"You said you bought this at the Barmeir estate sale?" Harper asked.
"Yes. I got there before seven that morning, took a number, came back at ten to wait my turn. It was mobbed; the estate sales always are. When I saw this little chest on a table in the den, I just-well I grabbed it up and bought it and got out of there. Didn't even look at anything else."
"Why?" Harper asked, watching her.
"Because of the play. Elliott Traynor's play. Do you know the story?"
Harper nodded.
Susan looked at Harper. "Catalina died on the Stanton Ranch, just a few miles from here. Apparently no one knows what happened to the chests."
"You bought this after you met Augor Prey?"
"Yes."
"Did you ever mention it to him?"
"I-yes, I did. We talked about the yard sales, and about our plans for Senior Survival, about our buying and selling on the Web. I'm afraid I did tell him about the chest."
"How long was this before the break-in? You discussed these matters only once or several times?"
"Only once. Just… just a few days before the break-in." She lowered her gaze. "I told a lot to a stranger. Though most of our conversation," she went on defensively, "concerned my suggestions for him to meet people in the village, meet some younger folks."
Wilma said, "Didn't it seem strange to you that he would need help meeting people? Everyone's friendly, and there's more to do here than a person could handle in ten lifetimes with plays, concerts, classes."
Susan nodded. "I put it down to shyness."
"Did he know where you lived?" Harper asked.
"Yes," she said, embarrassed. "He never came to the house, but I told him where it was, while talking about the weather, about how much wind we get. So foolish of me."
Wilma rose to pour coffee, glancing out her kitchen window. "There's Mavity." She went to open the back door, calling out as Mavity turned up through the garden. "We're in the kitchen. Where's your VW? Don't tell me you're having car trouble?"
Mavity laughed. "That old bug wouldn't dare. I'm parked up the street to clean at the Rileys'. They like me early, but… Well, I saw the captain's pickup truck…" She glanced shyly at Harper. "Wondered if anything was wrong, if anything else has happened…"
Wilma poured coffee for her. "Have you had breakfast?"
"Oh, yes. But coffee would taste good. Yours always tastes better than mine." She sat down, smiling at Susan. "It's pretty early, even for the Rileys. Guess I get restless staying home anymore, thinking about the city tearing down my house. Seems like I can't feel cozy, knowing it will be gone soon. I just wish the city would make up its mind. If they decide to condemn, then get on with it." Mavity's uniform this morning was the ubiquitous white, with pale blue piping at the seams, likely a top-of-the-line model that had seen its share of launderings.
Wilma laid her hand over Mavity's. "You know my guest room's yours as long as you want."
"And my house, too," Susan said. "I'll be going home today, to get that mess cleaned up. And who knows how soon we might find a big place that's just right for all of us."
Mavity nodded, looking both uncertain and hopeful. She reached out to touch the oak chest. "This is old. Look at that crack, and how dark the wood is. It's sort of like those wood carvings my brother, Greeley, sends me sometimes from Panama."
"I got it at the Barmeir sale. I had it in the trunk of my car the morning that man broke in."
"It's nicer than that white chest Richard Casselrod made such a scene over-stole it, is what he did. No other word for it. Jerked it right out of Cora Lee's hands, even if he did throw down some money."
Harper rose, calling the dalmatian to him. "I'll take him up to Dr. Firetti to board. Firetti owes me a favor."
"I…" Susan began. "He and Lamb get along very well. If you don't find Lenny…"
Harper nodded. "That would be fine. But right now, it isn't wise for you to keep him. You don't want Lenny White coming around, using the dog as an excuse. In fact," Harper said, "I'm not keen on you going back home alone."
"I'll be fine with Lamb. If Lamb had been home that morning, those men wouldn't have gotten in."
Harper didn't reply. He rose and left, taking the spotted dog with him. Wilma stood at the window, watching the dalmatian leap up into the cab of Harper's Chevy pickup. And Susan sat looking silently at Wilma and Mavity, realizing suddenly how very much she did not want to be home alone, did not want to go to sleep at night wondering if someone would break a window and come in-except of course Lamb would bark and wake her.
But she grinned at Mavity's wrinkled frown of concern. "A poodle's no sissy, Mavity. Those teeth could take your arm off."
Though in truth, it was Lamb she worried about. Worried that someone would hit him with a heavy weapon or shoot him, leaving both of them defenseless.
15
Driving up Ocean, with the dalmatian in the seat beside him, Max Harper's mind remained on Susan Brittain. An extra patrol around her place wouldn't hurt, as long as he had the manpower. Turning off Ocean beside Beckwhite Automotive, he glanced toward the east wing of the handsome Mediterranean building where Clyde Damen's large, sprawling repair shop was housed, with its separate body and paint shops, its storage sheds and parking space, and Clyde's private workshop where he restored antique cars. He could see into the main shop, but he didn't see Clyde. The low morning sun brightened the red tile roof of the complex and picked out the brilliant colors of the Icelandic poppies that bloomed before the dealership's show windows. The bright colors made him think of his dead wife, of the garden Millie had loved.
Through the shaded glass of the showroom, he could see a dark green Rolls-Royce gleaming, and two new Jaguars, one bright red. He wondered how it would be to have that kind of money.
Grinning, he stroked the spotted dog. "I wouldn't spend it on cars," he told the dalmatian. "Spend it on horses, and maybe dogs, too-and on Charlie," he said. And maybe that was all right.
Millie had told him more than once that she wouldn't want him to be alone. Until now he'd been content enough, cherishing only her memory.
Dr. Firetti's home and hospital were just beyond Beckwhite's, on a residential side street. His facility was a complex of three small, frame cottages that had been built back in the thirties, and were now joined by high patio walls to make an entry and secure dog runs. Harper sat in his truck a moment before going in.
"I guess," he told the dog, "when this blows over, if no one's claimed you, Susan would give you a fine home." He ruffled the dog's ears. "Companion for Lamb. I bet you'd like that."
Susan Brittain had had enough trouble with that wreck that had put her in the retirement home, that had left her so crippled her daughter wasn't sure she'd walk again. But walk she did, got herself up out of the wheelchair, surely with the help of the poodle for moral support. And now this mess at her place, which he hoped wasn't going to escalate into something worse. Seemed to him that a woman living alone ought to have better security. He had some thoughts on the matter, but his ideas weren't popular.
This break-in had him uneasy; there were too many vague connections. But that's what investigating was about. What was the matter with him? Was he getting old, losing his edge? Fetching a halter rope from the back of the truck, he snapped it on the dalmatian's collar and led the dog into the waiting room.
The ten-by-ten foyer was furnished with a green tweed carpet, green leather couch and love seat, and a couple of wooden chairs. A small old lady sat on the love seat, clutching a cardboard cat carrier on her lap. As Harper entered, a low hiss filled the room, sending the dalmatian bolting away from the carrier, toward the door. The receptionist nodded to Harper, spoke into the intercom, and in a moment motioned Harper on back to Firetti's office.