I woke automatically at 6:00 a.m. and rolled out of bed for my early morning run. Oh, wow, shit, hurt. I was sucking air through my teeth, on my hands and knees, staring at the floor when I remembered Dietz's advisory. No jogging, no lifting weights. He hadn't said a word about getting out of bed. I was clearly in no condition to work out anyway. The second day of anything is always the worst. I staggered to my feet and hobbled over to the loft rail, peering down at the living room. He was up. The sofa bed had been remade. I caught the smell of fresh coffee and a glimpse of him sitting at the kitchen counter with the L.A. Times open in front of him, probably wishing he could have his first cigarette of the day. From my perspective, foreshortened, his face seemed to be dominated by his furrowed brow and jutting chin, his body topheavy with bulky shoulders and biceps. He reversed the pages, flipping to the middle of the metro section, which is where all the juicy Los Angeles crime is detailed. I eased out of his line of sight, climbed into bed again, and spent a few minutes staring up through the skylight. A marine layer had blanketed the Plexiglas dome with white. Impossible to tell yet what kind of day it would be. It seldom rains here in May. Chances were the clouds would lift and we'd have sunshine, mild breezes, the usual lush green. Sometimes perfection ain't that easy to bear. Meanwhile, I couldn't lie here all day, though I was tempted, I confess.
If I went downstairs, I'd have to be polite and interact with Dietz, making small talk of some as yet undetermined sort. New relationships are daunting, even when they're short-term. People have to trade all those tedious details about their previous lives. It made me tired to consider the sheer weight of the exchange. We'd touched on the preliminaries in the car coming home, but we had reams of data to cover yet. Chitchat aside, Dietz might turn on the radio again… more Roy Orbison. I couldn't face that at 6:05 a.m.
On the other hand, it was my house and I was hungry, so why shouldn't I go downstairs and eat? I didn't have to talk to him. I pushed the covers back and got up, limped into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. My face was still a Technicolor wonder, a rainbow of bruises after a shower of blows. I wiggled my eyebrows and studied myself. The contusion on my forehead was shifting subtly from dark blue to gray, my blackened eyes lightening from lavender to an eerie green. I've seen eye shadow in the same shade and it always puzzles me why women want to look like that. "I got belted in the chops last night," is what it says. My hair was, as usual, mashed from the night's sleep. I'd showered the night before but I hopped in again, not for the sake of cleanliness, but hoping to improve my mood. Having Dietz under the same roof was making my skin itch.
Once I pulled on jeans and an old sweatshirt, I dumped my dirty clothes in the hamper, tucked the empty duffel in the closet, and made the bed. I went downstairs. Dietz murmured a good morning without lifting his eyes from the sports page. I helped myself to some coffee, poured a bowl of cereal with milk, grabbed the funnies, and toted it all into the living room, where I sat, bowl in hand, spooning cereal into my mouth absentmindedly while I read the comic page. The funnies never make me laugh, but I read them anyway in hopes. I caught up with Rex Morgan, M.D., the girls in Apartment 3G, and Mary Worth. It's comforting how slowly life moves in a comic strip. I hadn't read the paper in maybe four days and the professor was just now looking startled at something Mary'd said to him. What a wag she was. I could tell he was disconcerted by the wavy lines around his head.
Dimly, I was aware that Dietz had opened the front door and stepped out into the backyard. When I finished my cereal, I washed my bowl and spoon and left them in the dish rack. Hesitantly, I moved to the front door and peered out, feeling like a housebound cat discovering that a door has inadvertently been left ajar. Was I allowed outside?
The marine layer was already beginning to dissipate, but the yard had that bleached look that a mist imparts. The foghorn was bleating intermittently-a calf separated from its mother-in the still morning air. The strong scent of seawater saturated the yard. Sometimes I half expect the surf to be lapping at the curb out front.
Dietz was hunkering near the flower beds. Henry had put in some bare root roses the year before and they were in full bloom: Sonia, Park Place, Lady X, names giving no clue about the final effect. "Aphids," he said. "He should buy some ladybugs."
