“His great-niece. Maybe even great-great,” she said.
“Uh-hun.”
I let a silence fall into which she did not leap with joy, offering to fly out.
She said, “Hello?”
“I haven’t gone anywhere. I’m just waiting to hear what you’re going to do.”
“Fine. I’ll be out, but I don’t appreciate your attitude.”
She hung up resoundingly to illustrate her point.
8
After dinner Friday night, I went with Henry to a Christmas-tree lot on Milagro to help him choose a tree-a decision he takes very seriously. Christmas was still two weeks away, but Henry’s like a little kid when it comes to the holidays. The lot itself was small, but he felt the trees were fresher and the selection better than at the other lots he’d tried. In the six-foot height he preferred, he had several choices: a balsam fir, a Fraser fir, a blue spruce, a Nordman, the Norway, or the noble spruce. He and the man who owned the lot got into a long discussion about the merits of each. The blue spruce, the noble, and the Norway had poor needle retention, and the Nordmans had spindly tips. He finally settled on a dark green balsam fir with a classic shape, soft needles, and the fragrance of a pine forest (or Pine-Sol, depending on your frame of reference). The tree branches were secured with heavy twine, and we hauled it to his station wagon, where we tied it across the top with an elaborate configuration of rope and bungee cords.
We drove home along Cabana Boulevard, the darkened ocean to our left. Offshore the oil rigs twinkled like a regatta with the capacity for spills. It was close to eight by then and the restaurants and motels across from the beach were ablaze with lights. The glimpse we caught of State Street in passing showed a steady march of seasonal decorations as far as the eye could see.
Henry parked in his driveway and we eased the tree out of its restraints. With him toting the trunk end and me struggling along at the midpoint, we wrestled the evergreen around to the street, up his short walk, and in the front door. Henry had rearranged the furniture to clear a place for the tree in one corner of the living room. Once we’d stabilized it in its stand, he tightened the T-bolts and added water to the reservoir below. He’d already pulled six boxes marked X-MAS from his attic and stacked them nearby. Five were filled with carefully wrapped ornaments, and the sixth box contained a formidable tangle of Christmas-tree lights.
“When are you doing the lights and ornaments?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. Charlotte has an open house from two until five and she’ll stop by when she’s done. You’re welcome to join us. I’m making eggnog to get us in the proper spirit.”
“I don’t want to horn in on your date.”
“Don’t be silly. William and Rosie are coming, too.”
“Have they met her?”
“William has and he gave her a thumbs-up. I’m curious about Rosie’s reaction. She’s a tough one.”
“Why the opinion poll? You either like her or you don’t.”
“I don’t know. Something about the woman bothers me.”
“As in what?”
“You don’t find her a bit single-minded?”
“I’ve only talked to her once and I got the impression she was good at what she does.”
“It feels more complicated. She’s smart and attractive, I’ll give you that, but all she talks about is sell, sell, sell. We took a walk after supper the other night and she calculated the value of every house on the block. She was ready to go door-to-door, drumming up sales, but I put my foot down. These are my neighbors. Most are retired and their homes are paid off. So she talks someone into selling, then what? They end up with a pile of cash but no place to live and no way to buy another home because the market’s so high.”
“What was her response?”
“She was good about it and backed off, but I could see the wheels going round and round.”
“She’s a go-getter. No doubt about that. In fact, I was worried she’d talk you into selling this place.”
Henry gestured his dismissal. “No danger there. I love my house and I’d never give it up. She’s still lobbying to get me into rental properties, but that doesn’t interest me. I have one tenant already so why do I need more?”
“Okay, so maybe she’s ambitious. That doesn’t constitute a character flaw. You get hung up in all the fretting and you’ll spoil what you have now. If it doesn’t work out, then so be it.”
“Very philosophical,” he said. “I’ll remember you said that and quote it back to you one day.”
“No doubt.”
At 9:30 I went back to my place and let myself in. I flipped off the porch light and hung up my jacket. I was ready to settle down with a glass of wine and a good book when I heard a knock at my door. At that hour, chances were good it was someone trying to sell me something, or passing out poorly printed pamphlets predicting the End of the World. I was surprised anyone would brave the walk to my door since the streetlights don’t penetrate Henry’s backyard and patio.
I turned on the outside light and peered through the porthole in my front door. The woman standing on my porch wasn’t anyone I knew. She was in her midthirties with a pale square face, thinly plucked eyebrows, bright red lipstick, and a thick bunch of auburn hair that she’d caught in a knot on the top of her head. She wore a black business suit, but I didn’t see a clipboard or a sample case so maybe I was safe. When she saw me looking out at her she smiled and waved.
I put the chain on and then opened the door a crack. “Yes?”
“Hi. Are you Kinsey?”
“I am.”
“My name is Melanie Oberlin. Gus Vronsky’s niece. Am I disturbing you?”
“Not at all. Hang on.” I closed the door and slid the chain off the track, then let her in. “Wow. That was quick. I talked to you two days ago. I didn’t expect to see you so soon. When did you get in?”
“Just now. I have a rental car out front. Turns out my boss thought the trip was a fabulous idea, so I flew into L.A. last night and met with clients all day. I didn’t start the drive up until seven, thinking I’d be clever and avoid the rush-hour traffic, but then I got stuck behind a six-car pile-up in Malibu. At any rate, I’m sorry to barge in, but it just dawned on me I don’t have a key to Uncle Gus’s place. Is there any way to get in?”
“Henry has a set of keys and I’m sure he’s still up. It won’t take me a minute, if you want to come on in and wait.”
“I’d love to. Thanks. Do you mind if I use the loo?”
“Be my guest.”
I showed her into the downstairs bathroom, and while she went about her business, I crossed the patio to Henry’s back door and tapped on the glass. The kitchen lights were out, but I could see the reflected flicker of the television set in the living room beyond. A moment later, he appeared in the doorway and flipped on the kitchen light before he unlocked the door. “I thought you were in for the night,” he said.
“I was, but Gus’s niece showed up and she needs a house key.”
“Hang on.”
He left the door open while he found the set of keys in his kitchen junk drawer. “The way you described your phone conversation, I didn’t think she’d come at all, let alone this fast.”
“Me, neither. I was pleasantly surprised.”
“How long will she stay?”
“I haven’t asked her yet, but I can let you know. You may end up dealing with her anyway since I have to go into the office first thing tomorrow morning.”
“On Saturday?”
“I’m afraid so. I’ve got paperwork to catch up on and I like the quiet.”
When I returned to the studio, Melanie was still in the bathroom, and the sound of running water suggested she was washing her face. I took two glasses from the cabinet and opened a bottle of Edna Valley Chardonnay. I poured six ounces for each of us and when she came out, I handed her Gus’s house key and a glass of wine.