We exchanged phone numbers-mine at the motel, his at home-and said goodnight there on the sidewalk. Intrigued as I was by the prospect of a budding romance with this attractive man, my thoughts were on the figure I’d seen by my car. It could have been nothing, but I’d do well to be more alert in the future. And the romance, I told myself as I drove back to the Mission Inn, would have to wait until I cleared up the business at hand.
Chapter 13
At ten the next morning I sat on one of the ornately carved chairs in the lobby of The Tidepools, waiting to talk to Ann Bates. I’d been there half an hour and the high-backed chair grew harder with each passing minute. Every time I shifted my position, the handsome dark-haired woman at the desk would look up, an anxious frown creasing her brow. When I finally stood up and went over to the glass wall that opened onto the patio, the woman jerked. I glanced curiously at her, but she lowered her eyes.
The hospice seemed strangely hushed this morning. Except for the woman at the desk, I hadn’t seen a single soul, and the phone hadn’t rung once all the time I’d been waiting. Even the fountain was quiet, its water turned off, and not a breeze ruffled the fuchsia blossoms in their hanging baskets. It wasn’t a peaceful stillness, however.
The receptionist’s tension had begun to affect me. When the carved front door opened, squeaking on its iron hinges, I jumped. A middle-aged couple, prosperous-looking in tweeds, came in. They conferred with the receptionist, then took seats on the far side of the lobby. Tired of waiting, I went over to the woman at the desk and asked how much longer Mrs. Bates would be.
“Oh, I’m certain it won’t be more than a few minutes.” She did not meet my eyes.
“Would you get her on the phone again and find out?”
Her hand strayed toward the receiver then stopped. “She knows you’re here. I’m sure she’ll be out as soon as she’s free.” She looked up, and I saw that her eyes were almost pleading. Obviously Bates was the source of her jumpiness.
I said, “Is she in a bad mood today?”
A smile tugged at the corners of the woman’s mouth. “Today and yesterday. All week, in fact. I’d rather not bother her again-” Footsteps clicked on the titled floor behind us and the trace of a smile disappeared from the woman’s lips.
I turned to face Mrs. Bates. Dressed in beige silk, she was as fashionable as the last time I’d seen her, but there were lines around her mouth that hadn’t been there before. “Ms. McCone,” she said, “what can I do for you?”
“I take it you heard about Jane Anthony’s death?”
“The police were here making inquiries. And of course it was in the papers.”
“I’m cooperating with the local force in the investigation, and there are some questions I need to ask you.”
“I’ve already told the detectives from Homicide everything I know about Ms. Anthony. Perhaps you should talk to them.”
“No, I’d rather talk to you.”
Bates glanced at the couple on the other side of the lobby, and then at the receptionist. “Mary, who are-”
“Relatives of a prospective patient. One of the volunteers is to give them a tour, but she hasn’t arrived yet.”
Bates frowned. “Doesn’t she know enough to be on time, for God’s sake?”
“They’re early.”
“Well…oh, never mind.” Bates looked back at me, exasperation plain on her face. “Ms. McCone, I realize you are merely trying to do your job, but you are hindering me from doing mine. As I said before, I suggest you talk to the police.”
Her voice was louder now, and the prosperous-looking couple turned their heads. I raised my own voice. “You also must realize that by refusing to talk to me you’re obstructing my investigation of this murder.”
The man sat up straighter and he and the woman exchanged looks.
“Ms. McCone!” Bates glanced at them frantically.
“Since you won’t talk with me, I can only assume that you-or someone else at The Tidepools-have something to hide.”
Two spots of red appeared on Bates’ cheeks. She heaved a sigh and said to the receptionist, “Hold all my calls, Mary.” Then she glared at me. “Come this way, Ms. McCone.” In icy silence we went down a hallway to an office wing.
Bates led me into a paneled office with a view of a cypress grove. It was furnished with a large, cluttered desk and banks of metal filing cabinets. She made a curt motion at a visitor’s chair in front of the desk, then went around and sat behind it.
“Now that you have succeeded in making both me and The Tidepools look bad,” she said, “what do you want to ask me?”
“I need to see Jane Anthony’s personnel file.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“It’s confidential.”
“The woman’s been murdered. Nothing about her is confidential anymore.”
“The file is the property of The Tidepools.”
“Did you refuse to show it to the police?”
“They didn’t ask. They merely questioned me about what I recalled about Ms. Anthony.”
“All the more reason I should see it.”
She leaned forward on the desk, her eyes flashing. “No, Ms. McCone. All the more reason you should not. If the police don’t need to see the file, you don’t either.”
This statement was going to be broken only by the introduction of a new element. “Why don’t we get Allen Keller in on this?”
She blinked and took her elbows off the desk. “I thought Mary told you when you arrived that Dr. Keller isn’t in today.”
“Has he been in at all since Jane Anthony was killed?”
“That’s none of your business.” But the fire went out of her eyes and she bit her underlip.
“I guess he’s taking it hard. It would be a shame to have to disturb him over something like this file.”
“Yes, it would.”
“On the other hand, if I have no choice…”
“Ms. McCone, Allen-Dr. Keller has had a very difficult time this week. He told me how you hunted him down at home.”
“Did he also tell you that he lied to me about how well he knew Jane?”
“That’s only natural, given the havoc that woman wreaked upon his life. I don’t want you bothering him anymore.”
“But I need to see that file.”
She was silent, her hands gripping the arms of her chair. Her face, which had seemed invulnerable moments ago, was now deeply troubled. I thought of women I’d known who had fallen in love with bosses or co-workers. They might lose them to other women, but still they went on, keeping the office fires burning, waiting for some improbable future chance. Was Ann Bates…?
A look of resolve spread over her features and she stood up, taking a key out of her desk drawer. “If I let you see the file, will you leave Dr. Keller alone?”
“Would I have any other reason to contact him?”
“Of course not.” Either she was not as bright as she appeared to be or she badly wanted to believe she was doing the right thing. She went to one of the file cabinets, opened it, and reached inside. Then her back straightened and she began to shuffle through the files. She closed the drawer, opened the one below it, and repeated the procedure. When she finally turned to me, her face was drained of color.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
She shook her head and shut the drawer. “I’m afraid I can’t show you the file after all.”
“Why not?”
“Because, Ms. McCone, it is not there. And from what I can tell, a large number of our other files have vanished as well.”
I left Ann Bates rummaging through her file cabinets, trying to figure out exactly what was missing, and drove to Allen Keller’s home. The maid who answered the door told me the doctor wasn’t in, but refused to say where he had gone. On my way back to the MG, I checked the garage; there was no car inside, so it was a good bet the maid was telling the truth. I thought for a minute and then remembered his boat, the Princess Jane, at the marina next to the Sand Dollar. It was worth a try. I drove over there and spotted the cruiser tied up at the far end of an outer slip. The location was reasonably private and the cruiser, which had to be at least thirty feet, was luxurious. I understood why Keller and Jane had chosen to meet there.