I leaned against the doorframe, too paranoid to venture all the way out into the yard. "Are we going to talk about security again or did we cover it last night?"
He got to his feet, turning his attention to me. "We should probably discuss your schedule. Any standing appointments? Massage, beauty salon?"
"Do I look like someone with a standing appointment at a beauty salon?"
He studied my face with curiosity, but refrained from comment. "The point is, we don't want your movements predictable."
I rubbed my forehead, which was still smarting to the touch. "I gathered as much. Okay, so I cancel my masseuse, bikini wax, and the weekly pedicure. Now what?"
He smiled. "I appreciate your cooperation. Makes my job easier."
"Believe me, I'm not interested in being killed," I said. "I do need to go in to the office."
"What time?"
"Doesn't matter. I want to pick up my mail and get some bills paid. Minor stuff really, but I don't want to put it off."
"No problem. I'd like to see the place."
"Good," I said, turning to go back inside.
"Kinsey? Don't forget the body armor."
"Right. Make sure you wear yours, too."
Upstairs, I dutifully stripped off my sweatshirt and slipped on the bulletproof vest, pressing the Velcro straps into place. Dietz had told me this particular vest offered threat-level-one protection, which was good against a.38 Special or less. Apparently, he was assuming a hit man wouldn't use a 9-millimeter automatic. I tried not to think about garrotes, head wounds, blasted kneecaps, the penetrating power of ice picks-any one of a number of assaults not covered by the oversize bib I wore.
"Make sure it's tight enough," Dietz had called up from below.
"Got it," I said. I had pulled the sweatshirt on over the vest and checked myself in the mirror. I looked like I was eleven years old again.
At 8:45, we moved through the front gate. Dietz had gone out first to check the car and scan the street. He returned, motioning me forward. He walked slightly in front of me, his stride brisk, his eyes alert as we traversed the fifty paces to his Porsche. The whole maneuver had an urgency about it that made me feel like a rock star. "I thought a bodyguard was supposed to be inconspicuous," I said.
"That's one theory."
"Won't everybody guess?"
He looked over at me. "Let's put it this way. I'm not interested in advertising what I do, but if this guy's watching us, I want him to understand just how hard his job is going to be. Most attacks occur suddenly and at very close range. I'll try not to be obnoxious, but I'm sticking to you like glue."
Well, that answered that.
Dietz drove with his usual determination. He was a real A-type personality, one of those guys who lives like he's always late for some appointment, irritated at anybody who slows him down. Bad drivers caught him by surprise, as though they were the exception instead of the rule. I directed him to the downtown area, which, fortunately, was only ten minutes away. If he noticed I was bracing myself between the dashboard and the door frame, he didn't mention it.
At the entrance to the parking lot, he slowed the car, surveying the layout. "Is this where you usually park?"
"Sure, the office is right up there."
I watched him calculate. He was clearly hoping for a way to change my routine, but parking farther away was only going to make the walk longer, thus exposing us for an extended period. He pulled in, handed me the ticket, and found a parking space. "Anything looks weird," he said, "speak up right away. Any sign of trouble, we'll get the fuck out."
"Right," I said. It was amazing what this "we" business was doing to my head. I wasn't famous for letting guys tell me what to do and I was hoping I wouldn't get used to it.
Again, he came around to the passenger side and opened the door, his gaze sweeping the lot as I emerged into the open air. He took my elbow, walking me rapidly across the lot to the back stairs. I wanted to laugh. It felt like having a parent march you up to your room. He entered the building first. The second-floor corridor was deserted. California Fidelity offices weren't open yet. I unlocked my office door. Dietz stepped in ahead of me and took a quick look around, making sure there weren't any goons lurking behind the furniture.
He scooped up the mail that had piled up on the floor just under the slot. He sorted through it quickly. "Let me tell you what we're looking for, in case I'm not here to do this. An unfamiliar return address, or one done by hand. Anything marked personal, extra postage due to weight, oil stains…"
"A bulky package with a fuse hanging out the side," I said.
