I risked a glance at the door, fearful that Audrey’s many nieces and nephews would appear, determined to make nice by chatting with the visitors, namely me. Aside from William and Audrey’s fiancé, there was not another soul in the room. It dawned on me that if her shoplifting accomplice appeared, I’d be the first person she’d see. I eased the program into my shoulder bag, slipped out of my folding chair, and went in search of a ladies’ room.
As I passed Tranquility, I paused to read the name on the easel. Visitation for Benedict “Dick” Pagent was from 7:00 to 9:00 that night with a second visitation from 10:00 to noon on Wednesday, and services Thursday morning at the Second Presbyterian Church. The room was spacious and gloomy. Table lamps were turned off and the only light was the block slanting in from the hall, broken by my shadow as I peered in the open door. A similar arrangement of wing chairs and a matching sofa occupied the area to my right. Glancing to the left, I caught sight of an open casket on the far end, a man’s body visible from the waist up, so still he might have been carved in stone. I pictured a bit of scene setting before the relatives arrived; lamps turned on, music made audible, anything to suggest he hadn’t been lying there alone. I backed up and continued down the hall.
Around the next corner, I saw a small informal sitting room with an adjacent kitchenette, perhaps intended for the immediate family if they were in need of privacy. Restrooms marked M and W were just to the left. The ladies’ lounge was immaculate, a two-stall affair with a faux marble counter, two undermounted sinks, and a prominently displayed No Smoking sign. I smelled cigarette smoke and it didn’t take a professional to spot the haze wafting up from one of the stalls.
I heard a toilet flush and the young woman I’d tagged as Striker’s daughter exited the stall. No cigarette in hand so she must have tossed it in the john. She glanced at me briefly and offered a polite smile as she crossed to the sink, turned the water on, and washed her hands. Along with the blazer and white T-shirt, she was wearing jeans, tennis socks, and running shoes. Not exactly funeral garb, but an outfit I’d have felt comfortable in myself.
I went into the other stall and availed myself of the facilities, hoping to delay my return to the viewing room until more mourners arrived. I expected to hear the hall door open and close, but when I emerged the woman was leaning against the counter, lighting another cigarette. I resisted the urge to point out the error of her ways. I suffered the same conflict at the bird refuge, watching tourists feed bread scraps to the ducks when a Please Don’t Feed the Birds sign is posted at the site. While I’m willing to allow visitors the benefit of the doubt, I’m always tempted to say, “Do you speak English?” or “Can you read?” in slow, clear tones. I haven’t done it yet, but it does irritate me when citizens ignore plainly posted municipal codes.
Sabrina Striker’s face was long. Her nose was narrow through the bridge and wider at the tip, which made the whole of it seem larger than it was. She kept her dark hair tucked behind her ears, which caused them to protrude. She wore no makeup and needed a better haircut. Perhaps because of the flaws in evidence, she seemed appealing, someone nice and unpretentious.
I took my time washing my hands. It’s been my experience that women in ladies’ rooms will tell you anything, given half a chance. This seemed as good a time as any to test the theory. I caught her eye in the mirror. “Are you Sabrina?”
She smiled, exposing a rim of gum above her upper teeth. “That’s right.”
I turned off the water and pulled a fold of paper toweling from the stack. I dried my hands, tossed the towel in the trash, and then offered my hand. “I’m Kinsey.”
We shook hands as she said, “I figured as much. I saw your name in the book on my way in here. You’re with that older gentleman who’s talking to my dad.”
“William’s my neighbor,” I said and left it at that. I leaned toward the mirror and brushed at one eyebrow as though smoothing the arch. I could see my mop was in need of a whack and I was sorry I hadn’t tucked my trusty nail scissors in my shoulder bag. I usually carry them with me in the event of a styling emergency.
She said, “So, were you Audrey’s friend or was he?”
“More him than me. I actually only saw her once. He was the one who suggested we attend the visitation,” I said, deftly avoiding the truth. “I believe the paper said she was engaged to your dad.”
