"U" is for Undertow (20 page)

With a shrug I said, “Maybe there’s no connection. Maybe Ulf being buried there was pure coincidence. It just seems odd. I don’t know anything about the protocol when a dog is put down. The vet might have buried him.”

“I don’t know why he would. He only saw the dog once so it’s not like there was an emotional connection between the two. I know
I
didn’t bury him so how he ended up in Horton Ravine is anybody’s guess. What else do you want to know?”

“I guess that’s about it. Do you remember the vet’s name?”

“Not offhand. I can sort through my canceled checks. It might take me a while, but I’ll be happy to try.”

“That was a long time ago. I can’t believe you’d have records going back that far.”

“Give me a number where I can reach you and I’ll see what I can find.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

He watched while I jotted down my home number on the back of a business card and when I handed it to him, he said, “You might want to be careful referring to this town as Peephole. People around here can be stiff-necked. We call it Puerto.”

“Thanks for the warning. I’ll watch myself.”

 

 

 

When I got back to my office there was a message on my answering machine. “Hey, Kinsey. Tasha here. I was hoping to catch you before you left for the day. We wanted to make sure you received the invitation to the dedication. Could you give me a call and let me know if you can make it? That’s Saturday, May 28, in case the invitation hasn’t arrived. We’d really love to see you. Hope all goes well.”

She recited her number twice like I was standing by with a pencil writing everything down. As part of my brand-new attitude of openmindedness, I did, in fact, make a note. Having done so, I tore the sheet from my scratch pad, crumpled it, and threw it in the trash. I wasn’t even tempted to take it out again, in part because I knew this was Monday and the garbage wouldn’t be picked up for another two days. Plenty of time for ambivalence.

I checked my watch. It was 5:15, time for me to pack it in for the day. I’d just locked the front door and I was heading down the walk when the turquoise MG came around the corner with Sutton at the wheel. He had the top down and his dark hair was ruffled. I waited while he parked, wondering why he was back. Even at that short distance, he looked closer to eighteen years old than twenty-six. I’ve noticed that once in a while, someone gets caught at a stage in life from which they never advance. Ten years from now, I suspected he’d look much the same, despite the close-up contradiction of crow’s-feet and sagging jawline.

He got out of the car and approached with his head down, his hands in his pockets. When he spotted me, he stopped. “Oh! Are you leaving for the day?”

“That was my intention. What’s up?”

“Can you spare me a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

He stood there, apparently thinking I’d turn around and unlock the door. He said, “I’d prefer to talk in private.”

I debated the point. When a client comes in, I offer a cup of coffee as a matter of course, usually hoping they won’t take me up on it. Often, the coffee ritual is more of a commitment than I really care to make. Set up the machine, wait until the coffee’s done, inquire about preferences (black, milk, sugar, no sugar), check the relevant supplies. I keep packets of sweetener on hand, but the milk is inevitably over the hill, and then what? We talk about the downside of powdered whitener and who gives a shit? I’d rather whiz past the chitchat and get to the point. Same with Sutton’s coming into the office and taking a seat. If I let him in, how the heck was I going to get him out? “Is this urgent?”

“Pretty much. I mean, I think so.”

“Can’t we talk just as easily out here?”

“I guess.”

We stared at each other for a moment.

“I’m ready anytime,” I said.

“I was trying to think how to say this. Remember when we were standing around by the road while the officers were digging?”

“Thursday of last week. I remember it well.”

“A bunch of people parked their cars and got out, curious about what was happening.”

I said, “Right.” Mentally, I leaped past the foreplay, guessing at his intent. I anticipated his mentioning his sister, Dee, as in Diana Alvarez, trying to offset any damage she might have done by regaling me with his tall tales of sexual abuse. I nearly brought her name up myself in hopes of heading him off. I was so close to interrupting, I nearly missed what he said.

