Sue Grafton - I is for Innocent

I'd seen toadstools somewhere. The image flickered in my memory… a wooded area… toadstools growing in a circle…

There weren't that many places it could have been. Simone's… the house where David Barney had lived at the time of Isabelle's death, though I didn't remember anything about the landscaping there. The house had overlooked the ocean-few trees in the vicinity. The Weidmanns'. I'd accompanied Yolanda to the patio where Peter Weidmann was napping-a formal garden with the lawn stretching off toward the trees.

Methodically, I removed the index cards from my bulletin board and put them up again. What had Morley seen that I wasn't seeing? I pulled out his Month at a Glance from one of the stacks of files sitting on my counter. I started with the month of October, trying to get a feel for what he'd been doing the last two months. Most squares were empty. November was similarly blank except for a couple of notations: two doctor's appointments, a haircut one Wednesday afternoon. This month, December, had been slightly busier and it looked like he'd actually conducted a couple of interviews. Lonnie would be thrilled to hear he'd done something for his pay. Yolanda and Peter Weidmann's names appeared twice. The first appointment must have been canceled because he had a line drawn through the time and a big penciled arrow extended from that date to the same day and time a week later. I remembered Yolanda complaining about what a pest he'd made of himself, so he must have been there more than once.

On December 1, a week ago Thursday, he'd penciled in the initials F.V. at 1:15. Voigt? Had he talked to Francesca? She'd told me she'd never met the man. I'd come across a folder made up with her name on the tab, but the file had been empty. Of course, the F.V. could have been a witness on another case, but it didn't seem likely. The Voigts' home phone number was noted at the top of the page. Had she lied about seeing him? There was also the notation on Saturday morning of the appointment with Laura Barney. She'd told me about the appointment herself, claiming Morley never showed. But Dorothy said he'd gone out to the office to pick up his mail. If my theory was right, the fatal pastry could have been delivered as early as Friday afternoon, probably no later than Saturday morning, since he became ill shortly after lunch. Might bear checking out. Working in a medical clinic, Laura Barney would certainly have access to information about poisons. Maybe I'd start with her and work my way back through the list.

I locked up the apartment and went out to the car. I fired up the engine and headed toward the freeway overpass. I cut under the 101 on Castle, turning right on Granita and then left on Bay. It was just past 5:00 when I reached Santa Teresa Medical Clinic, which was in a pleasant treelined neighborhood of medical buildings and single-family dwellings. I was hoping I hadn't missed Laura. The clinic probably closed at 5:00, which meant I was going to arrive to find the door locked and the personnel gone for the weekend. I didn't have her home address, and though I could probably find it, I was impatient at the delay. To my astonishment, I spotted her, head bent, a light coat over her uniform, white crepe-soled shoes moving rapidly as she crossed the street in front of me. I tooted my horn. She shot me a look of annoyance, apparently assuming that I was chiding her for jaywalking.

I waved and leaned over to roll down my car window on the passenger side. "Can I talk to you?"

"I just got off work," she said.

"It won't take long."

"Can't it wait? I'm exhausted. I was looking forward to a big glass of wine and a hot bath. Come back in an hour."

"I have to be someplace else."

She broke off eye contact. I could see her debate, not really wanting to give in. She made a slight face, staring at the sidewalk with annoyance.

"It'll take five minutes if that," I said.

"Oh, hell. All right," she said. She cocked her head at the house behind her, a Victorian structure that had apparently been converted into apartments. "This is where I live. Why don't you go find a place to park and come on up. That'll give me time to get out of this uniform and take my shoes off. It's apartment six, down the hall at the back."

"I'll be right there."

She turned and walked quickly up the porch steps, disappearing through the front door. I found a parking spot six doors down, on the far side of the street. In a little flicker of paranoia, I wondered if she really lived somewhere else. I pictured her entering the building, then leaving by a back exit before I could catch up with her. I went up the wooden porch steps and opened a glass-paneled door into a shadowy hallway. The place was quiet. To the left, there was a hall table with a lamp that hadn't been turned on yet. Mail was piled up, along with several copies of the day's paper. Doors along the corridor had been closed off. What had once been the front parlor and the dining room probably now formed one unit, with a second at the back, with maybe a studio at the rear. I was guessing three apartments down, another three above. A set of stairs angled up on the right.

I went upstairs as instructed. This was not the cheeriest place I'd ever been, I thought, but it was clean enough. The wallpaper looked new, chosen for its Victorian flavor, which is to say saccharine. Nosegays and trailing ribbons led the eye on a merry chase. The effect was depressing despite all the pink and green and mauve activity.

I knocked at the door marked with an oversize brass 6. Laura appeared a moment later, tying a cotton kimono at the waist. I could see her white nursy shoes on the floor near an upholstered chair where she'd tossed her white uniform. I could hear bathwater running, which seemed pointed enough. The apartment consisted of two very large rooms with a cramped bathroom, probably converted from a linen closet. I could see the space heater from the front door and the rim of an ancient tub. The ceilings were high and there was lots of woodwork of the sort that somehow smells of shellac even if it hasn't been touched by a brush for years. The place was sparsely furnished, but what she had was good. She watched me survey the living room/bedroom combination with a trace of amusement. "Does it suit you?"

"I'm always curious to see how other single people live."

"How do you live?"

"About like this. I try to keep it simple," I said. "I don't like working just to pay a bunch of bills every month."

"I hate being single. Have a seat if you like."

"You do?"

"Of course, don't you? It's lonely. And who wants to live like this?" She made a gesture that embraced more than the physical surroundings. She moved into the bathroom and turned off the water. Belatedly, I picked up the damp herbal scent of Vitabath.

"Looks great to me. Besides, nobody's going to take care of you," I said.

She returned to the room. "Well, I hope that's not true. I'm not resigned, I must say."

"Togetherness is an illusion. We're all on our own."

"Oh, spare me. I hate talk like that," she said. "You want to tell me what you came for?"

"Sure. It's about Morley Shine. You had an appointment last Saturday."

"That's right, but he never showed."

"His wife says he went to his office that day."

"I was there at nine. I waited half an hour and then I left," she said.

"Where'd you wait? Were you actually in his office?"

"I was out in the drive. Why? What difference does it make?"

"None, I suppose. I was curious about a delivery," I said.

"That box from the bakery."

"You were there when that arrived?"

"Sure, I was out in my car. The bakery truck pulled up beside me. Some guy got out with this white bakery box. As he passed me he asked if I was Maria Shine. I told him the name was Morley and the guy was late arriving. The sucker tried to give me the box, but I'd waited long enough and I was out of there. I hate being stood up. I got better things to do."