It was just after nine when I pulled into Glen's driveway. The courtyard was deserted. The fountain sent up a column of water fifteen feet high, cascading back on itself in a tumble of pale green and white. I could hear a power mower whining from one of the terraces in the rear and rainbirds were jetting a fine spray into the giant fern, dappled with sunlight, that bordered the gravel walks. The air seemed tropical, scented with jasmine.
I rang the bell and one of the maids admitted me. I asked for Glen and she murmured something in Spanish, raising her eyes to the second floor. I gathered that Glen was upstairs.
The door to Bobby's room was open and she was seated in one of his easy chairs, hands in her lap, her face impassive. When she caught sight of me, she smiled almost imperceptibly. She was looking drawn, dark lines etched under her eyes. Her makeup was subtle, but it only seemed to emphasize the pallor in her cheeks. She wore a knit dress in a shade of red too harsh for her. "Hello, Kinsey. Come sit down," she said.
I sat in the matching plaid chair. "How are you doing?"
"Not that well. I find myself spending much of the day up here. Just sitting. Waiting for Bobby."
Her eyes strayed to mine. "I don't mean that literally, of course. I'm far too rational a person to believe the dead return. I keep thinking there's something more, that it can't be over yet. Do you know what I mean?"
"No. Not quite."
She stared at the floor, apparently consulting her inner voices. "Part of it is a feeling of betrayal, I think. I was brave and I did everything I was supposed to. I was a trouper and now I want the payoff But the only reward that interests me is having Bobby back. So I wait." Her gaze moved around the room as if she were taking a series of photographs. Her manner seemed very flat to me, despite the emotional content of her speech. It was curious, like talking to a robot. She said human things, but mechanically. "You see that?"
I followed her eyes. Bobby's footprints were still visible on the white carpeting.
"I won't let them vacuum in here," she said. "I know it's stupid. I don't want to turn into one of those dreadful women who erect a shrine for the dead, keeping everything just as it was. But I don't want him erased. I don't want him wiped out like that. I don't even want to go through his belongings."
"There's no need to do anything yet, is there?"
"No. I guess not. I don't know what I'll do with the room anyway. I have dozens and they're all empty. It's not like I need to convert it into a sewing room or a studio."
"Are you taking care of yourself otherwise?"
"Oh, yes. I know enough to do that. I feel like grief is an illness I can't recover from. What worries me is I notice there's a certain attraction to the process that's hard to give up. It's painful, but at least it allows me to feel close to him. Once in a while, I catch myself thinking of something else and then I feel guilty. It seems disloyal not to hurt, disloyal to forget even for a moment that he's gone."
"Don't get mean with yourself and suffer more than you have to," I said.
"I know. I'm trying to wean myself. Every day I mourn a little less. Like giving up cigarettes. In the meantime, I pretend to be a whole person, but I'm not. I wish I could think of something that would heal me. Ah, God, I shouldn't go on and on about it. It's like someone who's had a heart attack or major surgery. It's all I can talk about. So self-centered."
Again, she paused and then she seemed to remember polite behavior. She looked at me. "What have you been doing?"
"I went over to St. Terry's this morning to see Kitty."
"Oh?" Glen's expression was devoid of interest.
"Is there any chance you might stop by to see her?"
"Absolutely none. For one thing, I'm furious that she's alive while Bobby's not. I hate it that he left her all that money. As far as I'm concerned, she's grasping, self-destructive, manipulative-" She broke off, closing her mouth. She was silent for a moment. "Sorry. I don't mean to be so vehement. I never liked her. Just because she's in trouble now doesn't change anything. She's done it to herself. She thought there'd always be someone who'd bail her out, but it won't be me. And Derek's not capable of it."
"I heard he left."
She stirred restlessly. "We had a terrible fight. I didn't think I'd ever get him out of here. I finally had to call one of the gardeners. I despise him. Truly. It makes me sick to think he was ever in my bed. I don't know which is worse… the fact that he took out that ghoulish policy on Bobby's life or the fact that he hadn't the faintest sense how despicable it was."
"Can he collect?"
"He seems to think so, but I intend to fight him every step of the way. I've put the insurance company on notice and I've contacted a firm of lawyers in L.A. I want him out of my life. I don't really care what it costs, though the less of mine he gets the better. Fortunately, we signed premarital agreements, though he swears he'll challenge me on that if I thwart his insurance claim."
"Jesus, you're really drawing up battle lines."
She rubbed her forehead wearily. "God, it was horrible. I called Varden to see if I can get a restraining order out on him. It's lucky there wasn't a gun in the house or one of us would be dead."
I was silent.
After a moment, she seemed to collect herself. "I don't mean to sound so crazy. Everything I say comes out so manic somehow. Anyway. Enough of that. I'm sure you didn't come here to listen to me rave. Would you like some coffee?"
"No thanks. I just wanted to touch base with you and bring you up to date. Most of this has to do with Bobby, so if you don't want to talk about it now, I can stop back another time."
"No, no. That's fine. Maybe it will give me something new to think about. I do want you to find out who killed him. It may be the only form of relief I can look forward to. What have you come up with so far?"
"Not a lot. I'm putting it together piece by piece and I'm not really sure of my facts. For one thing, I may have people lying to me, but since I don't really know the truth, I can't be sure," I said.
"I understand."
I hestitated, oddly reluctant to pass on my conjecture. It felt intrusive to speculate about his past, in poor taste somehow to discuss the intimate details of his life with the woman who was trying so hard to cope with his death. "I think Bobby was having an affair."
"That's not surprising. I think I mentioned that he was dating someone."
"Not her. Nola."
She stared at me as though waiting for the punch line. Finally, she said, "You can't be serious."
