Kite nodded contentedly several times and said, “That’s good news, Ralphie. Each of us looking out for himself means that we’re all looking out for each other. Like the three musketeers. Sort of.”
“Sort of,” the Colonel agreed and leaned back in his chair.
Kite wriggled off the couch and rose, clutching the money bag to his chest. “Look. I better go call my travel agent at home and see if she can get me on that ten o’clock flight to L.A. You got any problem with me in first class?”
“None.”
“You gonna stick around till I find out about the flight?”
“I thought I might.”
“Yeah,” Kite said. “So did I.” He turned and left the room, the money bag still clasped to his chest, the hem of his long green velvet dressing gown trailing after him.
Colonel Millwed rose and wandered around the parlor that took up half of the ground floor and was stuffed with furniture, photographs, paintings and souvenirs that dated from the 1900s to the mid-1950s. None of them had been supplied by Kite, who had bought the house and its contents from the great-great-grandniece of the woman who first lived there in 1905 as a 21-year-old bride. When her husband died in 1957, she lived in the house alone until her death in 1980. A year later, her only heir, the great-great-grandniece, who lived in Oregon, sold everything to Kite.
Millwed had once asked Kite if living in the old place wasn’t like living in a museum. “Maybe,” Kite had said. “But it’s my museum.”
The Colonel turned from his inspection of a corner whatnot stand as Kite reentered the room, wearing a Raiders sweatshirt, faded jeans, scuffed white Reeboks and on his big head a blue Dodgers baseball cap.
“That should make you invisible,” Millwed said.
“Think so?” Kite said. “I just checked the Weather Channel and it’s gonna be sunny and about seventy-six out there. Maybe I’ll go to the beach this afternoon.”
“And Twodees?”
Kite seemed to give Partain some thought. “Well, maybe I’ll fix Twodees first, then go to the beach.”
Chapter 18
General Vernon Winfield was the last to board the German-made shuttle bus that ferried passengers to and from their planes at Dulles International. The shuttle started off smoothly enough but one of the standing passengers wasn’t quite prepared and stumbled against the General, forcing him to step back and onto the toe of a seated passenger.
Winfield turned to apologize and was surprised to find himself staring down at the equally surprised and upturned face of Emory Kite. The General recovered first. “Well, Mr. Kite. I am sorry.”
“S’all right, General. Going to L.A., huh?”
“A brief vacation. And you?”
“Business. You in first class?”
The General shook his head. “Afraid not.”
“Too bad,” Kite said. “I thought if you were, maybe we could switch seats with somebody and sit together.”
“That would’ve been pleasant,” the General lied just as the shuttle veered left, giving him an excuse to turn away, grab a vertical pole and avoid Kite for the rest of the flight.
All the first-class passengers except Emory Kite were gone by the time General Winfield made his way from far back in the 747’s crowded economy section to the LAX arrival-departure area. He noticed Kite still hanging around or perhaps even loitering with intent. Winfield wasn’t sure what the loitering phrase meant precisely, but it sounded as though Kite would be good at it.
The General then saw the white shirtboard sign with the neat black Magic Marker lettering that read: “Winfield.” The sign was displayed with no trace of self-consciousness by a man in his early forties who wore a blue suit, white shirt and tie.
Winfield shifted his carry-on bag to his left hand, walked over and said, “Major Partain?”
“ ‘Partain’ will do, General.”
The General smiled, offering his hand. “Do you mind ‘Twodees’?”
“ ‘Twodees’ is fine,” Partain said and ended the handshake just as Emory Kite, still wearing his Dodgers cap and Raiders sweatshirt, sidled up to Winfield and said, “Need a lift into town?”
“Thank you, Mr. Kite, but I have a ride.”
Kite examined Partain. “You a limo driver?”
Partain shook his head.
“Mr. Partain is a friend of a friend,” the General said.
Kite stuck out his hand. “Emory Kite. I do investigations outta Washington.”
After a brief handshake, Partain said, “Federal?”
“Private,” Kite said. “You live in L.A.?”
“I grew up in California.”
“Yeah? Then maybe you could recommend a nice hotel.”
“They say the Peninsula’s a nice hotel.”
“What’s a room go for?”
“I’d guess two-eighty, three hundred. Around in there.”
Kite nodded neutrally. “Sounds about right. Where’s it at?”
“Beverly Hills.”
Kite seemed to like the location, too, because he smiled up at the General and said, “When you get some free time, gimme a call and we’ll have a drink and some lunch. My treat.”
“Thank you,” Winfield said. “I’ll see how my schedule works out.”
“I’ll be at the Peninsula,” Kite said, smiled his good-bye, turned and walked away.
Before Partain could ask, Winfield said, “He shares office space with us at VOMIT.”
“You and Nick must really need the money.”
“Yes,” the General said. “We really do.”
They were in the Lexus coupe, heading north on the 405, when the General said, “Perhaps you could recommend a hotel more moderately priced than the Peninsula.”
“Mrs. Altford would like you to stay at her place.”
“That’s very kind of her, but—”
Partain didn’t let him finish. “She thinks her daughter and I need a chaperone.”
“I’ve never in my life been a chaperone.”
“And I’ve never needed one. But she said if that argument didn’t work, I should try the second and more compelling one. The room’s free. Or as she put it, free-gratis-for-nothing.”
“There really is a room?”
“You get the master bedroom. It has its own bath. Jessica Carver and I share a bath.”
“How is Jessie?”
“Broke and looking for work. Or thinking about looking for it.”
“How’d she take the death of her — what? Boyfriend?”
“Try lover,” Partain said. “She took it okay. She even may’ve been a little relieved.”
“When you called me late last night or, I suppose, very early this morning, you said you were virtually sure David Laney was a nephew of General Walker Hudson.”
“Now I’m absolutely sure,” Partain said. “The Laneys and Hudsons are two old California families who sometimes intermarried. Dave’s mother was Ruth Ellen Hudson. She married Gerald Laney. General Walker Laney Hudson is Ruth Ellen’s brother. General Hudson got Laney as a middle name because his father and the father of Gerald Laney — Dave’s dad — were best friends.”
“How’d you discover all that?”
“I didn’t. I set Jessie down in front of her mother’s computer and turned her loose. An hour later she had it all wrapped up. Jessie likes stuff like that. Says it reminds her of market research.”
“How was Laney killed?”
“I don’t know,” Partain said. “I saw his body just after they dumped it out on Mrs. Altford’s driveway. The cops say they won’t know what killed him until after the autopsy.”
The General nodded thoughtfully, waited a few moments, then asked, “Ever know a young captain in Salvadoran intelligence called Trigueros?”