Sue Grafton - V is for Vengeance

I said, “This isn’t any of my business. Marvin fired me.”

“I talked to him about that and he’s beginning to repent,” she said.

“I promise you’ll want to hear what she has to say.”

I gave this four seconds’ worth of consideration and then said, “Not here. If you want to have a conversation, let’s get off the street.”

She said, “Fine.”

There was no way the three of us could squeeze into the Corvette unless Melissa sat on my lap. My two-door coupe wasn’t much roomier, but at least I’d be in the driver’s seat in the literal sense of the word.

I unlocked the Mustang and we sorted ourselves out, me getting under the wheel and Diana hunched over, edging awkwardly around the passenger-side seat and into the rear, which was barely big enough for grocery bags. Melissa was a tiny slip of a thing, small dark eyes, wispy dark hair in what they used to call a pixie cut. Kids nowadays wouldn’t know the term, but the effect was the same, short and brushed forward around her face. She should have consulted Diana about her wardrobe. Even I would have done better than the oversize T-shirt and jeans that were inches too short.

I turned to the two of them. “So what’s up?”

“I’ll go first,” Diana said with a quick look at Melissa.

“Sure.”

“Melissa contacted me at the paper. She hadn’t heard about Audrey’s dive off the bridge until she read the article last Thursday. The minute she saw it she went to the police, because her boyfriend died exactly the same way two years ago. She thought they’d want to pursue the connection, so she gave them all the relevant information. She hasn’t heard from them since.”

I said, “That’s not unusual. An inquiry like that takes time.”

“The guy stonewalled her right there. She thought he’d follow up, but he won’t return her calls.”

“Who’d she talk to?”

“That’s just it. Sergeant Priddy…”

Melissa said, “The fuckhead. He was horrible. He treated me like shit.”

She looked too dainty and feminine to use such foul language. This, of course, elevated her in my opinion, and I hoped she was just warming up. People are all the time wanking on me about my potty mouth, so I like being able to point out someone worse.

“Tell her what you told me,” Diana said to her.

Our proximity discouraged conversation face-to-face. Melissa had delivered her remarks to my front windshield, and Diana was leaning forward avidly, with her head between us like a dog eager for a Sunday drive. This was the second time I’d referred to dogs and Diana in the same breath and I apologized silently to mutts everywhere.

“My boyfriend committed suicide two years ago, or so I thought. I was devastated. I had no idea anything was wrong, so I couldn’t come to grips with what he’d done. I knew Phillip had gambling debts, but he was basically an optimist and talked like he was getting his shit together. Next thing I knew, he jumped off the side of a parking garage…”

“Binion’s in Vegas. Sixth floor,” Diana said, always one for the telling detail.

Melissa went on. “What struck me about Diana’s article was the business about the woman’s high heels and handbag side by side on the front seat of her car and the absence of a note. Phillip’s wallet and his shoes were arranged just like that in his Porsche and he didn’t leave a note either.”

Diana said, “Now she’s convinced he didn’t kill himself and here we are with Marvin who feels the same way.”

I thought the analogy was thin but I wanted to hear the rest of it. “The police in Vegas must have investigated your boyfriend’s death.”

“They blew me off,” Melissa said. “All I wanted was someone to look into it and tell me if he did it on purpose or not. I didn’t really believe it, but I figured that was just me in denial. Like maybe he was in over his head and this was his only way out.”

Diana said, “She got her tires slashed.”

“I was getting to that,” Melissa said sharply.

“Sorry.”

“Phillip had been to Vegas three times in three weeks and lost a bundle playing poker, or so the detective said. It still didn’t sit right because his parents are loaded and they’d have come to his rescue if he was in that much trouble. I explained all this and the cops shut me down. I wasn’t happy about it, but I knew they heard stories like this all the time and I didn’t expect special treatment. Then the vandalism started. I got my tires slashed, my apartment broken into, and all my ski gear stolen.”

“You needed ski gear in Vegas?” I asked.