Sabrina made a face. “Unfortunately. We had no idea he was that serious about her.”
“Was there a problem?”
She hesitated. “Are you telling the truth when you say you weren’t Audrey’s friend?”
“Not a friend at all. Cross my heart.” I made a quick X on my chest by way of confirmation.
“Because I don’t want to say anything out of line.”
“Trust me. I’m on your team.”
“Basically, what happened was my mother died last May. My parents were college sweethearts, married forty-two years. Daddy met Audrey in a bar four months after mother passed away. Next thing you know she was moving in with him.”
“Tacky of her.”
“Exactly.”
“I take it you objected.”
“I tried keeping my opinion to myself, but I’m sure he knew how I felt. I found it offensive. My sister, Delaney, thought she was a gold digger, but I disagreed. Audrey was never short of money so I had a hard time believing she was after his. She was good to him. I’ll give her that.” She reached over and turned on the water, extinguishing her cigarette before she tossed it in the trash. “Of course, she was a slut.”
“In her age bracket, I thought they were called something else, but I can’t imagine what,” I said.
“A conniving old slut.”
“You think she had an ulterior motive?”
“There was something going on with her. I mean, Daddy’s adorable, but she’s hardly his type.”
“How so?”
“He’s always been a bit of a stick-in-the-mud. Even my mother complained at times. He’s a homebody. He doesn’t like to go out at night. Audrey was a live wire, always on the go. Where was the common ground?”
My shrug was noncommittal. “Maybe they fell in love. He must have been lonely with your mother gone. Most men don’t do well on their own, especially if they’ve been happily married.”
“Agreed. And of course now he’s done a complete turnaround . . . Mr. Gadabout. I figured far be it from me to interfere with his so-called love life. Delaney and I minimized our contact with Audrey. It was the best we could do. The times we saw her, we made a point of being polite. I’m not sure we succeeded, but it wasn’t for lack of effort on our part. Whatever doubts I had, I kept to myself, not that anyone gave me credit. They assumed I was jealous, like I wouldn’t have warmed to any woman who took up with him, but that’s just not true.”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
“Their bar buddies. After the service, I’m sure the lot of them will come rallying around and insist on taking him out for drinks. As nearly as I could tell, drinking was all he and Audrey ever did. I’m not saying he’s over the line or anything like that. She’s the one. Party, party, party. Luckily, she traveled a lot on business so she was gone half the time. Would you call that a healthy relationship? Because I don’t.”
“What about her kids? Did they approve?”
“I have no idea. We never laid eyes on them.”
“Will they be here? I didn’t see their names in the book.”
“They don’t even know she died. They’re supposedly in San Francisco, but Daddy couldn’t find a contact number for either one of them. Audrey had an address book. He saw it on more than one occasion, but he doesn’t know what she did with it.”
“She probably kept the numbers in her head.”
“I guess. Audrey claimed her daughter, Betty, worked for Merrill Lynch, but that was bullshit. Delaney lives in the city herself so she called the office and drew a complete blank. Nobody’d ever heard of her.”
“She could be married and
using her husband’s last name.”
“That’s one explanation,” she said. She pulled her mouth down and ran her tongue across her upper teeth, a move that conveys disbelief, though I’m not sure why.
“What about her nieces and nephews? Wouldn’t one of them know how to contact her kids?”
“There aren’t any nieces or nephews. Daddy made that up for the obit because he thought it sounded better. She really didn’t seem to have friends or family. With the exception of that bunch of drunks they hung out with, we’re it.”
“That seems odd.”
“It is odd. I mean, if she had kids you’d think they’d have come down to visit at some point or at least called now and then.”
“You think she lied about them?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. I had the sneaking suspicion she was pulling the wool over Daddy’s eyes, acting all nicey-nice. The way she talked, she was head of a happy little family with kids who were gainfully employed. Ha!”
