Sue Grafton - C is for Corpse

He smiled shyly when he saw me take note. "This one's for the Sherlockeans in the crowd," he said. He set the legal pad aside, as though self-conscious at having someone watch him work. "Well, now, how are things with you?"

He seemed so innocent, nothing more on his mind than his passion for words. How could she deceive a man like that?

"Something's come up I think you ought to know about," I said. I unfolded the computer print-out and handed it to him.

He looked down at it. "What's this?"

Lila's name apparently caught his eye then, because his gaze settled on the page. His face lost animation as he assimilated the facts. When he finished reading, he gestured aimlessly. He was silent for a moment and then he glanced up at me. "Well. Makes me look like a fool, doesn't it?"

"Come on, Henry. Don't talk like that. I don't think so at all. You took a risk and she brought you some happiness. Hey, so later it turns out she's a crook. That's not your fault."

He stared at the paper like a kid just learning to sound out words. "What made you check into it?"

I thought there might be a tactful explanation, but nothing occurred to me. "I didn't like her much, to tell you the truth. I guess I felt protective, especially when you talked about doing business with her. I just didn't think she was on the level and it turns out she's not. You haven't given her any money, have you?"

He folded the print-out. "I closed out one of my accounts this morning."

"How much?"

"Twenty thousand in cash," he,said. "Lila said she'd deposit it to an escrow account at the title company. The bank manager urged me to reconsider, but I thought he was simply being conservative. I see now, he was not." His manner had become very formal and it nearly broke my heart.

"I'm going down to Moza's to see if I can intercept her before she takes off. You want to come?"

He shook his head, his eyes bright. I turned on my heel and moved off at a quick clip.

I trotted the half-block to Moza's. A taxicab was cruising at half speed, the driver scanning house numbers. The two of us reached Moza's at just about the same time. He pulled over to the curb. I crossed to the passenger side, peering into the open window. He had a face like a beachball made of flesh.

"You the one wanted a cab?"

"Uh, sure. Lila Sams?"

He checked his trip sheet. "Right. You got any bags you need help with?"

"Actually, I don't need the cab. A neighbor said she'd run me out to the airport. I called back, but I guess the dispatcher didn't head you off in time. Sorry."

He gave me a look, then heaved an exasperated sigh, making a big display of crossing the address off his sheet. He shifted gears with annoyance, pulling away from the curb with a shake of his head. God, he could go on stage with an act like that.

I crossed Moza's yard at an angle and took the porch steps two at a time. She was holding the screen door open, looking out anxiously at the departing taxi. "What did you say to him? That was Lila's cab. She has to get to the airport."

"Really? He told me he had the wrong address. He was looking for Zollinger, one street over, I think."

1 better try another company. She ordered a cab thirty minutes ago. She's going to miss her plane."

"Maybe I can help," I said. "Is she in here?"

"You're not going to cause any trouble, Kinsey. I won't have that."

"I'm not causing trouble," I said. I moved through the living room and into the hall. The door to Lila's room was open.

The place had been stripped of personal possessions. One of the drawers where she'd concealed a phony I. D. was sitting on top of the chest of drawers, its back panel bare. She'd left the masking tape in a wad like a hunk of chewing gum. One suitcase was packed and sat near the door. Another was open on the bed, half filled, and beside it was a white plastic purse.

Lila had her back to me, bending over to remove a stack of folded clothes from one of the dressing-table drawers. The polyester pantsuit she wore was not very flattering. From the rear, her ass looked like two hanging foam-rubber hams. She caught sight of me as she turned. "Oh! You scared me. I thought it was Moza. What can I do for you?"

"I heard you were leaving. I thought maybe I could help."

Uncertainty flickered in her eyes. Her abrupt departure was probably at the urging of her cohorts in Las Cruces, alerted by my phone call of the night before. She might have suspected it was me, but she couldn't be sure. For my part, I was just hoping to stall until the cops showed up. I had no intention of confronting her. For all I knew, she might whip out a little two-shot Derringer or fly at me with some kind of old-lady karate-type move that would take me right out.

She checked her watch. It was now almost 4:00. It took twenty minutes to get to the airport and she'd have to be there by 4:30 or risk losing her seat. That gave her ten minutes. "Oh dear. Well, I don't know why my taxi isn't here. I might need a ride to the airport, if you could do that," she said.

"No problem," I said. "My car's right down the street. Henry said you'd be stopping by his place anyway to say good-bye."

"Of course I am, if I have time. He's such a sweetie." She finished laying in the armload of clothes and I could see her look around the room to see if she'd missed anything.

"Did you leave anything in the bathroom? Shampoo? Hand laundry?"

"Oh, I believe I did. I'll be right back." She moved past me, heading for the bathroom.

I waited until she rounded the corner and then reached over and opened her purse. Inside was a fat manila envelope with Henry's name penciled on the front. I took off the rubber band and checked the contents. Cash. I closed her purse again and tucked the envelope into the waistband of my jeans at the small of my back. I figured Henry was never going to press charges and I hated to see his savings confiscated and itemized as police property. No telling when he'd get it back. I was just adjusting my T-shirt over the bulge when she returned, toting shampoo, shower cap, hand lotion. She tucked them in around the sides of her folded clothes and closed up the suitcase, snapping the locks shut.

"Here, I'll get it," I said. I hauled that suitcase off the bed and picked up the other one, moving out into the hall like a pack mule. Moza was standing there, wringing out an imaginary dish towel in her anxiety.

"I can take one of those," she said.

"I got it."

I headed for the door, with Moza and Lila bringing up the rear. I certainly hoped the cops would show. Lila and Moza were saying those last-minute things to one another, Lila faking it out the whole time. She was taking off. She was gone. She had no intention of coming back.

As we reached the front, Moza moved ahead so she could hold the screen door open for me. A black-and-white patrol car had just pulled up in front. I was afraid if Lila spotted them too soon, she'd bolt for the rear.

"Did you get that pair of shoes under the bed?" I asked over my shoulder. I paused in the doorway, blocking her view.

"I don't know. I just looked and I didn't see any."

"You probably got them, then," I said.

"No, no. I better check." She hurried toward the bedroom while I set the two suitcases on the porch.

Moza, meanwhile, was staring at the street with puzzlement. Two uniformed officers were coming up the walk, one male, one female, both bareheaded, in short-sleeved shirts. In Santa Teresa, there's been a move afoot to divest the police of their authoritarian images, but these two managed to seem ominous anyway. Moza probably thought she'd violated some civil code-grass too long, TV too loud.

I left her to have a little conversation with them while I herded Lila up this way, so she wouldn't spot the cops and try slipping out the back. "Lila, your ride's here," I called.