“I caught sight of a guy I thought I knew and later I realized he reminded me of one of the pirates. I only saw him for a second and I really didn’t make the connection until yesterday. You know how it is when you see someone out of context? This guy looked familiar, but I couldn’t think why. Then it came to me.”

“One of the two pirates,” I said.

“Exactly.”

I allowed myself time to absorb what he’d said, trying to block the impact of his sister’s revelations. In that split second, I understood how completely my perception of Sutton had been tainted by what she’d told me. Even as I resisted the pull, my response to him was skewed by the notion of his tentative hold on the truth. She’d sworn he’d come around again and, sure enough, he had, offering me a new twist, the next installment in a drama that would otherwise be dead.

“You’re overthinking this,” I said. “The guys were burying a dog.”

“I know, but I went over the incident and I wondered if they might have switched the dog’s body for Mary Claire’s after I interrupted them.”

“Switched bodies? And then what? I don’t understand where you’re going with this.”

“Well, if I’m right and the guy saw me at the same time I saw him, wouldn’t he realize I was onto them? Why else would the cops suddenly be digging up the hill? He’d know the police were getting close and who else could have tipped ’em off but me?”

I closed my eyes briefly, forcing down the irritation that was surging up my spine. “Sutton, honestly, you’ll have to forgive my reaction, but I think you’re beating this to death. You were six. That was twenty-one years ago and there’s no evidence whatever that the scene you stumbled on had anything to do with Mary Claire. It’s pure conjecture on your part. Why can’t you admit your mistake and let it go at that?”

The color came up in his cheeks. “You think I’m wasting your time.” I don’t like being transparent so naturally I denied what he’d said. “I didn’t say you were wasting my time. I understand your concern, but I think it’s misplaced. You can’t be this paranoid.”

He stared at the ground and then looked up again. “I wanted you to have the information in case something happens to me. I didn’t know who else to tell.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“But in case it did. That’s all I’m trying to say. I’ve seen the guy somewhere, but it wasn’t recently.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “I don’t believe you’re in any danger, but what do I know? If it makes you feel better, go ahead and tell me the rest. What did he look like?”

“He was kind of light-haired and not too tall and he was wearing a suit.”

“Can you be more specific? There were six or seven guys out there who fit that description.”

“Not that many. I’d say three, not counting the officers.”

“But it still doesn’t help. The information’s too sketchy and it does me no good,” I said. “I mean, I thought it was pure genius on my part that I found the burial spot based on the flimsy information you gave me the first time out, but I have my limitations . . .”

I stopped. Sutton was watching me with a look of such mute pleading that I relented. “But enough about me,” I said. “What about his car? Did you see what he was driving?”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t paying attention. I only noticed him when he’d already parked and he was standing by the road. Next thing I knew, he was gone again.”

I stared at him.

“Sorry,” he said, sheepishly. “I see what you mean. I haven’t given you much to go on.”

“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“I think so. I’m pretty sure I would.” He hesitated. “If I do, what should I do? Should I, like, follow him or maybe get the number off his license plate?”

“The plate number, sure, but I don’t want you tagging around after the guy. He’ll think you’re a stalker. In any event, the chances of your spotting him again seem remote.”

“True. Anyway, I feel better now that I’ve told you.”

“Good. Is there anything else?”

He looked up, fixing me with those solemn brown doggie eyes. “I know my sister was there. I saw her talking to you.”

“She’s a reporter. That’s what she does. She managed to buttonhole anyone who’d give her the time of day. So what?”

I could see him arranging his words with care.

Blinking, he said, “A long time ago, I caused big trouble in my family. Diana likes to tell people what I did because she’s still furious with me. She acts like she’s being a good citizen, warning people about the kind of person I am, but it’s really her way of sticking a knife in my gut.”

“Sutton, it’s no big deal. You told me you were estranged so it’s not like you were hiding anything.”

