“Go right ahead,” she said icily. “Stay there as long as you like. Once you leave you won’t be allowed back on my property again. Good morning.”
I watched her walk out of the room. Funny thing about sexy women like her: their hips hardly sway at all when they’re angry. When she was gone I went to the sliding glass doors and let myself out that way. A short distance beyond the side porch, I could see the path angling away through the woods. I pointed myself in that direction.
Some Alicia Purcell, I was thinking. I just didn’t know what to make of her. On the surface she had been open and frank with me about everything including her sexual freedom and her greed-a product of the permissive eighties, straightforward and up-front all the way. And yet there was something secretive and calculating about her, a kind of feral cunning that belied her candor and her casual seductiveness. Maybe she was both types of woman at once: one of those complex personalities made up of conflicting elements. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there were things she had concealed from me, but it could be that those things had nothing to do with her husband’s death or the murder of his brother.
I simply could not get a proper handle on her. And it bothered me, made me uneasy, that I couldn’t.
Chapter Twelve
The path leading out to the cliffs was fairly wide, full of jogs, and littered with twigs and pine needles. The fir and cypress trees that hemmed it in grew close together, their branches interlacing high overhead to shut out all but random shafts of sunlight. It was gloomy enough now, during the day; at night it would be a vault of blackness. You’d have to know the path pretty well to want to come out here after dark. And even then-and especially if you’d been drinking heavily-you would have to be a damned fool to do it.
After eighty or ninety yards the path curved and the trees thinned out, letting me see a patch of barren, sunlit ground and the ocean stretching away beyond. Another dozen yards and I was out of the trees, onto the barren patch. But I didn’t stay on it for long; it was no more than ten yards wide and the edge of the cliff was right there, no guard rail or any other protective barrier, just a more or less sheer drop-off. My stomach did a little flip-flop-I’ve never dealt well with heights-and I scooted sideways to where a gnarled old cypress grew from the cliff wall, bent backward by the force of high winds so that some of its branches extended well inland from the edge. I caught hold of one of the larger branches and hung on.
The view from up here was impressive, if you liked that sort of high-lonesome perspective. To the south a slender, white-sand beach curved into a jutting peninsula a quarter of a mile away; a couple of houses had been built on high ground along the beach and a third was perched on the tip of the peninsula. To the north there was another, much longer stretch of beach and the Marine Reserve’s tidepools; I could see half a dozen people wandering among the low rocks, peering at the sea creatures that lived among their ribs and hollows. And down below, a hundred feet from where I stood, there was maybe twenty yards of sand and at the base of the cliff, a jumble of big jagged rocks. The tide was out now; when it was in, as it apparently had been on the night Kenneth took his dive into eternity, the beach would be covered and the surf would boil up over those rocks with considerable force. Even if he’d survived the fall itself, he’d have had nowhere to go. And the sea would have battered him to death within minutes.
Looking down at the rocks made me shiver involuntarily and take a tighter grip on the cypress branch. I transferred my attention to the cliff wall. It was eroded sandstone and not completely sheer; there were little outcroppings out there, a ledge farther down with one live stunted cypress growing on it and the bony sun-bleached skeletons of a couple of others: a deadfall. If Kenneth had fallen over that way, he might have survived. But he must have fallen instead from the middle of the open patch of ground, straight down onto the rocks.
You’d have to have a death wish, I thought, to stand out on this cliff on a dark, windy night. Or be so liquored up your judgment was impaired and you were oblivious to the danger. Kenneth’s death could easily enough have been an accident; you couldn’t fault the local authorities for calling it that way.
There were kelp beds lying offshore and the smell of them was strong on the cool air. Ordinarily I don’t mind the odor of kelp; but now it only added to my feeling of discomfort. I decided I had had enough of the cliffs, thank you. I let go of the branch and backed away to the inner edge of the clearing. Briefly I thought of prowling around a little, checking the ground under the trees. But if there had been anything unusual to find, the San Mateo County cops would already have found it. Or else it had been removed before they were able to search the area. I turned onto the path and made my way back through the trees.
When I got to the house there was no sign of Alicia Purcell, but over under the side portico the housekeeper was wrestling with the lid on a big metal garbage can. I walked over and put on one of my best smiles for the lady.
“Help you with that?”
No answering smile, but the look she gave me wasn’t hostile. “The lid’s stuck. Does that sometimes for no reason I can tell.”
“Let’s see if I can unstick it.” I gave it a hefty yank and it came off in my hand. “There you go.”
“Thank you.”
“Glad to do it.”
I stood holding the lid until she had emptied the contents of a kitchen garbage pail into the larger container; then I put the lid back on for her.
“Push it down tight, even if it sticks,” she said. “Neighbor’s dog gets in here sometimes and forages.”
I pushed the lid down tight and gave it a little twist. It stayed put when I tugged on it.
“That’s fine,” she said. “I hate dogs.”
“I’m not too crazy about them myself… Lina, is it?”
“Yes.”
“Lina, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Questions? About what?”
“The night of Mr. Purcell’s accident. Mrs. Purcell said it was all right,” I lied. “Check with her, if you like.”
She hesitated, looking dubious, and I thought she was going to call my little bluff. But she stood her ground; and pretty soon she said, “Ask your questions, then. But I don’t have much time. I’m a busy woman.”
“I’m sure you are. I won’t keep you long. That afternoon, before the party, Mr. Purcell had visits from his business associate, Mr. Ozimas, and from his daughter.”
Lina made a sniffing sound; I took it to mean she didn’t approve of either Ozimas or Melanie. “That’s right,” she said.
“Were they the only two? Or did he have other callers?”
“No. No one else came until the party started at seven.”
“Mr. Ozimas left around five-thirty?”
“Yes. Just as the girl arrived.”
“Did he come back that night? While the party was going on?”
“He did not.”
“Do you have any idea what he and Mr. Purcell talked about during his visit?”
“No,” she said, and glowered at me. “Eavesdropping is not part of my duties here.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that it was.”
“Well, I don’t know anything about Mr. Purcell’s business, or Mr. Ozimas’s business, or anybody’s business but my own. I have my duties and I see to them, that’s all. I know my place.”
I smiled to show her I understood and that I had intended no offense. The smile got rid of her glower, but it didn’t do much to melt the layer of frost in her eyes. She had about as much good humor as a hanging judge.
I said, “What time did Melanie leave?”
“I don’t remember exactly. I didn’t see her go.”
“Would you say it was around eight or so?”
“I told you, I didn’t see her go.”
“But she wasn’t here at nine-thirty, was she?”
“No. I had the buffet ready at half past eight. She was gone by then.”