Sue Grafton - N Is For Noose

"Why do you think he went from Clint's to Lake Tahoe?"

"My sister lives up there. Or one of them, at any rate. Not in Lake Tahoe exactly, but that vicinity."

"Really? I've been curious what prompted him to travel in that direction."

"I don't think Maine's husband was any happier to see him than Homer was."

"How long was he with her?"

"A week or so. Maine told me later him and Alfie went off to go fishing and that's the last anyone ever saw Pops as far as I know."

"Do you think I could talk to her? I'm sure the police have covered this ground, but it would be helpful to me."

"Oh, sure. She isn't hard to find. She works as a clerk in the sheriff's department up there."

"Up there where?"

"Nota Lake. Her name is Margaret, but everybody in the family calls her Marne."

When I got home, Henry was in the backyard, kneeling in the flower bed. I crossed the lawn, pausing to watch him at work. He was aware of my presence, but seemed content with the quiet. He wore a white T-shirt and farmer's pants with padded knees. His feet were bare, long, and bony, the high arches very white against the faded grass. The air was sweet and mild. Even with the noon sun directly overhead, the temperature was moderate. I could already see crocuses and hyacinths coming up in clusters beside the garage. I sat down on a wooden lawn chair while he turned the soil with a hand trowel. The earth was soft and damp, worms recoiling from the intrusion when his efforts disturbed them. His rose bushes were barren sticks, bristling with thorns, the occasional leaf bud suggesting that spring was on its way. The lawn, which had been dormant much of the winter, was beginning to waken with the encouragement of recent rains. I could see a haze of green where the new blades were beginning to push up through the brown. "People tend to associate autumn with death, but spring always seems a lot closer to me," he remarked.

"Why's that?"

"There's no deep philosophical significance. Somehow in my history, a lot of people I love have ended up dying this time of year. Maybe they yearn to look out the window and see new leaves on the trees. It's a time of hope and that might be enough if you're on your way out; allows you to let go, knowing the world is moving on as it always has."

"I have to go back to Nota Lake," I said.

"When?"

"Sometime next week. I'd like to hang out here long enough to get my hand back in working order."

"Why go at all?"

"I have to talk to someone."

"Can't you do that by phone?"

"It's too easy for people to tell lies on the phone. I like to see faces," I said. I was silent, listening to the homely chucking of his trowel in the dirt. I pulled my legs up and wrapped my arms around my knees. "Remember in the old days when we talked about vibes?"

I could see Henry smile. "You have bad vibes?"

"The worst." I held up my right hand and tried flexing the fingers, which were still so swollen and stiff I could barely make a fist.

"Don't go. You don't have anything to prove."

"Of course I do, Henry. I'm a girl. We're always having to prove something."

"Like what?"

"That we're tough. That we're as good as the guys, which I'm happy to report is not that hard."

"If it's true, why do you have to prove it?"

"Comes with the turf. just because we believe it, doesn't mean guys do."

"Who cares about men? Don't be macha."

"I can't help it. Anyway, this isn't about pride. This is about mental health. I can't afford to let some guy intimidate me like that. Trust me, somewhere up in Nota Lake he's laughing his ass off, thinking he's run me out of town."

"The Code of the West. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."

"It feels bad. The whole thing. I don't remember feeling this much dread. That son of a bitch hurt me. I hate giving him the opportunity to do it again."

"At least your tetanus shot's up to date."

"Yeah, and my butt still hurts. I got a knot on my hip the size of a hard-boiled egg."

"So what worries you?"

"What worries me is I got my fingers dislocated before I knew jack-shit. Now that I'm getting closer, what's the guy going to do? You think he'll go down without trying to take me with him?"

"Phone's ringing," he remarked.

"God, Henry. How can you hear that? You're eightysix years old."

"Three rings."

I was off the chair and halfway across the yard by then. I left my door open and caught the phone on the fly, just as the machine kicked in. I pressed STOP, effectively cutting off the message. "Hello, hello, hello."

"Kinsey, is that you? I thought this was your machine."

"Hi, Selma. You lucked out. I was out in the yard."

"I'm sorry to have to bother you."

"Not a problem. What's up?"

"Someone's been searching Tom's study. I know this sounds odd, but I'm sure someone came in here and moved the items on his desk. It's not like the room was trashed, but something's off. I can't see that anything's missing and I don't know how I'd prove it even if there was."

"How'd they get in?"

She hesitated. "I was only gone for an hour, maybe slightly more. I hardly ever lock the door for short periods like that."

"What makes you so sure someone was there?"

"I can't explain. I'd been sitting in Tom's den earlier, before I went out. I was feeling depressed and it seemed like a comfort just to sit in his chair. You know how it is when you think about things. You're aware of your surroundings because your gaze tends to wander while your mind is elsewhere. I guess I was realizing how much work you'd done. Anyway, when I got home, I set my handbag on the kitchen table and went back to the car. I'd picked up some boxes to finish packing Tom's books. The minute I walked into his den I could see the difference."

"You haven't had any visitors?"

"Oh, please. You know how people have been treating me. I might as well hang out a sign… 'Town siren. Straying husbands apply here."'

"What about Brant? How do you know he wasn't in there looking for something on Tom's desk?"

"I asked him, but he was at Sherry's until a few minutes ago. I had him check the perimeter, but there's no sign of forced entry."

"Who'd bother to force entrance with all the doors unlocked?" I said. "Can Brant tell if anything's missing?"

"He's in the same boat I'm in. It's certainly nothing obvious, if it's anything at all. Whoever it was seemed to work with great care. It was only coincidental that I'd been in there this morning or I don't think I'd have noticed. Do you think I should call the sheriff's office?"

"Yeah, you better do that," I said. "Later, if it turns out something's been stolen, you can follow up."

"That's what Brant said." There was a tiny pause while she changed tacks, her voice assuming a faintly injured tone. "I must say, I've been upset about your lack of communication. I've been waiting to hear from you."

"Sorry, but I haven't had the chance. I was going to call you in a bit," I said. I noticed how defensive I sounded in response to her reproof.

"Now that I have you on the line, could you tell me what's happening? I assume you're still working even if you haven't kept in touch."

"Of course." I controlled my desire to bristle and I filled her in on my activities the past day and a half, sidestepping the personal aspects of Tom's relationship with Colleen Sellers. Telling a partial truth is much harder than an outright lie. Here I was, trying to protect her, while she was chiding me for neglect. Talk about ungrateful. I was tempted to tell all, but I repressed the urge. I kept my tone of voice professional, while my inner kid hollered Up yours. "Tom came down here in June as part of an investigation. Do you remember the occasion? He was probably gone overnight."