J. Jance - Name Witheld

"The bottom number is a cell phone," Eddie said. "That's the one where you're most likely to catch her."

"What can you tell me about her?" I asked.

Eddie shrugged. "A little rough around the edges. Personally, I don't have that many dealings with her. Usually, Nancy or Amanda handles her. Virginia doesn't like men, and she doesn't make any bones about it. We're in business to service the customer. If she doesn't want to talk to me, that's fine with us."

"What's wrong with her?" I asked.

"Wrong?" Eddie repeated.

"How did she end up in a chair?"

"Pulled out in front of a Suburban right here on State Route Five Twenty-two. The car she was driving back then was a little one, a Honda, I believe. The accident barely dented the Suburban, but it creamed Virginia's car and sent her to the hospital for six months and rehab for six months after that. She came out a paraplegic at age forty-eight. According to Amanda-that's my wife, by the way-one of the reasons Virginia Marks likes that old Crown Victoria of hers so much is that it's big. Maybe sitting inside all that sheet metal helps make her feel safe."

A worker, a young man in startlingly clean coveralls, hurried up to where Eddie and I were standing. "Sorry to interrupt, Eddie, but could you come look at something for a minute?"

Eddie excused himself and went away. I stood looking around. Behind the house and the one garage was a minipark with broad sidewalks that ran through a carefully manicured grassy area to two separate gazebos. In the middle of the plot of grass was a complex, fortresslike jungle gym built over a bed of freshly spread bark. On the sidewalk next to the play area, a woman bundled in coat and gloves sat in a wheelchair, watching while two little girls whooped and shrieked from the top of the jungle gym's slide.

Eddie came back. "Sorry. Is there anything else?"

"Just one other thing. How much does one of these vans set a guy back?"

"About forty thou," Eddie answered. "About the same as one of your basic luxury cars.

"Okay," I said. "Thanks for the help. By the way, where's the nearest cup of coffee?"

He pointed east. "Coffee you can have here, but if you want something to go with it, I recommend the Maltby Cafe," he said. "Go to the end of the road and turn left. It's not far."

"And the food?" I asked.

"Their breakfasts are great."

I treated myself to French toast and tried calling Virginia Marks of AIM Research at both numbers listed on her card. I tried several times. Each time I hung up just as the voice mail recording came on. I wanted to talk to Virginia in person. I had no interest in leaving a message at the sound of the tone.

Voice mail is fine, but only up to a point.

No longer famished and in a somewhat more agreeable frame of mind than I had been earlier, I headed back to Bellevue. It was eleven-thirty by then. The sign on the door of Dorene's Fine China and Gifts had been flipped over from CLOSED to OPEN.

When I stepped inside, a bell over the door tinkled merrily, announcing my presence. The guy at the espresso cart had said that Latty was usually in the store by now, but the person behind the counter was a white-haired woman. I guessed her to be somewhere beyond her mid-seventies.

"May I help you?" she inquired, looking at me over a pair of rectangular half-size glasses that perched on the very tip of a beakish nose.

"I'm looking for Latty," I said.

"Is that so?" the woman said in a brisk, businesslike fashion. "Well, as you can see, she's not here. Is there something I could help you with?"

"I came to talk to her about a friend of hers," I said.

The woman was barely five foot three, but she puffed herself up and straightened her shoulders so she looked an inch or two taller. She spoke firmly, reminding me of a teacher offering guidance to a recalcitrant schoolboy. "I already told you. Latty isn't in yet. She won't be until much later this afternoon."

"Do you have any idea where I could find her between now and then?" I asked, pulling out one of my cards and placing it on the countertop between us. The woman picked up the card. After peering at it for a moment, she shot me a questioning look, then she returned the card to the counter. Bird-boned but nonetheless formidable, she was one of those much-facelifted women-one who wasn't giving in to the aging process without putting up one hell of a fight.

"She'll be in when she's in and not a moment before. I'm Latty's aunt Grace. Her great aunt, really," she added with a disdainful sniff. "I'm Latty's grandmother's sister, but let's don't split hairs. I don't go in for all that great stuff. Plain Aunt Grace will do just fine."

"Ma'am, I'm afraid I'm not making myself sufficiently clear. This isn't a social call. If you have any idea where Latty is at the moment, I must insist that you put me in touch with her. This is a serious matter. I need to ask her a few questions."

"Such as?"

"As you can see by my card, Mrs. — "

"Miss," Aunt Grace supplied, placing clear emphasis on the word. "Highsmith. Miss Grace Highsmith. You see, unlike my sister Florence-Latty's grandmother, that is-I never married."

The first time I heard Grace Highsmith's name, it seemed oddly familiar somehow, but I dismissed that momentary impression and forged ahead. "As you can see from my card, Miss Highsmith," I continued, "I'm with the Seattle P.D. The Homicide Squad. We're currently investigating the death of an individual who died sometime New Year's Eve. We have reason to believe that your grandniece may have been acquainted with that person."

"I see," Miss Highsmith said. Behind me, the bell chimed over the door once more. I turned to see a bent woman, leaning over a metal walker, come tottering into the room.

"Morning, Grace," the woman said. "Did my order come in yet?" she asked, peeking sideways in our direction. "The wedding's this weekend, you know."

"Yes, Maxine," Grace Highsmith replied. "I haven't forgotten. We had a big order come in from UPS this morning, but I'm not sure if your Denby's in there or not. We won't be sorting through the packing slips until Latty comes in later this afternoon. Could we get back to you on this either then or early tomorrow?"

"Either one will be fine," Maxine answered. "I came down for a manicure and thought I'd check in with you while I was in the neighborhood." Turning her walker in a wide circle, she headed back for the door. I hurried over to hold it open for her. "Why thank you, young man," she said. "That's very kind of you."

When the door closed behind Maxine, I returned to Grace Highsmith. "Where were we now?" she began somewhat vaguely. "Oh, that's right. You wanted to talk to Latty. As I said, she isn't in right now, but that doesn't matter. In the long run, I don't believe talking with her will be all that necessary."

Grace Highsmith wasn't a receptionist, but she had the typical gatekeeper mentality, which is to say, I wasn't to go anywhere near her niece until she was damned good and ready to let me. "Excuse me, Miss Highsmith, I don't believe you understand-"

"Oh, I understand perfectly." Unperturbed, she smiled up at me. "You and I will have a little chat first, Detective Beaumont," she added pleasantly. "After that, you can decide whether or not you need to speak to Latty."

"Miss Highsmith, withholding information in a case like this-"

She waved aside my half-uttered objection. "Oh, I know all about that," she said. "I watch police dramas on television all the time. It's just that there's no reason to upset Latty with any of this. The poor girl's suffered enough already. Excuse me, would you, Detective Beaumont? I'll need to make a phone call and get someone in here to cover the store for the next little while. If you'll just wait here a moment…"