Sue Grafton - P is for Peril

I sat in my car, feeling tense with the cold. At intervals, I fired up the engine so I could keep the heater running and the windshield wipers on, though the steady thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk nearly put me to sleep. To my right, the hill rose at a thirty-degree angle for a hundred yards or so before it crested and curved down to the lake. From the water's edge, the floodlights glowed eerily, silhouetting the few scrub trees stretched out along the crest. At intervals, the light was broken by shadows as the police went about their business. I'd spoken briefly with Odessa when he'd first reached the scene. He'd asked me to stay and said they were putting a diver in the water to check the car's interior before they hauled it out of the lake. He'd set off up the long slope and I settled in for the wait.

At some point, Leila had appeared, accompanied by her stepfather, Lloyd, who'd come home while I was in the process of discovering Dow's car. They stood to one side under a black umbrella, maintaining a distance from the neighbors. I was guessing the two had been attracted by the lights and had hopped in Lloyd's car. For once, Leila seemed to be experiencing an emotion other than boredom or contempt. With her thick black mascara and heavily shadowed lids, she looked like a waif, big-eyed and solemn, shivering uncontrollably. I knew I should go over and introduce myself to Lloyd, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Down the road, I spotted two minicam crews, one from KWST-TV, the other from KEST-TV. The blond reporter from KEST was already picking up film clips and interviews for the eleven o'clock news. She stood under a big black umbrella, talking to one of the neighbors. I didn't see any other reporters, but they were doubtless around somewhere.

I adjusted my rearview mirror and watched as a pair of headlights swept into view around the curve in the road. I was hoping to see Fiona, but the vehicle turned out to be Crystal's white Volvo. She slowed as she approached. She waited while a smattering of people ambled out of the roadway and passed in front of her, and then pulled in and parked on the berm just ahead of me.

I grabbed my slicker from the backseat and held it over my head as I left the comfort of my VW and moved gingerly along the road to her car. She turned and caught sight of me and rolled down her window. Her face was drawn, her hair pulled back in an untidy knot at the nape of her neck. Gone were the black slacks and sweater she'd worn earlier. She looked like she'd dressed in haste, pulling on jeans and a gray utilitarian sweatshirt bearing the name of our gym. She said, "I was already in my robe and slippers when the officer came to the door. He wanted to bring me over in his patrol car, but I wanted my own wheels. What's happening?"

"Nothing much. This is worse than a movie set, with all the people standing around. Where's Anica?"

"She had to get back to school. Hop in."

I said, "Thanks." I opened the door and slid into the front seat. Behind me, Griffith's car seat was buckled into place, the surrounding area decorated with an assortment of cookie crumbs and broken pretzels. A plastic baby bottle filled with apple juice had left a sticky residue in the spot where I rested my hand. There was a pink plush squirrel on the floor by my feet. I pictured him flinging his binky, his bottle, his snacks, and stuffed animals, a hurricane of objects announcing his presence. The interior air smelled of flowers and spice, Crystal's cologne.

I said, "How are you?"

"Numb."

I said, apropos of nothing, "The car might have been abandoned."

"Let's hope that's all it is." She angled the rearview mirror in her direction and ran a knuckle under her lower lashes where her eyeliner had smeared. She pushed the mirror back and slouched down on her spine. She leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. In profile, I could see the irregularities of her features. Her nose was too sharp, her lower jaw too narrow for the width of her brow. Properly done up, she seemed more intimidating than she was in the moment. "When did you get here?" she asked, as though talking in her sleep.

"Hours ago. At six."

"They said not to hurry. I was watching TV when the officer arrived at the door."

"You're lucky. I'm starving. I missed dinner. I'm about to eat my arm."

Crystal reached over to the glove compartment and flipped the door down. "Try this." She removed a battered Hershey's bar and passed it over to me. "How'd they find the car?"

"I was the one who spotted it and called 9-1-1. The cops are over there now doing god knows what." I removed the outer wrapper and opened the white inner paper liner. The scent of chocolate rose like a vapor. I broke the candy bar into perfect sections and placed one on my tongue. I could almost read the engraved letter H as I pressed one softening chocolate square against the roof of my mouth.

"How'd you know the car was his?"

"The vanity license plate."

We were silent. Crystal turned on the radio and then thought better of it and turned it off again. The rain on the roof was a soft percussion, a drummer's brushes on cymbals. The atmosphere was oddly intimate. We were both out of our natural habitats, constrained by the unfamiliar setting, bound by the wait. "I take it they haven't pulled the car out of the water yet," she said at length.

"They're waiting for the tow truck. Odessa said he'd let us know as soon as there's something to report." I ate an E and stuck the rest of the Hershey's in my shoulder bag. I crossed my arms in a vain attempt to get warm.

Crystal made a sound that was half sigh and half something else: tension, impatience, simple weariness. "I knew he was dead. That's the only explanation that made any sense. I told you he wouldn't walk off and leave Griff."

"Crystal, they haven't even brought the car up. We don't know he's in there."

"He's there. Leila's going to freak."

"How so? She doesn't like him."

"Of course not. She treated him like dirt. How's she going to make her peace with that?"

I hesitated, wanting to press. She was more vulnerable than I'd seen her. This might be my only opportunity. "What's her anger about?"

"It's too complicated to go into."

"Nothing's too complicated if he's dead."

Crystal roused herself and turned. "Why should I tell you? You're not working for me."

"I'm not working against you, either. What's her problem?"

"Why is that any concern of yours?"

"It isn't, if you put it that way, but it's going to get worse."

"I don't doubt that," she said. And after a long pause, "There's been a certain amount of trauma in Leila's life. She needs help sorting it out."

"She's seeing a shrink?"

"She's been seeing one for years. At first, three times a week. Now it's down to twice a month on weekends when she's up from school."

"He has appointments on weekends?"

"It's a she."

"Sorry. I didn't think psychiatrists were that obliging."

"This one is. She's truly fabulous with kids. This is the fifth shrink Leila's seen and I was at my wit's end."

"How'd you find her?"

"We were lucky for once. Charlotte Friedman's a woman Anica went to school with. Her husband retired and they moved here from Boston."

"What sort of trauma? I'm still not getting it."

Crystal seemed to debate with herself. She stared straight ahead and when she spoke her tone was as flat and distant as an old phonograph record. "I had a little boy who drowned. Of course, it affected us all. That was the beginning of the end where Lloyd and I were concerned. Some things you never recover from. A child's death is one."

"What happened?"

"That was Jordie. My sweet one. He was eighteen months old. I was working one night and left him with the woman next door. She was talking on the phone when Jordie toddled out the screen door and fell in the pool. By the time she found him and called the paramedics, he couldn't be revived."