He handed me the stack, his expression bland. It's hard to warm to somebody who looks at you that way. Apparently, he didn't think I was as funny as I thought I was. I took the stack of mail and sorted through it as he had. Much of it was third-class, but I did have a few checks coming in-all with return addresses I could identify on sight. Together we listened to the few messages on my machine. None were threatening. Dietz wanted time to acquaint himself with the building and its environs, so he went off to inspect the premises while I put on a pot of coffee.
I opened the French doors and paused, suddenly reluctant to step out on the balcony. Across the street, I could see the tiers of the parking garage and it occurred to me that anyone could drive up two levels, park, and get a bead on me. I wasn't even sure a high-powered rifle would be required. You could almost throw a rock from there arid pop me in the noggin. I stepped away from the doors, withdrawing into the shadowy safety of the office. I really hated this.
At 9:05, I put a call through to my insurance agent and reported the accident. She said there was no blue book on the VW because of its age. It looked like I was going to be lucky if I picked up two hundred bucks on the claim, so there was no point in having the car towed. Finding an adjuster in Brawley who would go out and take a look was almost more trouble than the car was worth. She said she'd check into it and get back to me. This conversation failed to fill me with happiness. I have a savings account, but the purchase of a car would seriously deplete my funds.
Dietz returned to the office in time to intercept Vera, who had stopped in to say hello on her way into the office next door.
"My God, what happened to you?" she said when she saw my face.
"My car ended up in an irrigation ditch down in Brawley," I said. "This is Robert Dietz. He was nice enough to drive me back. Vera Lipton, from the offices next door."
They shook hands briefly. She was wearing a black leather miniskirt that fit her like automobile upholstery and made a creaking sound when she eased into one of my client chairs. Dietz moved over and parked a hip on the edge of my desk. It was amusing to watch them size each other up. Unknown to Vera, Dietz was viewing her as a potential assassin while I suspect she was evaluating his qualifications for a roll in the hay- whether hers or mine, I couldn't say. From her expression, she assumed he'd picked me up hitchhiking and since she considers me hopelessly conservative when it comes to men, I thought the possibility might lend me a certain stature in her eyes. I tried to look like the kind of woman who'd flag down a stranger on the road, but she wasn't interested in me-she was studying him. I was going to have to call this doctor friend of hers so we could double-date.
She reached into her handbag automatically and pulled a cigarette from a pack of Virginia Slims. "I'm not smoking this. I just need to hold it," she said when she caught my look. "I quit last week," she added in an aside to him.
I glanced at Dietz to see what his reaction would be. He hadn't had a cigarette now for over twenty-four hours, a personal best perhaps. Fortunately, he seemed to be sidetracked by the pheromones wafting through the air like perfume. Vera didn't actually drape one long leg across the chair arm, but there was something provocative about the way she sat. As often as I've seen her operate, I've still never figured out exactly what she does. Whatever the behavior, most men will begin to sit, lie down, and fetch like trained pups.
"I hope you're not forgetting the dinner tomorrow night," she said. She knew from my face I hadn't the faintest idea what she was talking about. "For Jewel. Retirement," she said, keeping it simple for those of us who'd suffered brain damage.
"Oh, that's right! I completely forgot. Really, I'm sorry, but I just don't see how I can make it," I said, with visual reference to Dietz. He was never going to permit my attendance at a public affair. Vera caught the look and said to Dietz, "You're invited, of course. Jewel's leaving the company after twenty-five years. Attendance is mandatory… no ifs, ands, or buts."
"Where's it being held?" he asked.
"The Edgewater Hotel. A private dining room. Should be very elegant. It's costing enough."
"How many people are we talking about?"
Vera shrugged. "Maybe thirty-five."
"Invitation only?"
"Sure. It's California Fidelity employees and guests. Why?"
"Can't do it," I said.
"I think we can manage it," Dietz said at the same time. "It will help if there's been no advance publicity."
Vera looked from one of us to the other. "What's going on?"
Dietz filled her in.
I waited, feeling oddly irritated, while they went through the catechism of disbelief and assurances. Vera expressed all the requisite attitudes. "God, that's awful. I can't believe things like that actually go on. Listen, if you guys don't want to risk it, I'll understand."
