"You always think about death."
"I do because I know about it, and it is the other side of life. You can't ignore it any more than you can ignore night. You will have to deal with Dorothy."
"No, I won't," She swiveled my leather desk chair around and sat in it, facing me. "There's no point. She doesn't understand the first thing about me and never has."
That was probably true.
"You're welcome to use my computer," I said.
"It will just take me a minute."
"Marino will pick us up about four," I said.
"I didn't know he left."
"Briefly."
Keys tapped as I went into my bedroom and began to unpack and plot. I needed a car and wondered if I should rent one, and I needed to change my clothes but did not know what to wear. It bothered me that the thought of Wesley would still make me conscious of what I put on, and as minutes crept forward I became truly afraid to see him.
Marino picked us up when he said he would, and somewhere he had found a car wash open and had filled the tank with gas. We drove east along Monument Avenue into the district known as the Fan, where gracious mansions lined historic avenues and college students crowded old homes.
At the statue of Robert E. Lee, he cut over to Grace Street, where Ted Eddings had lived in a white Spanish duplex with a red Santa flag hanging over a wooden front porch with a swing. Bright yellow crime scene tape stretched from post to post in a morbid parody of Christmas wrapping, its bold black letters warning the curious not to come.
"Under the circumstances, I didn't want nobody inside, and I didn't know who else might have a key," Marino explained as he unlocked the front door. "What I don't need is some nosy landlord deciding he's going to check his friggin' inventory."
I did not see any sign of Wesley and was deciding he wasn't going to show up when I heard the throaty roar of his gray BMW. It parked on the side of the street, and I watched the radio antenna retract as he cut the engine.
"Doc, I'll wait for him if you want to go on in," Marino said to me.
"I need to talk to him." Lucy headed back down the steps.
"I'll be inside," I said and put on cotton gloves, as if Wesley were not someone I knew.
I entered Eddings' foyer and his presence instantly overwhelmed me everywhere I looked. I felt his meticulous personality in minimalist furniture, Indian rugs and polished floors, and his warmth in sunny yellow walls hung with bold monotype prints. Dust had formed a fine layer that was disturbed anywhere police might recently have been to open cabinets or drawers. Begonias, ficus, creeping fig and cyclamen seemed to be mourning the loss of their master, and I looked around for a watering can. Finding one in the laundry room, I filled it and began tending plants because I saw no point in allowing them to die. I did not hear Benton Wesley walk in.
"Kay?" His voice was quiet behind me.
I turned and he caught sorrow not meant for him.
"What are you doing?" He stared as I poured water into a pot.
"Exactly what it looks like."
He got quiet, his eyes on mine.
"I knew him, knew Ted," I said. "Not terribly well. But he was popular with my staff. He interviewed me many times and I respected… Well… " My mind left the path.
Wesley was thin, which made his features seem even sharper, his hair by now completely white, although he wasn't much older than I. He did look tired, but everyone I knew looked tired, and what he did not look was separated. He did not look miserable to be away from his wife or from me.
"Pete told me about your cars," he said.
"Pretty unbelievable," I said as I poured.
"And the detective. What's his name? Roche? I've got to talk to his chief anyway. We're playing telephone tag, but when we hook up, I'll say something."
"I don't need you to do that."
"I certainly don't mind," he said.
"I'd rather you didn't."
"Fine." He raised his hands in a small surrender and looked around the room. "He had money and was gone a lot," he said.
"Someone took care of his plants," I replied.
"How often?" He looked at them.
"Non-blooming plants, at least once a week, the rest, every other day, depending on how warm it gets in here."
"So these haven't been watered for a week?"
"Or longer," I said.
By now, Lucy and Marino had entered the duplex and gone down the hall.
"I want to check the kitchen," I added as I set down the can.
"Good idea."
It was small and looked like it had not been renovated since the sixties, Inside cupboards I found old cook-ware and dozens of canned goods like tuna fish and soup, and snack foods like pretzels. As for what Eddings had kept in his refrigerator, that was mostly beer. But I was interested in a single bottle of Louis Roederer Crystal Champagne tied in a big red bow.
"Find something?" Wesley was looking under the sink.
"Maybe." I was still peering inside the refrigerator.
"This will set you back as much as a hundred and fifty dollars in a restaurant, maybe a hundred and twenty if you buy it off the shelf."
"Do we know how much this guy got paid?"
"I don't know. But I suspect it wasn't a whole lot."
"He's got a lot of shoe polish and cleansers down here, and that's about it," Wesley said as he stood.
I turned the bottle around and read a sticker on the label.
"A hundred and thirty dollars, and it wasn't purchased locally. As far as I know, Richmond doesn't have a wine shop called The Wine Merchant."
"Maybe a gift. Explaining the bow."
"What about D.C.?
"I don't know. I don't buy much wine in D.C. these days," he said.
I shut the refrigerator door, secretly pleased, for he and I had enjoyed wine. We once had liked to pick and choose and drink as we sat close to each other on the couch or in bed.
"He didn't shop much," I said. "I see no evidence that he ever ate in."
"It doesn't look to me like he was ever even here," he said.
I felt his closeness as he moved near me, and I almost could not bear it. His cologne was always subtle and evocative of cinnamon and wood, and whenever I smelled it anywhere, for an instant I was caught as I was now.
"Are you all right?" he asked in a voice meant for no one but me as he paused in the doorway.
"No," I said. "This is pretty awful." I shut a cabinet door a little too hard.
He stepped into the hallway. "Well, we need to take a hard look at his financial status, to see where he was getting money for eating out and expensive champagne."
Those papers were in the office, and the police had not gone through them yet because officially there had been no crime. Despite my suspicions about Eddings' cause of death and the strange events surrounding it, at this moment we legally had no homicide.
"Has anyone gone into this computer?" asked Lucy, who was looking at the 486 machine on the desk.
"Nope," said Marino as he sorted through files in a green metal cabinet. "One of the guys said we're locked out."
She touched the mouse and a password window appeared on the screen.
"Okay," she said. "He's got a password, which isn't unusual. But what is a little strange is he's got no disk in his backup drive. Hey, Pete? You guys find any disks in here?"
"Yeah, there's a whole box of them up there." He pointed at a bookcase, which was crowded with histories of the Civil War and an elaborate leather-bound set of encyclopedias.
Lucy took the box down and opened it.
"No. These are programming disks for WordPerfect."
She looked at us. "All I'm saying is most people would have a backup of their work, assuming he was working on something here in his house."
No one knew if he had been. We knew only that Eddings was employed by the AP office downtown on Fourth Street.
We had no reason to know what he did at home, until Lucy rebooted his computer, did her magic and somehow got into programming files. She disabled the screen saver, then started sorting through WordPerfect directories, all of which were empty. Eddings did not have a single file.