“Maybe she was estranged from them.”
“I guess that’s possible, though we may never know the truth.” She lowered her voice. “You heard how she died?”
“I did and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Did she strike you as the type who’d take a dive off a bridge?”
“Ordinarily, no, but Daddy says she was arrested late Friday afternoon and spent half the night in jail.”
My attempt to look astonished probably fell short, but she didn’t know me well enough to catch on. I said, “Arrested? Are you serious? For what?”
“Who knows? I couldn’t get it out of him. I know he posted bail and from what he said, she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He was furious. He said it was clearly bullshit and he intended to sue for false arrest. He’s convinced her being picked up was what pushed her over the edge, literally.”
“Sounds like it,” I said.
She glanced at her watch. “I better get back. Are you staying for the service?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll have a chat with William and see what he says.”
“We can talk later if you’re still around. Thanks for letting me vent.”
“No problem.”
When I returned to Meditation, a small group of people had arrived. By the look of them, these were Marvin and Audrey’s bar pals. There were six of them, two women and four guys, all roughly the same age. I’m sure the habitual drinkers at Rosie’s would have evidenced a similar air, as though bewildered to be outside and sober at that hour of the day. One of the two women was holding Marvin’s hand, tears coursing down her face. While she wept, he used his free hand to pull out a handkerchief, which he handed her. She shook her head and I saw him dash tears from his own eyes. Grief is as contagious as a yawn.
William had moved to the back of the room where he was deep in conversation with Mr. Sharonson. I caught his eye and lifted a tentative hand. He excused himself and crossed the room. “How are you doing?”
“Fine. I was just wondering about the time frame. Are you staying for the service?”
“Of course. I hope you’re not thinking of leaving. Marvin would be crushed.”
“Crushed?”
“He’s always wanted to meet Audrey’s friends and he was thrilled we were here. Well, ‘thrilled’ isn’t the word he used, but you get what I mean.”
“What about the woman he’s talking to now? Wasn’t she a friend?”
“More like a mutual acquaintance. Several of them socialized at a neighborhood bar. He’s distressed no one else has stopped by. He hoped for a respectable turnout.”
“What about his older daughter?”
“She’s flying in from San Francisco and should be here close to one.” He lowered his voice. “Has she made an appearance?”
“Audrey’s accomplice? So far, no, and that’s what worries me. If she walks in now, she’ll spot me right off the bat. I don’t see how she could fail to recognize me.”
“That’s not a problem. She’ll sign in and by the time she sees you, her name and address will be recorded in the book. You’ll have all the relevant data you need to pursue her without further effort on your part.”
“She wouldn’t necessarily give her home address. I left that line blank myself.”
“Matters not. You’ll have her name. You can take that and run with it.”
“But she’ll have my name too. If she checks directory assistance, the only reference she’ll find is Millhone Investigations, which will give her my business address and phone number. She’s bound to figure out I’m onto her. Why else would a private detective come to Audrey’s visitation?”
“There are four women here. Five, once Marvin’s older daughter arrives. She won’t know which of you is which. And why do you care?”
“She tried to kill me.”
“I doubt she was serious. She probably saw the opportunity and acted on impulse.”
“But suppose she tells Marvin I’m a PI?”
“He already knows.”
“He does? How did that come up?”
“It didn’t. I told him outright.”
I stood and blinked at him. “William, you shouldn’t have done that. What in the world did you say?”
“I didn’t go into any detail, Kinsey. That would have been indiscreet. All I said was you watched Audrey steal hundreds of dollars’ worth of merchandise, after which her accomplice tried to run you down in the parking garage before she made good her escape.”
9
I arrived at my office at 9:00 the next morning, unlocked the door, and gathered up the pile of mail the postman had shoved through the slot the day before. I tossed the stack on my desk and went down the hall to the kitchenette, where I put on a pot of coffee. When the machine had gurgled to a finish, I filled my mug. I was pleased to discover the milk was still fresh when I subjected it to the sniff test. I added a dollop to my coffee. Life is good, I thought. Then I returned to my office to find Marvin Striker standing by the window, looking out at the street.