"I'll want to check it out, but we'll see how it looks. Can we let you know in the morning?" Dietz said.
"Of course. As long as I know by noon, it shouldn't be any problem."
"What time's the dinner?"
"No-host cocktails at seven. The dinner's at eight." Vera glanced at her watch. "Oops. I gotta scoot. It's been nice meeting you."
"You, too."
She moved toward the door.
"Oh, and Vera…," he said. "We'd prefer to keep this quiet."
She pulled her glasses down on her nose, looking at him over the rims. There was an elegant pause while she raised a brow. "Of course," she said-the word asshole implied. There was something flirtatious in the very way she left the room. Lord, she was really going all out for this guy.
Dietz seemed to color. It was the first time I'd seen him disconcerted by anything. The most unlikely men turn out to be suckers for abuse.
When the door closed behind her, I turned on Dietz with an outraged tone. "I thought you said no public events!"
"I did. I'm sorry. I can see I caught you by surprise. I don't want to interfere any more than I have to. If this is something you want, then let's find a way to do it."
"I'm not going to risk my life for something like that!"
"Look. There's no way we can eliminate every possibility of attack. I'm here to reduce the likelihood, that's all. The president goes out in public, for God's sake," he said. His tone shifted. "Besides, I'm not convinced the guy we're dealing with is a pro…"
"Oh, great. He might be a lunatic, instead."
Dietz shrugged matter-of-factly. "If we play our cards right, you'll be safe enough. The guest list is restricted and these are people you know. Once we scope it out, the question boils down to, do you want to go or not? You tell me. I'm not here to dictate the terms of your life."
"I don't know yet," I said, somewhat mollified. "The dinner's no big deal, but it might be nice to be out."
"Then let's see what it looks like and we'll decide after that."
By noon, I'd wrapped up my business and locked my files again. The phone rang just as Dietz and I were heading out the door. I started to answer, but he held a hand up, stopping me. He picked it up. "Millhone Investigations." He listed briefly. "Hold on." He passed the phone to me.
"Hello?"
"Kinsey, this is Irene Gersh. I'm sorry to be a bother. You're busy I know…"
"No problem. What's up?"
"Mother's disappeared. I don't suppose she's been in touch with you."
"Well, no, but I'm not sure she'd know who to call if she wanted to. I only saw her twice. How long's she been gone?"
"Nobody really knows. The supervisor at the nursing home swears she was there at breakfast time. An aide took her to the dining room in a wheelchair and then went off to take care of someone else. She told Mother she'd just be a minute, but when she turned around Mother'd left her wheelchair and had taken off on foot. Nobody dreamed she could get very far. I guess they scoured the building and grounds and now they've started searching the neighborhood. I'm on my way over but I thought I'd check with you first, just in case you knew anything."
"I'm sorry, but I haven't heard from her at all. You need some help?"
"No, no. There's really no need at this point. The police have been notified and they have a patrol car cruising the area. So far there's no sign of her, but I'm sure she'll turn up. I just didn't want to overlook the possibility that she might be with you."
"I wish I could be more help. We've got an errand to run, but we can check with you later and see what's going on. Give me the address and telephone number at the nursing home." I tucked the phone against my shoulder while I made a note on a piece of scratch paper. "I'll give you a call when we get back."
"Thank you. I appreciate your concern,"
"In the meantime, don't worry. I'm sure she's somewhere close."
"I hope so."
I told Dietz what was going on as we headed down the back steps. I was half-tempted to have him take me over to the nursing home, but it didn't feel like a real emergency. He wanted to see the Edgewater and check the arrangements for the banquet. He suggested I call Irene from the hotel as soon as he was done. It made sense and I agreed, though I knew for a fact if I were on my own, I'd have done it the other way. I was feeling distracted and, for once, his driving style didn't bother me. It was hard to imagine where Agnes could have gone. I knew she was capable of raising hell when it suited her, but Irene had made it sound like she was resigned to the move. I had to shrug to myself. Surely, she'd turn up.