn’t sure you heard me.”

  He tilted his head and peered up at me sideways. His hearing aids were in place, but the left one was askew. “With all the racket you made? I went to the front door, but there was nobody on the porch. I thought it was a prank. Kids making trouble. We used to do that when I was young. Knock on the door and run. I was on my way back to bed when I heard the ruckus in here. What in tarnation do you want?”

  “I’m Kinsey. Henry’s tenant…”

  “I know who you are! I’m not an imbecile. I can tell you right now I don’t know who’s president so don’t think you can trip me up on that one. Harry Truman was the last decent man in office and he dropped those bombs. Put an end to World War Two, I can tell you that straight off.”

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay. Do you need anything?”

  “Need anything? I need my hearing back. I need my health. I need relief from this pain. I fell and put my shoulder out of commission…”

  “I know. I was with Henry when he found you that day. I stopped by last night and you were sound asleep.”

  “That’s the only privacy I have left. Now there’s this woman comes in, pestering the life out of me. You may know her. Solana something. Says she’s a nurse, but not much of one in my opinion. Not that that counts for much these days. I don’t know where she’s gone off to. She was here earlier.”

  “I thought she came on at three o’clock.”

  “What time is it now?”

  “Eight thirty-five.”

  “A.M. or P.M.?”

  “Morning. If it were eight thirty-five P.M., it would be dark out.”

  “Then I don’t know who it was. I heard someone fumbling around and assumed it was her. Door’s unlocked, it could have been anyone. I’m lucky I wasn’t murdered in my bed.” His gaze shifted. “Who’s that?”

  He was looking past me at the kitchen door and I jumped when I saw someone standing on the porch. She was a heavyset woman in a mink coat, holding up a brown grocery bag. She motioned at the knob. I crossed and opened the back door for her.