“No, no. I was working in Vail, which is where I went after college, just for something to do. Phillip used to come up and visit every couple of months. We both loved to ski and it was easy to work all year long because it’s so beautiful up there. A lot of people come in the summer as well.”

“Can I say something?” Diana asked.

I pointed at Diana, as though calling on her.

She said, “A friend of hers-this was someone who worked at one of the Vegas casinos-told Melissa she must have stepped on some toes because she had the same thing happen to her when she complained about this goon who roughed her up one time. Guy’s name was Cappi Dante. He just got out of prison on a conviction for assault. His family lives here in town. His older brother’s a loan shark. You might have heard of him, Lorenzo Dante? This is junior, not senior, though I understand the dad was just as bad in his day.”

Dodie had just mentioned Lorenzo Dante, the loan shark from whom Pinky had borrowed two grand. “I know the name but I’ve never met the man.”

“Melissa found out Phillip borrowed ten grand from him and that’s what he lost at poker shortly before he died.”

“Or was killed,” Melissa corrected.

“Are you telling me this loan shark’s reach stretched from Vegas to Vail?”

“Look. All I know is what happened when I made a stink. I’d heard Dante’s name and I thought the Vegas police should be told. Then the problems started and I took my cue. I packed up my stuff and came back to Santa Teresa because my parents are here and I really felt I needed to hang out someplace safe. Now I’m living with them and working as a nanny, so my name doesn’t appear in public records, like telephone and utility hookups.”

“And you explained this to Sergeant Priddy?”

“Every word of it. I told him Audrey’s suicide and Phillip’s were identical and I thought they should contact the Las Vegas police about reopening the case to see if there was a link to Lorenzo Dante here.”

“Police don’t always appreciate being told their business,” I remarked.

Diana said, “Now she’s scared. She thinks she saw Sergeant Priddy drive past her parents’ house, like he wants her to know he knows where she lives.”

“The car was dark green, but I couldn’t tell you what kind.”

“So what do you think?” Diana asked, in a rare concession that I might have something to contribute.

“I don’t know what to think, but here’s my take on it: You made a mistake going to the Santa Teresa police. Len Priddy works vice and he’s handling the shoplifting angle of Audrey’s case. The Santa Teresa County Sheriff’s homicide detectives are the ones in charge of the death investigation. You should drive out to Colgate and tell them.”

“You think they’ll take her seriously?”

“Well, I know for sure they won’t drive past her house, scaring her out of her wits.”

Dante had given her a key to the beach house. In her mind’s eye she was already there, waiting for him to appear. In reality, Channing had postponed his return to L.A. until Tuesday morning, which nearly drove her insane. She’d managed to get in a quick call to Dante’s private line, where she left a message indicating she couldn’t see him that day. Monday went on forever, so dull and flat she wondered how she’d endured before Dante came along. Tuesday morning, she and Channing ate breakfast together, their conversation pleasant and inconsequential. The entire time she thought about Dante. It was almost as though he were sitting at the table with them, and she wondered if Thelma was present as well. She pondered the complexities of the human heart, cunning, opaque, unknowable, and impervious to judgment. What one did in the world at large might be condemned, but thoughts and feelings and daydreams were protected by the simple expedient of silence. How easy it was to deceive Channing, whose inner state was as unavailable to her as hers was to him. How many times had they sat at this same table, conducting the ordinary business of life? Courtesy served as an artful disguise that veiled the more profound dialogue of fantasy and desire. Toast, coffee, talk of her appointment in Santa Monica later in the day. She told Channing she’d set up a meeting with her broker to review her portfolio. He urged her to stop by the office and she demurred, citing a round of errands. The exchange was perfunctory. She’d never understood Channing so well or liked him so little, but at least her infidelity had evened the score. Maybe one day she’d tell him. She hadn’t decided yet. She walked with him to the door and they kissed briefly. She took care to give no indication of her impatience to have him gone or the giddiness she felt at what was to come. The minute he was out of the house, she put on her sweats and walking shoes and drove to the house on Paloma Lane.