“In a way, I was. I should have filled in the rest.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I was just thinking that after talking to her, you probably don’t believe a word I say and I don’t blame you. But you were polite and you listened just now and I appreciate it. If there’s ever a way I can return the kindness, will you let me know?”

“Of course. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks.”

He hesitated and then stuck his hands back in his pockets and started walking to his car.

When he turned with a half-wave, I felt a fleeting moment of dread. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

He waved again and then got into his car. How could I have known then that within days, he’d be laid out on a coroner’s slab with a bullet hole between the eyes?

 

 

My encounter with Sutton left me with a load of guilt. If he’d been good at reading minds, he wouldn’t have thanked me for being polite, because in truth, he’d annoyed the shit out of me. I couldn’t decide if it was attention he wanted or emotional support, but I was unprepared to give either. Even with his collection of wounded birds, he seemed lonely and at loose ends. I didn’t like feeling sorry for him because it clouded my judgment. Here I was bending over backward, trying to compensate for feeling one-up while he was one-down. Somehow he had me hooked in when I should have been moving on.

On the drive home, I operated by rote, rerunning the conversation so I could test the elements. Light-haired and not too tall? Spare me. I hadn’t paid attention to the smattering of looky-loos who’d parked on the berm and it was way too late now for a mental review. A dog was a dog and even if Sutton was right about the guy, what difference did it make? I could understand his plaintive desire to persuade. He had no credibility. I tried to imagine myself in a position where any observation I made was automatically deemed false. Talk about feeling helpless and small. While I was no more inclined to believe him, I decided to set the subject aside without prejudice.

Once in my neighborhood, I scanned for a parking place and found a spot close to the corner of Albanil and Bay. I shut the engine down, locked my car, and walked the half-block to my apartment. I caught sight of a woman ahead of me standing by my gate. She was in her mid-seventies and probably physically imposing in her prime. I pegged her at six feet. Given the customary shrinkage of age, she must have been six-three or six-four in her youth. Her face was gaunt, though her bearing suggested she was accustomed to carrying substantial weight. She wore slacks that rode low on her hips and a crisply ironed white shirt with a lavender cardigan over it. I suspected her clunky running shoes were more for comfort than for speed. Her hair was iron gray, braided, and wrapped around her head in a thin chain. She had a leather purse over one arm and she held a scrap of paper with a note jotted on it, which made me wonder if she was lost.

“Can I do something for you?”

She didn’t look at the paper, but I could see it tremble slightly. “Are you Miss Millhone?”

“Yes.”

“I’m hoping you can help me.”

“I can certainly try.”

“I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding. Something was sent to you by mistake and I need to have it back.”

“Really. And what’s that?”

“A photograph album. I’d appreciate your returning it as soon as possible. Today, actually, if it’s not inconvenient.”

I kept my face a blank, but I knew exactly what she was talking about. My Aunt Susanna had given me the album shortly after we met, just about this same time the year before. The package had arrived when I was out of town, so Henry had passed it on to Stacey Oliphant, who’d brought it down to the desert town of Quorum, where we were working a case. The album was old, half filled with Kinsey family photographs, and I’d been touched by the gesture. There was never any suggestion that the album was on loan, though now that I thought about it, I could see that it wasn’t mine to keep.

I said, “I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name.”

“Bettina Thurgood. I drove down from Lompoc, hoping to divert any further trouble.”

“Who’s causing trouble?”

She hesitated. “Your cousin, Tasha.”

“What’s she have to do with it?”

“She’s been planning an event. She said she sent you an invitation.”

“Sure. I received it last week.”

“She needs the old family photographs for a big display she’s making, but when she asked Cornelia for the album, it was nowhere to be found. Tasha got very snippy and now Cornelia blames me.”

“When you say Cornelia, I assume you’re talking about Grand.”

“Your grandmother, yes. Tasha thinks Cornelia’s just being stubborn, refusing to hand over the album because she’s so possessive about the family history. The two got into quite a tangle.”