“No. I’ve got three hours — less now — to come up with something, or I’m likely to end up in jail for obstructing a police investigation.”
Linnea’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding!”
“I don’t think Greg would go so far as to arrest me, but...”
“What’re you going to do?”
“Right now, wash my face and change my clothes and go talk to some people.”
“You ought to eat something.”
I motioned wearily. “I couldn’t.”
“Sharon, you’ve got to start eating better.”
Who else had told me that? Stanley, the bartender. It reminded me of the questions I had to ask Linnea. “Hey,” I said, “have you heard from Herb Clemente?”
She smiled. “Yes, I called him this morning to apologize for freaking out on the phone. He had to go to LA today, but he said he’d be back sometime this evening. If he’s here early enough, he’s going to drive me to the airport.”
“Why’d he go to LA, do you know?”
“No. He just said on business.”
Blind Center business? Or something to do with fencing a load of Tanqueray gin?
“When’s your flight?” I asked.
“Eleven was the earliest I could get. If Herb doesn’t call, I’ll take a cab.”
“No, I’ll try to be here to drive you.”
“If you don’t show, it’ll mean you’re in trouble. I’ll stay and try to help.”
I smiled weakly. “Thanks. Another question: the other day when Molly was in here, around five o’clock the day she died...”
Linnea flushed. “What about it?”
“I’m not interested in your conversation. Anyway, I think I know what it was about.”
“I’m sure you do. She was yelling at me for drinking so much. What about that day?”
“When Gus and Sebastian came over here from Mr. Moe’s, did Gus come inside the apartment?”
Linnea frowned. “I think... yeah, I’m sure he did.”
“All the way inside?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. He sat right where you are now and looked through some magazines on the table. Why?”
I ignored her question. Gus had had the opportunity to take the cord. He also had had the opportunity to strangle Molly — none of the domino players had given him an airtight alibi. All along I’d discounted Gus because I’d thought him too stupid. But what if it was an act? Gus worked for the Blind Center; he had told Tim this morning that he had plenty of money to pay the rent. Gus could be part of the fencing scheme.
“Why?” Linnea insisted.
“What?”
“Why do you ask about Gus?”
“It has something to do with my missing drapery cord.”
“Are you still on the string-collecting jag?”
“Why not? It’s a hobby I could keep up in jail.”
“You know, that’s not really funny.”
“I know.” I grabbed my bag and, since I’d left my .38 locked in the glovebox of my car at the airport, went to the strongbox and took out the other one I kept there.
Linnea stared at the gun. “Hey, I thought you wanted to change your clothes.”
“Nope. I’ve lost too much time as is. I’m going over to Mr. Moe’s.”
“I’ll come along with you and pick up some wine. I drank everything.”
“No.”
Linnea looked reproachfully at me. “Sharon, all I want is a glass of wine. I’m over swilling it down, believe me.”
“What I meant was, it could get unpleasant at the Superette.” I paused, remembering the wine I’d left with Stanley the other night. “I know where there’s a bottle of Grey Reisling, though. Go over to Ellen T’s and ask Stanley for it. It belongs to me.”
“You do leave things in the most peculiar places. Let’s go.”
Halfway down the front steps, I said, “Oh, by the way, I thought of filing a complaint about the way Greg Marcus hassled you yesterday, but first I want to take it up with him personally. Do you have any choice words to pass along?”
Linnea stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Greg Marcus? The guy who sends you all the chocolate? The cop who was here last night?”
“Yes.”
“What about him?”
“He came over and upset you. Remember how he kept asking you what Molly gave you for safekeeping? When you threw the chocolates he brought at him?”
She shook her head. “Sharon, that wasn’t Greg Marcus. I mean, all he did was leave the box of candy outside the door. I never even laid eyes on him until last night.”
“Who was it, then? Who upset you?”
“Sebastian, the guy who peddles the brushes. He got me to let him in on the excuse that you’d ordered a toilet brush.”
I remembered it, lying on the floor among the candies.
“Sebastian wanted to know what Molly had left with you?”
Bewildered, she nodded. “But it’s okay, really. He came by today and apologized. He said he was worried about Gus’s inheritance, or he wouldn’t have been so rude.”
“Gus’s inheritance? Linnea, are you sure Gus was in here, by the coffee table the other afternoon?”
“Yes. Sharon, what...”
“Listen, go back inside and lock the door and stay there.”
“What? Can’t I even get the wine?”
I hesitated. “Oh, all right, get it. But then come back and don’t let anybody in.”
“What about Herb?”
“Definitely not. Tell him you’ll meet him at the Blind Center later. Stall him a while. But I don’t want anybody coming in that apartment until I get back from Mr. Moe’s. Do you understand?”
“Okay. Don’t get all excited. I’ll hold the fort.”
“Good.” I hurried toward the corner. As I waited for the light, I watched Linnea cross in mid-block to Ellen T’s. Her hands were thrust deep in the pockets of her jacket, and her head was bowed dejectedly. In the fog that had followed the day’s rain, she looked lost and alone.
I glanced up and down the street, patting the reassuring bulk of the .38 in my bag. With its help, I’d get the answers I needed out of Mr. Moe.
22
Mr. Moe was stacking oranges in the produce case when I entered. His eyes jerked to me in the slanting mirror above the display. Under his trembling hand, the top orange teetered and bounced to the floor, bringing the rest of the pyramid down after it.
The grocer gave a dismayed cry and dropped to his knees. He scrambled around, filling his arms with fruit. I made no move to help him.
“Jumpy lately, aren’t you, Mr. Moe?”
He rocked back on his heels and looked up, hugging the oranges. “What do you want of me now?”
“I’m a customer, Mr. Moe. You don’t want to send me off to Safeway to spend my money.”
He sighed and let his arms drop, releasing the oranges. Indifferent to them, he got to his feet, brushing dust from his trousers. “What is it you need?”
“Some gin. Tanqueray gin, to be exact.”
A muscle twitched in his cheek. “I am sorry. I do not have a license to sell hard liquor. I have only beer and wine.”
“What happened to that case of gin you had in your stockroom last night — the one that the bottle you broke came from?”
“I am sorry...”
I made a big show of examining the wines on the shelf behind the counter. “Come now, Mr. Moe, you couldn’t have broken all those bottles. Although you really should be more careful about dropping things.” I motioned at the oranges on the floor.
“Miss McCone, I stock no such thing.”
“Of course you don’t!” I whirled on him. “You have no such item because it’s already in the storeroom at the Blind Center. But when are the thieves making their next drop — the thieves you met at India Basin last night?”
His body sagged. “That was you?”