"He died last month."
The pleased expression faded. "… I didn't know that. How?"
"He was killed by a sniper, in San Francisco. Haven't you seen anything about the random shootings in the papers or on TV?"
She shook her head. "I don't have a TV, and I don't take a paper. Suppose that sounds strange in this day and age, but when I came out here I wanted to keep the rest of the world at bay. So far, I've pretty much succeeded."
"Why is that?"
She didn't say anything at first, merely studied her fingernails, which were filed nearly to the quick. Finally she shrugged. "There's nothing but pain in the world. My husband and I built ourselves a safe cocoon here on the ranch. Now that he's gone I value it all the more."
I wondered what had happened to hurt them so badly, but was afraid she would close up if I asked. "I see. Well, the reason I'm here is that shortly before he died, Perry Hilderly made a will leaving you a fourth of his estate-about a quarter of a million dollars."
She looked up, violet eyes widening. "Why?"
"I don't know. Can you tell me?"
She shook her head.
"Mrs. Ross, do you know Thomas Y. Grant?"
"Who? No-name's not familiar."
"What about Jess Goodhue?"
"No."
"Jenny Ruhl?"
She took her feet off the desk and grasped the arms of the chair, as if to keep from jumping up. "Jenny… Jenny's been dead for years."
"Yes, but her daughter's alive-Jess Goodhue."
"I remember she had a baby, Jessica, Where did she get that last name?"
"It's adoptive. Jess Goodhue is another beneficiary of Hilderly's will, as is Tom Grant. Goodhue thinks Hilderly may have been her father."
A peculiar smile came to Ross's lips-twisted, bitter. "I can assure you he wasn't. He most certainlywas not."
"Who was?"
She hesitated. "All I can say is that it wasn't Perry."
"But you don't want to say why you're so sure?"
"No."
"What was your relationship to Hilderly and Jenny Ruhl?"
Another long silence. "Jenny and I went to grade school together. Perry and I went back a long way, too. But I haven't heard from him in years, and I'm very surprised that he would leave me money." She looked around the dreary, drafty tack room. "Not that I can't use it. I'm barely holding things together here since Glen died."
"Glen was your husband?"
She nodded. "Maybe you've heard of him-former wide receiver with the Rams?"
I shook my head.
Ross sighed. "Well, it was a long time ago. Glen got mixed up in the high life-blew a couple of marriages, a lot of money, his career. Took what was left and came up here, looking for property. I met him while I was working in a real-estate office in Tomales. We made our own world out here, and not a bad one at that."
"Mrs. Ross," I said after a moment, "please tell me about your relationship to Hilderly. It's important – "
"Do I need to, in order to claim the inheritance?"
"No. It's clear that you're the Libby Heikkinen named in his will, and his wishes will be carried out."
"In that case, I don't want to talk about it. It's past history – long past, and much too sad."
I switched to a different tack. "There was a fourth beneficiary whom I've been unable to locate- David Arlen Taylor. Can you tell me where – "
"D.A.?" Again she looked surprised; then the bitter smile returned. "Sure I can tell you. He's where he's been the past fifteen years, where he'll be until he dies -over on the other side of the bay. "
"Tomales Bay?"
"Uh-huh. His family owns a restaurant and oyster beds a mile or two up the highway from Nick's Cove."
"Is he a friend of yours?"
She seemed to consider. "We're… something like that. I came up here in the first place because I thought I could help D.A. Took me four damn years to realize there wasn't anything that was going to help. Then I married Glen down in San Francisco, where he was waiting for me to make up my mind. For years I've had a life of sorts. But I'm still here for D.A. He knows where to find me, if he needs me."
"What's wrong with him, that he needs help?"
She pulled out the lower drawer of the desk and propped her feet on it, obviously more at ease with the subject of Taylor than Hilderly or Ruhl. "D.A.'s a substance abuser," she said. "He'll use anything that takes the edge off. Generally it's alcohol, grass. Pills or crack when he can get them. Coke or ice when he can afford it."
"Do you know why?"
"I know, but it's not worth talking about. In a way his reasons are the same ones that keep me out here with only the wind and my memories for company. But at least I tried to rejoin the world-for a while. D.A. never did."
"What do you mean-rejoin the world?"
She shrugged. "Just a figure of speech. It's funny with D.A.: he got married about six years ago. Nice wife. A lot younger than him. She's Miwok-so is he, partly. Lots of Indians around here." She paused, studying my face. "Come to think of it, you look like you've got some Indian blood, too."
"Only an eighth. Shoshone. About D.A.?"
"Well, he and his wife have a little boy and girl. Cute kids. You would have thought it'd change things for him, but it didn't. He's still the same old D.A."
"He must be special to you, that you moved here to try to help him."
"Yeah, well, maybe I needed to help myself."
I remained silent, sensing that if I asked what she meant I would just get another shrug. Outside, the wind baffled around the building, setting loose shingles to rattling above our heads. The cat stirred, stood up and arched its back in a stretch, circled, then settled down again.
Finally I asked, "Are you sure you don't know Thomas Y. Grant?"
"Like I said, the name's not familiar. But it's a common one; maybe I've forgotten him. Who is he?"
"A lawyer, in San Francisco. Specializes in divorce work for men only."
"Oh, one of those. Describe him, would you?"
"He's in his early fifties, I'm told, but looks younger. Tall, well built, thick gray hair, handsome, except for a scar on his left cheek that reminds me of something out ofThe Student Prince."
When I mentioned the scar, Ross didn't react as dramatically as she had to Jenny Ruhl's name, but there was a tightening in the lines around her mouth. "This Grant lives in San Francisco?"
"Yes."
"Where? Is he well off?"
The question puzzled me, but I said, "He must be. He has a house on Lyon Street in Pacific Heights. And the law firm's a big one, with offices in other cities."
"And on top of that he inherits money from Perry. Coals to Newcastle, I'd say."
I watched her, wondering if I'd imagined her reaction to the description of Grant. After a moment she added, "Not that the money's going to do D.A. any good, either. Unless Mia gets her hands on it fast, it'll all go up his nose."
"Mia's his wife?"
"Yeah. You planning to go over there?"
"Right after I leave here."
"Well, try to talk to Mia first, if she's there. No telling what condition D.A.'s in from day to day."
I nodded, but remained sitting, understandably reluctant to rush into what promised to be an unpleasant situation. Besides, I wasn't sure I'd gotten all I could from Ross. Possibly-if I steered clear of the subject of Hilderly or Ruhl-she might open up to me. I said, "Your land here-is it part of the National Seashore?"
"Yeah. I've got it on long-term lease. The government encourages dairy ranching, for aesthetic and economic reasons."
"Dairy ranching? I thought-"
"The stable doesn't turn a profit; I only keep it going because I love horses. The dairy business I contract out to the neighbor to the east. It keeps a roof over my head and food on the table, but that's about it. Glen loved it here; sometimes I think that's why I stay on." But Ross, in spite of the fact that she must be lonely for company, didn't seem eager for further conversation. She stood, stretching her rangy body much as the cat had stretched its furry one.