Sue Grafton - R is for Ricochet

I let myself into my apartment and checked the answering machine. I was hoping Cheney'd left a message, but the light wasn't blinking so I kissed that one off. Despite my earlier self-confidence, I wasn't keen on the idea of waiting around to see if he'd call. It was dinnertime, but I wasn't any more willing than Henry to venture into Rosie's. William would prance over, taking his own pulse and asking for the latest in the lovers' progress report. In case he was ignorant of the breakup, I didn't want to be the one to tell him. And if he'd heard it from Lewis, I didn't want to listen to him minimize the role he'd played. I suspected a run would cheer me up, but given my current mental state, I'd have had to jog all the way to Cottonwood, twenty miles round-trip.

This was one of those moments when you need a girlfriend. When you're down in the dumps, that's what you do – call your best friend – or so I've heard. You chat. You laugh. You tell her your sad tale of woe, she commiserates, and then you take off and go shopping like normal folk. But I didn't have a girlfriend, a lack I'd hardly noticed until Cheney appeared. So now, not only was I facing the fact that I didn't have him, I didn't have her either, whoever she was.

A voice said… Ah, but you do have Reba.

I thought about that one. If I made a list of desirable girlfriend traits, "convicted felon" wouldn't be one. On the other hand, I'd be a convicted felon myself if I'd ever been caught doing even half the things I'd done.

I picked up the phone and punched in the number for the Lafferty estate. When Reba answered, I said, "Reba, this is Kinsey. I need a favor. How good are you at giving fashion advice?"

Reba picked me up in her car, a two-year-old black BMW she'd acquired shortly before she'd been sent to CIW. "The DA was panting to seize the car on the premise I'd bought it with ill-gotten gains. Ha ha ha on him. My father gave it to me for my thirtieth birthday. Hopes dashed again."

"What'd you say to Onni when you canceled dinner?"

"I told her something came up and we'd make it another night."

"She was cool with that?"

"Of course. She probably hated the idea of having dinner with me. I was always pouring my heart out about Beck. There wasn't anyone else I could talk to about him. Beck said this, Beck said that. When it came to our sex life, I'd be giving her a blow by blow, so to speak."

"That was your mistake. You made him sound too good."

"You got that right. She was always jealous of me. Minute my back is turned, she walks off with my job and then she walks off with the love of my life, or so I thought at the time. I hate women who get into that competitive shit."

"What's she like?"

"You can judge for yourself as long as you end up agreeing with me.

I know where she hangs out. If you're interested, we can drop by later and I'll introduce you."

"Drop by where?"

"Bubbles in Montebello."

"That's been closed for two years."

"Nuhn-uhn. The place has changed hands. Name's the same, but it's been open for a month under new management."

"Where we headed now?"

"The mall."

Passages, the newly opened shopping plaza in the heart of Santa Teresa, had been designed to resemble an old Spanish town. The architecture featured a picturesque assortment of narrow shoulder-to-shoulder buildings of varying heights, arches, loggias, courtyards, fountains, and side streets, the whole of the three-block complex capped by red tile roofs. At ground level there were restaurants, clothing stores, galleries, jewelry stores, and other retail shops. The wide central esplanade was anchored at one end by Macy's and at the other end by Nordstrom's, with a large chain bookstore occupying a prominent spot. Pepper trees and flowering shrubs were planted throughout. In the taller structures, three and four stories high, office space had been leased to lawyers, accountants, engineers, and anyone else who could afford the staggering rents.

Given Santa Teresa's resistance to new construction, the project had taken years to push through. The city-planning commission and the architectural board of review, plus the city council, plus the county board of supervisors, plus the building and safety commission, all at odds with one another, had to be soothed, pacified, and reassured. Citizens' groups protested the razing of buildings five and six decades old, though most were otherwise unremarkable. Many were already slated for mandatory earthquake retrofitting, which would have cost the owners more than they were worth. Environmental impact studies had to be approved. Numerous small merchants were evicted and displaced, with only one holdout, a funky little bar called Dale's that was still moored in the middle of the plaza like a tugboat in a harbor full of yachts.

We ate dinner at an Italian boutique restaurant located on one of the smaller avenues that connected the center esplanade to State Street on one side and Chapel on the other. Temperatures were still elevated, and we elected to eat on the patio outside. As the dark came down, the landscape lighting began to paint walls and vegetation in colors more vivid than their daylight shades. Details of wrought-iron fixtures were picked out in shadow, the plaster frieze along the roof outlined in black. If you squinted, you could almost believe you'd been transported to a foreign country.

While we waited for our salads, I said, "I appreciate your doing this – the clothes thing."

"No problem. It's obvious you need help."

"I'm not sure the word 'obvious' should come into play."

"Trust me."

Later, while she was winding spaghetti on her fork, she said, "You know this is Beck's project."

"What is?"

"The mall."

"He did Passages?"

"Sure. I mean, not on his own – in partnership with a guy in Dallas, another developer. Beck moved his office to the far end, down by Macy's. The fourth floor runs the full block between State and Chapel."

"I didn't realize the building covered that much ground."

"Because you didn't bother to look up. If you did, you'd see that there are covered walkways that join the second and third levels in places above the esplanade. Technically, in the rainy season, you could move from one building to the other without getting wet."

"You've got a better eye than I do. I missed that."

"I have the advantage. The mall's been in development for years so I've seen the plans at just about every stage. Beck moved his office in a couple of months after I went into CIW, so I never got to see it. Turned out great, or so I hear."

I took a sip of wine, finishing the last bite of eggplant parmigiana while I watched Reba use a chunk of bread to clean up her marinara sauce. I said, "Where are you going with this?"

She popped the bread in her mouth, smiling while she chewed. "You're the kick-ass private eye. You figure it out. In the meantime, let's go buy you some clothes and then we can make the run into Montebello."

We shopped until the stores closed at 9:00. Reba kept up a running commentary as I tried things on. In the interests of education, she let me make my choices without reference to her opinion. At first, I tried gauging her reaction as I lifted a garment off the rack, but she looked on with the same deadpan expression she must have donned at the poker table. With no guidelines whatever, I picked out two dresses, a pantsuit, and three cotton skirts. "Okay," I said.

Her brow went up about an eighth of an inch. "That's it?"

"Isn't this enough?"

"You like that green deal, that pantsuit thing?"

"Well, yeah. You know, it's dark and it won't show spots."

"All riiiight," she said, with a tone suggesting that you have to let kids make boo-boos in order for them to learn.