"It doesn't sound like such a bad bargain to me. She gets you, complete with a suitable balance sheet and a going-concern business, along with blanket permission to screw around as much as she likes."
"Are you implying that she only married me for my money?"
"It seems possible," I returned.
"And maybe it's true," Calvin agreed. "In fact, the thought occurred to me a time or two in the early years, but she's been a tremendous help in this business, a tireless worker and a real asset. In your eyes our marital arrangement may seem a bit unconventional, but it's been eminently satisfactory to both of us. I don't have any complaints, and I'd be surprised if Louise did either. The status quo suits us both perfectly."
"It didn't suit Joey Rothman," I pointed out. "He's dead, and your satisfactory marital arrangement, as you call it, may very well have had something to do with his death."
Before, Calvin Crenshaw had been talking easily, confidently, something he was evidently capable of doing privately if not publicly. Now he bristled. "Is that some kind of accusation?" he demanded.
"It's a theory," I said.
"No. Absolutely not. Joey's death had nothing to do with Louise or me. I'm sure of that."
"Maybe not you," I countered. "But what about Louise? Look at the way she's been acting."
Calvin remained adamant. "It's a preposterous idea. Totally preposterous. All this may have left Louise a bit unbalanced in the short run, for a day or two at most, but she'll bounce back. You'll see. She's like that unsinkable Molly Brown."
"Where is she?" I asked.
"Taking the weekend off. In Vegas. R and R. She needs it."
"Aren't you worried about her bringing home a sexually transmitted disease?"
"I think it's time you left, Mr. Beaumont. You seem to have worn out your welcome. I'm sure you can find your way out."
I got up and stood there for a moment, trying to figure out what made Calvin Crenshaw tick, why someone who wouldn't give me the time of day earlier was now spilling his guts to me. Was he complaining about his wife's infidelities or bragging about them? I couldn't figure it out.
In his own way, Calvin Crenshaw was probably every bit as much of a crackpot as his wife was. Years of police work have convinced me that there's no point in arguing with nuts. It's a waste of time, breath, and energy.
His gaze met and held mine. "I must caution you, Mr. Beaumont, that if you mention any of what we've discussed here tonight to anyone else, I'll categorically deny it."
"And if you deny it, then it doesn't exist, is that the idea?"
Calvin Crenshaw smiled. "Generally speaking. Something like that. My word against yours and all that."
"So that's how it is?"
Calvin nodded, smiling again. "I'm glad we understand one another, but I do have one question for you."
"What's that?"
"Louise tells me everything, you see. Everything. Sometimes she even lets me watch. The last time she was with Joey, he tried to borrow some money from her."
"How much?"
"Twenty-five thousand dollars. Naturally, she refused to give it to him, but considering what all happened, I've been doing some serious thinking about it since. At the time Joey asked for the money, he threatened to tell me about their affair."
"In other words, he tried to blackmail her."
"I suppose that's what you call it, but as soon as Louise told him it wouldn't work, that I already knew what was going on, he backed right off. Didn't seem to have the stomach for it somehow."
"So what's your question?"
"I know his parents are loaded, at least his father is. Why do you suppose he needed that much money?" Calvin asked.
Of all the questions Calvin Crenshaw could have been asking, should have been asking, that one seemed like one of the least likely, particularly since it pointed the loaded gun of motive directly back at his own head and at Louise's as well.
"I have no idea," I replied.
"Oh well," Calvin said resignedly, sounding genuinely disappointed.
I stood looking down at him, feeling a sense of total disgust. This voyeuristic little shit and his promiscuous wife, masters of the art of doublespeak, played out their ugly little games behind a mask of helping-profession respectability. I realized then that this was just like my experience with Ringo. I had been in the same room with a snake, a human one this time, without sensing the danger, without realizing I was in jeopardy. I couldn't help wondering if Calvin Crenshaw wasn't just as dangerous as Ringo, and maybe even a little less predictable.
I turned to go. Carefully putting the cat down on the floor, Calvin got up and followed me after all. He stopped in the doorway.
"By the way, Louise and I have reconsidered. No matter what she said to that attorney of yours, you're welcome to come back and finish out your program."
I couldn't believe he was serious, but he was, continuing on with bland indifference.
"You'll need to check first and make sure we have room. We generally run a ninety-five percent occupancy rate, but we'll work you in."
"Thanks for the offer, Calvin," I said firmly. "I'll think it over."
With that, I stepped onto the sidewalk and hurried toward the Subaru, inhaling the clean, sharp air of the cool desert night. Above me, myriad yellow stars winked bright against the velvety black sky.
One of those distant, twinkling diamonds had to be mine, I thought thankfully-my own personal lucky star. After all, Louise Crenshaw had wanted me, and I hadn't even noticed. Unwittingly, without even noticing the trap, I had blundered away slick as a whistle.
I felt eternally and abjectly grateful.
CHAPTER 13
Ames had left the handset of his wireless phone just inside my door, and its cheerful chirping woke me early Saturday morning.
"Daddy," Kelly said when I answered. "Is that you? Are you awake?"
"I am now," I mumbled. "Barely. What time is it?"
"Just after seven, California time. Sorry to disturb you, but I've got a date to play tennis at eight. It's a little late, but happy birthday. Hope you had fun."
"Thanks. Ralph Ames took me out to dinner." My early morning engines hadn't quite caught fire. Since Kelly and I have never operated on quite the same wavelength, what followed was a long, awkward pause.
"Scott said you wanted to talk to me."
"That's right. I do."
"What about?" Her question was abrupt. She was worried about whatever was coming and wanted to get it over with.
"Joey Rothman," I answered quietly.
There was another long pause, but when she spoke she sounded exasperated. "Daddy, I already told you, nothing happened. I mean, we didn't go to bed or anything, if that's what you're worried about. Don't you trust me?"
Her whimpered question seemed to be verging on tears. That was the last thing I wanted. "Please, Kelly. Don't get upset. What you tell us may very well help us figure out what happened to him, that's all."
"You mean you're working on the case?"
"Something like that."
"Oh," she said, but she didn't volunteer any further information.
There was dead, empty silence on the other end of the phone. So that was how it would be. If I was playing cop and looking for answers, Kelly wasn't about to make it easy. It's the kind of diversionary strategy she learned at her mother's knee. My best countermeasure was to tackle the problem head-on.
"Did Joey tell you about Michelle Owens?" I asked. "Did you know they were going together?"
I heard the sharp intake of breath. "No." There was a small pause. "He lied to me about that, but it didn't matter."
"What do you mean, it didn't matter?"
"Daddy, are you listening to me? We weren't going together. It wasn't like that. We talked mostly, just talked. I thought he was really rad. You know, exciting."
"Like forbidden fruit."