I only slopped the tiniest bit of coffee on my hand as I cycled through alarm, uneasiness, and guilt, wondering if he meant to take me to task for crashing Audrey’s visitation. I said, “Ah! Mr. Striker. I didn’t hear you come in.”
He turned to look at me with brown eyes that in happier times might have held an impish light. His smile was subdued but at least suggested he wasn’t feeling churlish. “The door was unlocked. I knocked a couple of times and then let myself in. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. You want coffee? It’s fresh.”
“I’m not much for coffee, but thank you. I’d hoped to talk to you after the service, but you were gone by then.”
“I shouldn’t have been there in the first place. I never met Audrey . . .”
“No need to apologize. William said he talked you into it. He didn’t know her either, but I appreciated his being there. He’s a good man.”
“He is,” I said. “How are you holding up? It’s been a rough few days.”
He shook his head. “The worst! I can’t believe this is happening. If you’d told me a week ago my fiancée would take a dive off a bridge, I’d have laughed in your face.”
“I wouldn’t jump to conclusions,” I said, wincing at my choice of words. “The police haven’t made a determination yet, at least as far as I’ve heard.”
“None of this makes sense to me. Does it make sense to you?”
“Not at this point, no, but I don’t know the whole story.”
“Neither do I, which puts us in the same boat.”
I sat down at my desk, expecting him to take the chair across from me. Instead, he remained on his feet, hands in his trouser pockets. He was short and compact, wearing a navy pinstripe suit and a pale blue dress shirt. The knot in his tie had been pulled loose and the top button of his shirt was undone, as though he’d dressed properly that morning and then found himself impatient with the necessity. “You have another appointment or something? I don’t want to hold you up. I
know you’re a busy lady.”
“This is fine. Take as much time as you need.”
“William said you were at Nordstrom’s when Audrey was . . . you know, picked up or whatever it’s called.”
“I was there,” I said, cautiously. I didn’t want to launch into an account of the incident without first finding out what he knew and how he felt about it.
“Here’s what I don’t get. Audrey was a good person. She was a sweetheart. We had a lot of laughs and I don’t have a clue what went wrong.” He blinked and ran a hand down his face, brushing tears aside with the back of his hand. He pulled a neatly folded handkerchief from his back pocket and blew his nose. “Sorry about that. Shit catches me by surprise.”
“Mr. Striker, would you like to have a seat?”
“Let’s make it Marvin and Kinsey, if you don’t mind.”
“I’d prefer it,” I said.
He was clean-shaven and I picked up a whiff of his aftershave. He blew out a big breath to calm himself. “I don’t know what to do with this. I don’t believe Audrey was a thief. I don’t believe she killed herself. It’s just not possible.”
“You were the one who put up bail?”
“I did. She called and I went to the police station where they had her in a holding cell. First time I’ve ever been down there. I wasn’t even sure where it was. I’d seen the place in passing, but who pays attention? I’ve never been arrested in my life and I’m not sure I know anyone who has. Until now.”
“What did she say when you picked her up?”
“I don’t remember. Seems like weeks ago and I’m drawing a blank. I know I’m not getting the big picture, which is why I’m here.”
“You want me to tell you what I saw?”
He laughed with embarrassment. “No. Not really. But I guess I better hear it.”
“Stop me if you have questions. Otherwise, I’ll just lay it out the way I remember it.” I went through the preliminaries: setting the scene, time of day, why I was there. “I first noticed Audrey when I was looking for sales help. She was talking to a younger woman I assumed was a clerk until I realized she had a purse and a shopping bag like everyone else. I found what I was looking for and I was on my way to the register when I saw Audrey again. This time, she was looking at a stack of silk pajamas I’d considered buying myself. As I watched, she picked up two pairs and put them in her shopping bag . . .”