“Probably.”
I leaned forward on the bar, laid my hand on a sticky place, and pulled it back. “So I was thinking-could I have a few days off? The tenants’ dispute doesn’t go to trial until next week and, once I file that stack of documents, I really don’t have anything else pending.”
Slowly Hank turned to look at me.
“With the weekend, I could get away for around five days. It might do me some good.”
“Where were you thinking of going?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I sipped my drink. “Maybe back to Port San Marco. I really enjoyed it there; I hadn’t been there, you know, for years and years. It’s still warm enough to sit on the beach and I could-”
“Uh-huh.”
I ignored his skeptical look. “I could relax.”
“Right.”
“Well, I have to admit there’s more to it.”
“I guessed as much.”
“I met a man there.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes. His name’s Don Del Boccio. He’s a disc jockey but he’s also a classical musician. He has the most wonderful apartment, and this horrible metallic gold Jaguar and…” I let the words drift off, realizing that Hank had seen through me for sure now. I never discussed my private life with him if I could help it-which was one reason why it fascinated him.
“Right,” Hank said again.
“Well, I did meet such a person.”
“I didn’t think you could make someone like that up. But you also stumbled onto a murder.”
“True.”
Hank signaled for another drink. “Shar, didn’t Snelling say the investigation was closed?”
“Yes, but-”
“You can’t just go down there and snoop around without a client.”
“I’m not going to ‘snoop around.’”
“What do you call it?”
“Look, Hank, I’ve been straightforward with the Port San Marco police. I’ve given them everything I know and they’ve appreciated it. I wouldn’t go back there without checking in with the lieutenant in charge of the case.”
“And what would you tell him?”
“That I was back in town and…”
“And what?”
“And that I was interested in hearing whatever they’d come up with.”
“Would you tell him Snelling was no longer employing you?”
“He probably wouldn’t ask.”
“So you’d imply you still had a client.”
“I guess you can say that.”
“Sharon, it’s too risky. You’ve gotten in trouble with this sort of thing in the past.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
I finished my drink. “I’m more sensible now.”
“More sensible than you were last year?”
“Yes. I promise, I’ll talk to Lieutenant Barrow first thing. And I’ll report anything I find out immediately. Please, Hank, let me have this time off.”
He stared down at his glass. “I don’t suppose I can stop you. You could always call in sick if I said no.”
“Would I do that?”
“Yes.” He looked at me, and then the laugh lines around his eyes crinkled. “Ah, what the hell. Go. With my blessing. Maybe you’ll come back less of a grump.”
“A grump?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve been impossible the last few weeks.”
“Well, I told you I needed a vacation.”
We finished our drinks in silence and then Hank said, “I’ve got to get back to the house.”
I stood up. “I’ll come with you and pick up my briefcase. If it’s okay with you, I’ll just file the documents and take off without coming in tomorrow morning.”
He slid off the barstool, looking uncomfortable.
“That is all right-just to file them and go-isn’t it?”
“Uh, sure.”
“What’s wrong then?”
He paused. “Nothing, really. Come on.”
When we entered the big brown Victorian, I understood what had made Hank hesitate. Greg Marcus sat on an edge of the front desk, chatting with Ted. I supposed Greg and Hank had dinner plans; the two of them had been friends years before I had entered their lives and I couldn’t expect that to change now.
When Greg saw me, there was a barely perceptible hardening in his eyes and the lines of his jaw grew taut. Then his face smoothed and he said, “Hi, papoose.” To Hank, he added, “You’re late.”
“I’ll only be a minute.” Hank hurried off down the hall without so much as a glance at me.
Ted, craven coward that he was, got up and muttered something about the men’s room.
I turned to Greg. “So, how have you been?”
“Okay. How about you?”
“Busy. I’ve been hunting for a new apartment, but without much luck.”
“Hank tells me you found a body down near Port San Marco the other night.”
Now why had Hank done that “Yes.”
“Up to your old tricks?”
“What tricks?”
“Well, I hope you’re cooperating with the police down there better than you’ve cooperated with me in the past.”
For a moment when I’d seen him sitting there, handsome in his blue suit and striped tie, I’d felt a momentary softening. But now all the reasons I’d ended our relationship came flooding back.
“Cooperation,’ I said, “has to be mutual if it’s to work properly.” In the instant before I turned and started down the hall, I saw him do a double take.
Greg, however, could not be humbled for long.” Always quick with the snappy comeback, eh, papoose?”
I kept going, into my office. No wonder I had broken up with him! No wonder. Besides, what kind of woman could remain in love with a man who called her by such a ridiculous nickname?
Chapter 12
I was back in Port San Marco, in the same room at the Mission Inn, by three the next afternoon. As soon as I’d unpacked, I called Lieutenant Barrow at the police department. The investigation of Jane’s murder was going slowly, he told me, and they were now in the process of interviewing her friends and former neighbors and employers. John Cala had been released; he still insisted he’d merely gone out on the pier for a stroll and, while Barrow didn’t believe him, the alibi I’d supplied for the fisherman had checked out.
“So that’s where we stand at present,” Barrow said. “This one isn’t going to be easy.”
“You seem to be acting on the theory that the killer was someone out of Jane’s past.”
“It stands to reason. She was killed in Salmon Bay, in a place that few people from outside the area would know about.”
“She could have arranged to meet an outsider there.”
“Possibly.” But he obviously didn’t think much of the idea because he changed the subject. “I take it you’re back in town?”
“Yes. I’d like to ask your permission to follow up on a few leads. Of course, I’d report my findings immediately.”
“What kind of leads?”
“Nothing earthshaking. I’d like to talk to Jane’s mother again, and possibly John Cala.”
“If you can get anything out of either of them, I’ll be very surprised. The people in that damned village are as close-mouthed as they come.”
“So I’ve noticed. But I’d like to try anyway. Also, I want to talk to the people at The Tidepools. I suppose you investigated the deaths there?”
There was a pause. “Yes, but I don’t see any connection.”
“Jane worked there at the time.”
“I know that; we’ve already checked with their personnel director, Ann Bates. But the deaths are a closed file, except for the last one, where the husband apparently did the killing and then disappeared.”
“I’d still like to look into a possible connection.”
“Go ahead, if you want. But I doubt you’ll find one.”
“But it’s okay with you?”
“Sure. Just keep in touch.”
As I’d expected, he hadn’t asked me if Snelling was still my client. I hung up, found the address of the public library in the phone book, and set off to check their back issues of the Port San Marco Herald.