Sue Grafton - I is for Innocent

Rhe Parsons was consulting with a woman in a smock, the two of them apparently discussing the placement of two final pieces the workmen were bringing in. I circled the room while the discussion continued. Tippy was perched on a stool near the back wall, commenting on the overall effect from her vantage point. Rhe's show consisted of sixteen pieces arranged on pedestals of varying heights. She was working in resins, casting large polished pieces-maybe eighteen inches on a side -which at first seemed identical. I inspected five in range of me. I could see that the translucent material was formed into subtly tinted layers, with sometimes an object buried at the heart-a perfectly preserved insect, a safety pin, a locket on a chain, a ring of brass keys. With the light shining through, the effect was of peering through blocks of ice, except that the resin looked solid and indestructible. It wasn't hard to imagine these totems being dug up at some point in the future, along with bleach bottles, pull tabs, and disposable diapers.

Rhe must have seen me, but she gave no sign of recognition. She was wearing jeans and a heavy mohair sweater in shades of pale blue and mauve. Her dark hair was banded at the nape of her neck, a long silky tassel reaching almost to her waist. Tippy wore a jumpsuit in a lightweight denim. Unseen by her mother, she greeted me with a wiggle of her fingers, which I took to mean "Hi." It was heartening to realize that the person whose life I'd allegedly ruined was alive and well and still speaking to me.

Rhe murmured something to her companion, who turned to stare at me. The woman picked up a clipboard and clopped off across the room, stack heels resounding on the concrete floor.

"Hello, Rhe."

"What the hell do you want?"

"I thought we should talk. I didn't mean to cause you any trouble."

"Wonderful. That's great. I'll tell my attorney you said so."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tippy hop down from the stool and cross the room toward us. Rhe made the kind of gesture an owner uses with a dog. She snapped her fingers and held her hand flat, meaning "Stay" or "Lie down."

Tippy wasn't that well trained. She said "Mom…" in a tone that embraced both outrage and insult.

"This doesn't concern you."

"It does too!"

"Wait for me in the car, baby. I'll be there in a minute."

"Can't I even listen to the conversation?"

"Just do as I tell you!"

"Well, God!" Tippy said. She rolled her eyes and sighed hard, but she did as her mother asked.

As soon as she'd left, Rhe turned on me with a chill fury. "Do you have any idea the damage you've done?"

"Hey, I came here to discuss the situation, not to take abuse. What did I do?"

"Tippy just got herself squared away. She's finally on track and now you come along with this trumped-up allegation."

"I wouldn't call it trumped up…"

"Let's not get into semantics. The point is, even if it's true, which I greatly doubt, you didn't have to turn it into a big deal-"

"What big deal?"

"Besides which, if you're convinced she's guilty of some kind of criminal behavior, she's entitled to an attorney. You had no right to confront her without my being present."

"She's twenty-two, Rhe. In the eyes of the law, she's an adult. I don't want to see her charged with anything. There might have been an explanation, and if so, I wanted to hear it. All I did was talk to her, trying to get information, and I did that without going to the cops first, which I could easily have done. If I'm aware a crime's been committed, I can't look the other way. The minute I cover for her, I become an accessory."

"You intimidated her. You were threatening and manipulative. By the time I got home, she was hysterical. I really don't know what your story is, but you had better take a good hard look at yourself. You are not judge and jury here-"

I raised my hands. "Wait a minute. Just wait. This isn't about me. This is about Tippy, who seems to be dealing with reality a lot better than you are. I understand you feel protective-I would, too-but let's not lose sight of the facts."

"What facts? There aren't any facts!"

"Let's skip it. Never mind. Discussion isn't possible. I can see that now. I'll have Lonnie talk to your attorney as soon as he gets back."

"Good. You do that. And you better be prepared for the worst."

Trying to get the last word in was almost irresistible, but I closed my mouth and removed myself from the room before I said something I might regret later. As I left the gallery, Tippy approached and fell into step with me. "I wouldn't let your mother see us together if I were you."

"What'd she say?"

"Just about what you'd expect."

"Don't worry, okay? I know she was really mad, but she'll get over it. She's been under a lot of pressure lately, but she'll come around."

"Let's hope so for your sake," I said. "Listen, Tip, I'm really sorry this had to happen. I feel like a dog, but I didn't see a way around it."

"It's not your fault. I'm the one who fucked up. I'm the one who should feel bad about it, not you."

"How are you doing?"

"Pretty good," she said. "I talked to one of my AA counselors last night and she was really great. As soon as we finish here I'll go talk to her, and then later this afternoon I'll talk to the police."

"Your mother's right. It's probably a good idea to see an attorney before you do. You need some advice about presenting your side of it."

"I don't care about that. I just want to get it over with."

"It still might be smart. They'll want your attorney there anyway before you make a statement. You want me to go with you?"

She shook her head. "I can handle it, but thanks."

"Good luck."

"You, too." She glanced back toward the gallery reluctantly. "I better split. I don't guess we'll see you at the opening tonight."

"Probably not, but I do like her work," I said. "Call if you need me."

She smiled and waved, walking backward, then turned and went back to the gallery.

I got in my car and sat there for a minute, feeling heavyhearted. Tippy was a good person. I wished there were some way to spare her what she would have to go through. She'd be okay in the end, I was confident of that, but I didn't relish having been the impetus for her pain. I could argue she'd actually brought it on herself, but the truth was, she'd found a way to live with the situation for six years now. I had to guess she'd experienced remorse and regret in privacy. Maybe there simply wasn't any way to avoid public penance. In the meantime, I was left with feelings of my own. I really couldn't deal with any more angry people. I'd had it with accusations, threats, and bullying. My job was to figure out what was going on and I intended to do that.

I reached for the ignition key and fired up the VW, then did an illegal U-turn. There was a drugstore a block up and I pulled into the tiny lot, ducking in just long enough to buy three packages of three-by-five index cards-one white, one green, and one a pale orange. After that, I went home. I still had a batch of files from Morley's Colgate office in my car. I found a parking spot across the street from the apartment. I unloaded the backseat and proceeded through the gate, weighted down like a pack mule. I eased around to the backyard and fumbled with my keys.

In the glass-enclosed breezeway that links Henry's place with mine, I caught sight of the luncheon in progress. The December sun was weak, but with so many windows the space functioned like a greenhouse. William and Rosie had their heads bent together in earnest conversation. The subject was probably pericarditis, colitis, or the perils of lactose intolerance. Henry's face was dark and I could have sworn he was sulking, a behavior utterly unlike the Henry I knew. I anchored the stack of files against the doorframe with my hip while I unlocked my apartment and let myself in. I dumped everything on the counter. I turned around to find Henry coming in behind me with a plate piled with food-lemon chicken, ratatouille, green salad, and homemade rolls.