"As far as I know, it is."
"But why would he do that?"
"Maybe he felt like he messed up your life and wanted to do right by you. Derek tells me he left some money to Rick's parents too. Or maybe he considered it a little incentive for you to get your shit together for a change."
"I never made any deals with him."
"I don't think he meant to make a 'deal.'"
"Well, I don't like to feel controlled."
"Kitty, I think you've demonstrated the fact that you can't be controlled. We're all getting that message loud and clear. Bobby loved you."
"Who asked him to? Sometimes I wasn't even nice to him. And I didn't exactly have his best interests at heart."
"Meaning what?"
"Nothing. Skip it. I wish he hadn't left me anything is all. It makes me feel crummy."
"I don't know what to tell you," I said.
"Well, I never asked him for a thing." Her tone was argumentative, but I couldn't understand what her position was.
"What's bothering you?"
"Nothing."
"What's all the fretting about, then?"
"I'm not fretting! God. Why should I fret? He did it so he'd feel good, right? It had nothing to do with me."
"It had something to do with you or he'd have left the money to someone else."
She started gnawing on her thumbnail, temporarily abandoning the cigarette, which sat on the lip of the ashtray and sent up a tiny trail of smoke like an Indian signal on a distant mountaintop. Her mood was getting dark. I wasn't sure why she was so upset at the notion of two million dollars being dumped in her lap, but I didn't want to alienate her. I wanted information. I shifted the subject again. "What about the insurance your father took out on Bobby's life? Did he mention that?"
"Yeah. That's weird. He does stuff like that, and later, he can't understand why people get upset. He doesn't see anything wrong with it at all. To him, it just makes sense. Bobby'd cracked up his car once or twice so Daddy just figured if he died, somebody might as well benefit. I guess that's why Glen threw him out, huh?"
"I think that's a safe bet. She'd never tolerate his profiting from Bobby's death. My God, it was the worst possible move he could have made as far as she's concerned. Besides which, it sets him up as a murder suspect."
"My father wouldn't kill anyone!"
"That's what he says about you."
"Well, it's true. I didn't have any reason to want Bobby dead. Neither of us did. I didn't even know about the money and I don't want it anyway."
"Money might not be the motive," I said. "It's an obvious place to start, but it doesn't necessarily go anywhere."
"But you don't think Daddy did it, do you?"
"I haven't made up my mind about that yet. I'm still trying to figure out what Bobby was up to and I need to fill in some gaps. Something was going on back then and I can't get a line on it. What was his relationship to Sufi? You have any idea?"
Kitty picked up her cigarette, averting her gaze. She took a moment to tap the ash from the end, and then she took a last, deep drag and put it out. Her nails were bitten down so far the pads of the fingers seemed like little round balls.
She was debating something with herself. I kept my mouth shut and gave her some room. "She was a contact," she said finally, her voice low. "Bobby was doing this investigation or something for somebody else."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"It had to be the Frakers, right? I talked to Sufi last night, and the minute I left, she hightailed it over to their place. She was in there so long, I finally had to go home."
Kitty's eyes came up to mine. "I don't know for sure what it was."
"But how'd he get into it? What was it about?"
"All I know is he told me he was looking for something and he got the job out at the morgue so he could search at night."
"Medical records? Something stored out there?"
Her face closed down again and she shrugged.
"But Kitty, when you realized someone was trying to kill him, didn't you figure it was connected to that?"
She was chewing on her thumbnail in earnest by now. I saw her eyes flick and I turned around. Dr. Kleinert was standing in the doorway, staring at her. When he realized I'd seen him, he looked over at me. His smile seemed forced and it was not full of merriment.
"Well. I didn't know you were entertaining this morning," he said to her. Then briefly to me, "What brings you in so bright and early?"
"I just stopped by on my way to Glen's. I've been trying to persuade Kitty to eat," I said.
"No need for that," he said easily. "This young lady has an agreement with me." He gave a practiced glance at his watch, adjusting the face of it on his wrist before it disappeared up his cuff again. "I hope you'll excuse us. I have other patients to see and my time is limited."
"I'm on my way out," I said. I glanced at Kitty. "I may give you a call in a little while. I'll see if Glen can stop in to visit you."
"Great," she said. "Thanks."
I waved and moved out of the room, wondering how long he'd been standing there and how much he'd heard. I was trying to remember what Carrie St. Cloud had said. She'd told me Bobby was involved in some kind of blackmail scheme, but not the usual kind with money changing hands. Something else. "Somebody had something on some friend of his and he was trying to help out," was the way she'd put it as nearly as I could remember. If it was extortion, why didn't he go to the police? And why was it up to him to do anything?
I got back in my car and headed out to Glen's place.
Chapter 21
It was just after nine when I pulled into Glen's driveway. The courtyard was deserted. The fountain sent up a column of water fifteen feet high, cascading back on itself in a tumble of pale green and white. I could hear a power mower whining from one of the terraces in the rear and rainbirds were jetting a fine spray into the giant fern, dappled with sunlight, that bordered the gravel walks. The air seemed tropical, scented with jasmine.
I rang the bell and one of the maids admitted me. I asked for Glen and she murmured something in Spanish, raising her eyes to the second floor. I gathered that Glen was upstairs.
The door to Bobby's room was open and she was seated in one of his easy chairs, hands in her lap, her face impassive. When she caught sight of me, she smiled almost imperceptibly. She was looking drawn, dark lines etched under her eyes. Her makeup was subtle, but it only seemed to emphasize the pallor in her cheeks. She wore a knit dress in a shade of red too harsh for her. "Hello, Kinsey. Come sit down," she said.
I sat in the matching plaid chair. "How are you doing?"
"Not that well. I find myself spending much of the day up here. Just sitting. Waiting for Bobby."
Her eyes strayed to mine. "I don't mean that literally, of course. I'm far too rational a person to believe the dead return. I keep thinking there's something more, that it can't be over yet. Do you know what I mean?"
"No. Not quite."
She stared at the floor, apparently consulting her inner voices. "Part of it is a feeling of betrayal, I think. I was brave and I did everything I was supposed to. I was a trouper and now I want the payoff But the only reward that interests me is having Bobby back. So I wait." Her gaze moved around the room as if she were taking a series of photographs. Her manner seemed very flat to me, despite the emotional content of her speech. It was curious, like talking to a robot. She said human things, but mechanically. "You see that?"
I followed her eyes. Bobby's footprints were still visible on the white carpeting.
"I won't let them vacuum in here," she said. "I know it's stupid. I don't want to turn into one of those dreadful women who erect a shrine for the dead, keeping everything just as it was. But I don't want him erased. I don't want him wiped out like that. I don't even want to go through his belongings."
"There's no need to do anything yet, is there?"
"No. I guess not. I don't know what I'll do with the room anyway. I have dozens and they're all empty. It's not like I need to convert it into a sewing room or a studio."