J. Jance - Failure to appear

"It was love at first sight, for me anyway. Unfortunately, I was still married to Maggie at the time. That was a big problem. But someone who deals in chemical toilets gets used to dealing with shit, one way or another. It's godawful. It's messy, but somebody has to do it. My father made a fortune at it, and so have I. I figured if I had to spend some of what I call my hard-earned turd money just to get rid of Maggie, I would. And I did, too. She fought me every step of the way, and her lawyer drove a hell of a hard bargain, but I figured Daphne was worth it-and she was."

As he warmed to the telling, some of the color and animation returned to Guy Lewis' pathetic cheeks. Just talking about Daphne seemed to make him feel better. I felt sorry as hell for him. He wouldn't be able to talk about her like this forever, because I suspected I knew some dark things about Daphne Lewis that were going to poison the well of his treasured memories.

"You said you thought your wife was being blackmailed?"

Guy nodded. "I never balanced a checkbook in my life," he said. "That's why God gave us accountants. But I'm one of those guys, if you ask me what's in my wallet, I can tell you within five bucks. Same way with my bank accounts. I'm not tight. I've met men who are. They make a lot of money and then can't stand to spend it. Or can't stand for their wives to spend it. Not me. I say, ‘If we've got it, use it.'

"Daphne had a real hard life until she met me, God bless her. I wanted to give her everything she ever wanted. I wanted her to have fun. She got a real kick out of having plenty of money. Used to be, if a big chunk disappeared out of the household accounts, something would come back in-a piece of bronze sculpture she liked or a painting maybe. She liked those damned abstracts best. Once she bought a whole damn garden and had them move it into our yard a brick at a time.

"In the last year or so, three big lumps of money evaporated completely. I didn't ask her about it, because I figured maybe she was getting me something for my birthday. I was afraid to ask, afraid I'd wreck the surprise. But now I don't think that anymore. Do you?"

His direct question caught me off base. "How much money?"

"Right at a hundred-fifty thou, give or take."

I shook my head. "No, Mr. Lewis," I said. "There may have been a surprise, but I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for a birthday present."

He nodded sadly. "That's what I thought," he said.

Picking up the coffee cup, he swilled down the remainder of its contents and then took an almost unconscious bite of his sandwich. "Tell me about Tanya Dunseth," he said, chewing thoughtfully. "Know anything about her?"

"Not much."

"Fraymore says she was in some of the movies Daphne and Martin Shore made." Guy paused and took another bite. "That's how people are going to remember Daphne now, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"That she was involved in those movies once."

"Some people may," I hedged.

"I know better," he returned. "Don't try to placate me by telling me any different. Daphne did a lot of good for charities in Seattle. No matter what anybody thinks, she was a hard worker. What I do isn't very pretty, but the nonprofits like having my money on their balance sheets. Daphne was glamorous as hell. Having her with me made me almost…well, legitimate. And I did the same for her. We could go places together that wouldn't have let either one of us in by ourselves. But now that Daphne's dead and gone and can't defend herself, those same society dames who used to suck up to her will throw her to the wolves. They'll probably still want my money, though," he added bitterly.

"Why is the world like that, Mr. Beaumont? Why do people love to find someone like Daphne-someone beautiful or a little different, someone they can smear or tear to pieces?"

"Guy," I said, "if I knew the answer to that, you can bet I wouldn't be working as a homicide detective."

"No," he agreed, "I don't suppose you would."

Listening to Guy's version of the story, I wondered where the truth lay. Had Daphne been carrying on with Martin Shore the whole time or was she being blackmailed by him? If not him, who else was a likely candidate? How much did Guy Lewis know about Daphne's real past? How many other kids besides Tanya had been victimized by taking a starring role in one of Martin Shore's movies?

Given what I had learned from other sources, I tended to agree with people who would say the fates meted out to both Martin Shore and Daphne Lewis were nothing if not just desserts, but sitting closeted in a darkened hotel room with a grieving Guy Lewis, I saw no reason to tell him that. He didn't deserve it. And somewhere in the world there might be a Mrs. Martin Shore who didn't deserve it, either.

The phone rang, startling us both. I think Guy expected me to answer it. Instead, I picked it up off the nightstand and brought it to him. From hearing only one side of the conversation, I surmised that the fully repaired Miata had just been dropped off. The desk clerk wanted to know if Mr. Lewis wanted her to bring the keys up to his room or should she keep them down at the desk. He told her to keep them and that he'd be down to pick them up later, when his four o'clock appointment arrived.

"What appointment?" I asked, when he got off the phone.

"That detective, the one from Ashland. What's his name?"

"Fraymore," I supplied. "He's coming here?"

"Didn't I tell you? He still has some questions to ask."

The last person I wanted to run into right then was Gordon Fraymore. If he found me in Guy Lewis' room, he'd be ripped, and rightfully so. Worried, I glanced at my watch. Three forty-five didn't leave much time. I stood up. "I'd better be going," I said.

"Fraymore asked about you, by the way," Guy Lewis added.

"About me? How so?"

"He wanted to know how the two of us met. I told him about the Bentley. He seemed to get a real kick out of it."

"I'll bet."

"He also asked how we happened to hook up in Ashland. I didn't want to talk about the meeting, so I told him we met during the Green Show."

By chance both Guy and I had told the same story. Two wrongs don't make a right, and two lies don't make the truth, either-especially not in a murder investigation when the detective already knows better. In homicide-cop mentality, Fraymore was busily adding up provable lies and stirring them into a bubbling vat of conspiracy.

"What did he say to that?"

"Nothing much."

I was almost out the door, but mention of our meeting brought up another question in my mind. "How was it that you and Daphne happened to be down here in the first place? Was it something you had planned for a long time?"

"Oh, no," Lewis answered. "It was completely spur of the moment, one of those surprise deals. Daphne sprang it on me just the first of last week, although she must have had the tickets earlier than that. I think she and Monica Davenport must have dreamed up the idea in order to get to spend some time together, although if I know Monica, she probably had an ulterior motive. She's just like Alex-always looking for a way to relieve a fellow of a little hard-earned cash."

There were other things I wanted to know, other questions I wanted to ask, but I didn't want to risk hanging around any longer and running into Fraymore. If he drove up and caught sight of the Guard-red Porsche out in the parking lot, I was dead meat. There aren't that many 928s racing around in southern Oregon. Not only that, it was time to go catch my plane.

Guy Lewis followed me to the door. The food and talk had done him some good. His coloring was better. He seemed steadier on his feet. Outside the room, Guy surprised me by reaching out and grabbing me in a powerful, bearlike hug.

"I've been twelfth-stepped a couple of other times in my life," he said. "Some were real hassles. You know-guys coming over to preach in your face and set you on the straight and narrow. At least that's how it seemed at the time. You really listened to me today, Mr. Beaumont, and I want you to know it helped. It helped a lot. I appreciate it."