"From what I've heard, Bobby was having an affair with someone and he fell in love. That's why he broke up with Carrie St. Cloud in the first place. I have reason to believe it was Nola Fraker, though I haven't confirmed it yet."
"I don't like that. I hope that's not true."
"I don't know what to tell you. It seems to fit the facts."
"I thought you said he was in love with Kitty."
"Maybe not 'in love.' I think he loved her a lot. That doesn't mean he acted on it. She claims there was nothing going on between them and I tend to believe her. If they'd had a sexual relationship, I'm sure you'd have been the first to know-for the shock value if nothing else. You know how she is. She's obviously immature and confused and he was certainly aware of your attitude toward her. Anyway, whatever he felt for her wouldn't have precluded an involvement with someone else."
"But Nola's happily married. She and Jim have been here dozens of times. There was never even a hint of anything between her and Bobby."
"I hear what you're saying, Glen, but that's the way the game is played. You're having a clandestine affair. You and your lover end up at the same social event and walk around chatting politely, ignoring each other… but not too pointedly because that would be conspicuous. Sly little hand touches by the punch bowl, secret glances across the room. It's a big hot joke and later you giggle about it in bed like a couple of kids because you put one over on the grown-ups."
"But why Nola? The whole idea is ludicrous."
"Not at all. She's a beautiful woman. Maybe they ran into each other and suddenly the spark was there. Or maybe they'd been eyeing each other for years. Actually, it must have started last summer because I don't think his relationship to her could have overlapped his to Carrie by much. He didn't strike me as the type who'd have two affairs running at the same time."
Glenn's expression changed and she glanced at me with apparent discomfort.
"What?"
"I just remembered. Derek and I were in Europe for two months last summer. When we got back, I noticed we were suddenly seeing more of the Frakers, but I shrugged it off. You know how it is. Sometimes you see a lot of another couple and then they drop out of your life for a while. I just can't believe she'd do that to me or to Jim. It makes me feel like a jealous spouse. Like I've been duped."
"But Glen, come on. Maybe it was the best thing that ever happened to him. Maybe it helped him grow up some. Who knows? Bobby was a good kid. What difference could it possibly make at this point anyway?" I said. It felt mean but I didn't want her getting into this bullshit of denying who he was and what he did.
Her cheeks had taken on a tint of pink and she turned a cold eye toward me. "I get the message. I still don't understand why you're telling me this."
"Because it's not up to me to shield you from the truth."
"It's not up to you to carry tales either."
"Yes. All right. You're right about that. I'm not into gossip for the sake of it. There's a chance that it's tied up with Bobby's death."
"How?"
"I'll get to that, but I have to have your assurances first that this won't go any further."
"What's the connection?"
"Glen, you're not listening. I'll tell you as much as I can, but I can't tell you everything and I don't want you flying off the handle. If you turn around and repeat this to anyone, you could be putting both of us in jeopardy."
Her eyes came into focus and I felt she was finally taking in what I was saying. "I'm sorry. Of course. I won't say a word to anyone."
I told her briefly about Bobby's last message on my answering machine, and about the blackmail scheme, which I still didn't understand. I deleted mention of Sufi's part in all of this because I was still worried Glen would take matters into her own hands and do something dumb. She seemed volatile right now, unstable, like a vial of nitroglycerin. One minor bump and she might blow.
"I do need your help," I said when I finished.
"Doing what?"
"I want to talk to Nola. So far I still don't have confirmation on this and if I call or stop by out of a clear blue sky, it's going to scare the shit out of her. I'd like you to call her and see if you can set something up."
"For when?"
"This morning if possible."
"What would you want me to say to her?"
"Tell her the truth. Tell her I'm looking into Bobby's death, that we think he may have been involved with some woman last summer, and since you were gone, you thought maybe she might have seen him around with someone. Ask her if she'd mind talking to me."
"Won't she suspect? Surely, she'll figure out that you're onto her."
"Well, for starters, I could be wrong. Maybe it's not her. That's what I'm trying to determine. If she's innocent, she won't care one way or the other. And if she's not, let her cook up a cover so she'll feel secure. I don't care. The point is, she won't have the balls to shut the door in my face, which is what she'd probably do if I went over there unannounced."
She considered briefly. "All right."
She got up and crossed to the telephone on the night stand, punching in Nola's number from memory. She handled the request as deftly as anything I'd ever heard, and I could see how good she must be at fund raising. Nola couldn't have been nicer or more cooperative and in fifteen minutes I was on my way back to Horton Ravine.
By day, I could see that the Frakers' house was pale yellow with a shake roof. I went up the driveway and pulled onto the parking pad to the left of the house, where a dark maroon BMW and a silver Mercedes were parked. As I was not feeling suicidal, I leaned out of my car window, looking for the dog. Rover or Fido, whatever his name was, turned out to be a great dane with rubbery black-rimmed lips, complete with strings of slobber hanging down. From that distance, I swear it looked like his collar was studded with spikes. His food dish was a wide aluminum bowl with bite marks around the rim.
I got out of the car cautiously. He ran up to the fence and started barking bad breath in my direction. He stood up on his hind legs, his front paws tucked over the gate. His dick looked like a hot dog in a long, furry bun and he wagged it at me like a guy who's just stepped out of a phone booth to open his raincoat..
I was just on the verge of insulting him when I realized that Nola had come out on the porch behind me.
"Don't mind him," she said. She was wearing another jump suit, this one black, with spike heels that made her half a head taller than me.
"Nice pup," I remarked. People always love it when you say their dogs are nice. Just shows you how out of touch they are.
"Thanks. Come on in. I have something to do first, but you can wait in the den."