It surprised me so much that my mouth dropped open.
“Only two dollars,” Rachel repeated.
“Did your parents also teach you that tactic?” I muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I dug in my bag and held up the money. “I give you two dollars, you tell me about the car, right?”
“Right.” She reached for it.
I pulled it back; I didn’t like the idea of bribing a child. But then, she’d proposed it. “Tell me first.”
Her lower lip pushed out. “How do I know you’ll pay me if I tell first?”
Rachel had been watching too much TV, I decided. “Don’t worry. I’ll pay.”
“All right.” She leaned forward through the windows, her small face conspiratorial. “That night I was playing in the front yard of our house.” She motioned down the road, “I wasn’t supposed to be out there; my mom thought I was in my room. But I like it outside when it’s dark.”
I glanced back at the store. Rachel’s mother was nowhere in sight, but I was worried she would come out at any moment. “What did you see, Rachel?”
She pouted again.
I held up the two dollar bills.
“I saw a car go out there. It parked and then its lights shut off.”
“What kind of car?”
“Like my dad’s. That’s why I noticed it.”
“What kind of car does he have?”
“A VW. A dark blue one.”
“And this was a VW?”
“Yes. A blue one, just like Dad’s.”
“What happened then?”
“My mom came out and called me. And I went inside.”
It would be a VW, one of the most common cars on the California highways. Still, it was a lead. I held out the two dollars to Rachel. Her small hand closed over them quickly and she stuffed them in her pocket. I stood up and opened the car door for her.
“Maybe you’d better not tell your mother we talked,” I said.
“I never tell her anything I don’t have to.” She jumped out of the car and started off toward the store. “Thanks, lady!” she called over her shoulder.
What a polite little extortionist! Was it the parents’ fault? I wondered. Television? Something in the water? And what about people like me, who bribed children?
I decided I’d better leave philosophical considerations for another day, and headed back toward Port San Marco.
Chapter 17
I went to the Mission Inn to phone Barbara Smith’s sister, Susan Tellenberg, and check for messages. There was one-from Abe Snelling, of all people. Perhaps the photographer wanted to rehire me. I depressed the receiver and direct-dialed his home in San Francisco. He answered immediately.
“Thanks for calling,” He said. “Hank Zahn told me where you were. It was in the papers about you finding that dead man. He was the one they originally suspected of killing Jane, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“You think he did do it?”
“No. I think he knew who did, and that got him killed.”
There was a long silence. When Snelling spoke, his voice was flat. “So they aren’t any closer to finding the person now than before.”
“Not really.”
“Has anything else come up about Jane?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, anything that might…I don’t know. That might explain why she was murdered.”
I had the impression that Snelling had something specific in mind but didn’t want to say. “Well, I did find out where she was that week. She has a boyfriend down here and she was staying on his boat doing research.”
“Research?” Now he sounded astonished.
“Not of a scholarly sort. I think Jane was looking into an old murder that happened at the place where she used to work, a hospice called The Tidepools. She was going through their personnel files-the boyfriend, Allen Keller, is part owner there and probably brought them to her at the boat.”
“Why on earth was she doing that?”
“She must have had an idea who the killer was and wanted to verify it with the records.”
“But why?”
I hesitated. Snelling had been Jane’s friend and might not like what I was about to say. But, then, by his own admission they hadn’t been all that close. “I think she intended to blackmail the killer. The boyfriend here is in bad financial shape and she may have been trying to help him out. In fact, she went to San Francisco originally with the idea of making money to buy him out of his trouble.”
Again Snelling surprised me with his reaction. He said in a matter-of-fact tone, “You mean she came here looking for this killer.”
“Or a lead to him.”
“Amazing.” But he didn’t sound amazed at all. Of course, Snelling struck me as a good judge of character, and this new information may have fit in with what he had already guessed about Jane.
“Do you want to reopen the case?” I asked.
He ignored the question. “Did the police look over those personnel records?”
“I doubt they’ve had the chance. Keller was aware I knew they were on the boat, so he would have returned them to The Tidepools right away. The police would have to subpoena them, and I don’t think there’s been time for that.”
“I see.”
“Abe, don’t you want me to-”
“No. Jane’s dead, and it’s a waste of money anyway. I have to go now. I was working in the darkroom and I only answered the phone because I thought it might be you. Thanks for calling.” Abruptly he hung up.
I sat staring at the receiver. Snelling had certainly gotten a lot of information for free. “Cheapskate,” I muttered.
After a few seconds I called Susan Tellenberg’s number. This time she answered and, when I asked if I could come talk to her about her sister, she sounded surprised but agreed. She gave me instructions on how to get there and said she’d see me within the hour.
The Tellenberg home was in the older section of the city, not far from Don’s apartment house. It was a white frame cottage on a double lot, most of which was apple orchard. I went up to the door and was greeted by a plump blond boy of about five.
“Mama said you should come to the orchard,” he told me, and took off across the front yard and through the trees. I followed, savoring the pungent aroma of overripe fruit. It reminded me of cider and football games and long walks home afterward, holding the hand of the cutest boy on the team. Funny how a new romance could beget memories of an old one…
A woman with dark, curly hair and a rosy complexion sat cross-legged under the trees, tossing apples into a bushel basket. The little boy made a beeline for her and burrowed into her lap. She hugged him, adjusted the halter top he had knocked askew, and waved at me. I went over there.
“I’m Susan Tellenberg,” she said, “and this is my son, Robbie.”
The little boy wriggled out of her lap, gave me a military salute, and began to prance around, smashing apples. His mother gave him a stern look and he stopped. “Ms. McCone and I have things to talk about, Robbie. Perhaps you’d like to go in the house and find a book.”
“I’ve read all my books.”
“Reread one. You like the story about the rhinoceros.”
“Rhinoceros!” His eyes grew wide and he turned and ran toward the house.
“He’s young to be reading,” I said.
“You’re never too young.” She grinned. “Besides, it keeps him occupied and it’s cheaper than buying a TV. I hope you don’t mind if we talk out here. I’ve got to get these windfalls picked up before they rot and disease the trees.”
“No problem.” I dropped to the ground, glad I’d worn jeans. “Let me help you.”
“You want to know about Barbara,” she said.
I picked up a couple of apples and tossed them into the basket. “Yes. I’ve read up on the case, in connection with another investigation, and I wanted to get an account of what happened from someone who really knew her.”