A survey of the under-the-counter cabinets revealed a stack of big cast-iron skillets and cheap six-quart saucepans. In the upper cabinets there were numerous tumblers and two sets of melamine dinnerware. One drawer was packed with a jumble of kitchen utensils and another held assorted flatware. There was no dishwasher and no disposal, but I found an adequate supply of dish soap in a squirt bottle under the sink. While the shelves in the reach-in pantry were bare, numerous sticky circles on the otherwise clean surface suggested the recent presence of industrial-sized canned goods. For a woman who didn’t cook or entertain, Audrey had been prepared to feed the multitudes.
“What happened when the first six months’ rent were up?”
“She stopped by one afternoon and paid for the next six.”
“Always in cash?”
She nodded. “I suppose I should have asked her about it, but it really wasn’t any of my business. At least I didn’t have to worry about a check not clearing.”
“Didn’t you wonder why she carried so much cash?”
“I can guess what you’re getting at. You think she might have been dealing drugs. I read the papers like everyone else and I know about meth labs and marijuana farms. If I’d thought she was doing something illegal, I’d have called the police.”
“Good for you. Sometimes people get so busy minding their own business, they forget to do what’s right.”
I went into the bedroom, which was crudely outfitted with a full-size mattress, two pillows, and a pile of blankets neatly folded at the foot of the bed. The closet was empty, not even one wire hanger left on the rod. I closed my eyes and drew in a breath. The lingering scent of White Shoulders cologne was unmistakable.
I made two more circuits of the room, talking to Vivian over my shoulder. “Let me know if you see something I’ve missed.”
By then, the idea of finding her address book seemed laughable since there were no personal items at all. I was satisfied I’d seen everything, though I hadn’t dug up the dead flower beds or tapped my way around the walls in search of secret panels.
I scribbled Marvin’s address on the back of a second card. “This is her fiancé’s address. If mail comes for her, could you forward it to him?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“You want me to lock up?”
“No point. I’ll have the locks changed as soon as I can get someone out. No telling who else has a key.”
She walked me out to my car.
I said, “I appreciate your being so nice about this.”
“I don’t want to protect the woman if what she did was against the law. I’ll admit I was a bit uneasy, which is why I kept an eye on her. I couldn’t put my finger on what was wrong, and when it came right down to it, I didn’t have anything concrete to report.”
“Understood. You can’t call the police because someone’s drawing the blinds,” I said. “When your husband comes home, would you ask if he has anything to add?”
“I’ll ask, but he won’t be much help. I was the one who dealt with Audrey. She was a nice woman, by the way. I thought her schedule was odd, but aside from that, I had no quarrel with her.”
“My client’s in the same boat,” I said. “If you think of anything else, would you give me a call? My office number’s on my card and my home phone’s on the back.”
“Of course. I hope you’ll let me know what you learn.”
“I’ll do that, and thanks for your help.”
I returned to my car and fired up the engine. I pulled out of the cul-de-sac and turned right on Edna Road. I kept an eye on the rearview mirror, and once I was out of sight of the house, I pulled onto to the berm and took the pack of index cards from my shoulder bag. I wrote down what I’d learned, which didn’t amount to much. Audrey Vance was a cipher and as such, she was getting on my nerves. When I finished making notes, I put the car in gear and returned to the 101, arriving in Santa Teresa at 1:05. While the trip felt like a waste of time, I didn’t write it off altogether. Sometimes coming up with nothing is a form of information in itself.
I stopped by Marvin’s on my way through town, hoping he’d be home. He answered my knock with a paper napkin tucked under his chin. He removed the napkin and crumpled it in one hand. “This is a nice surprise. I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
“I’m interrupting your lunch.”
“Not at all. Come on in.”
“I wondered if you’d had a chance to scare up the old phone bills.”
“I pulled the file. Have you had lunch?”
“I’ll grab something on my way back to the office.”
“You should have a bite to eat. I made a big pot of soup. Chicken noodle with lots of fresh vegetables thrown in. I vary the soup from week to week depending on what looks good at the farmer’s market. We can talk in the kitchen.”
“A man of talent,” I remarked.
“I’d reserve judgment if I were you.”
I waited while he closed the front door, then followed him into the kitchen with its bright yellow breakfast nook. He turned the gas up under the six-quart stockpot and took a bowl from the cabinet. “Have a seat. You want something to drink?”
“Tap water’s fine.”
“I’ll take care of it. You sit and relax.”
He put ice in a glass and filled it at the kitchen sink. He took out a paper napkin and a soup spoon, then ladled soup into a bowl, which he carried gingerly from the stove with a shy smile. He seemed happy to have company. In the center of the table he’d put a jumble of wildflowers in a jar, and I had the sudden sense of what a nurturing man he was. I felt badly about Audrey’s deceit. He deserved better.
The soup was rich and dense. “This is wonderful,” I said.
“Thanks. It’s a specialty of mine, just about the only one I have.”
“Well, it’s a good one,” I said. “Do you bake?”
“Biscuits, but that’s it.”
“I’ll have to introduce you to my landlord, Henry. He’s William’s younger brother. I suspect the two of you would have lots to talk about.”
When I’d eaten, Marvin insisted that I sit while he washed the dishes and set them in the rack.
I filled him in on my visit to Audrey’s house in San Luis. “You could have made the trip yourself,” I said. “I know you were worried about the impact, but there were no surprises. The place was bare.”
“Was it nice?”
“Nice? No, it was a dump. Small wonder Audrey liked living with you.”
“What about an address book? Any sign of it?”
“There was nothing personal at all.”
“That seems odd,” he said. “Hang on a minute and I’ll go get the phone bills.”
He left the kitchen and returned moments later with a file folder that he placed on the table in front of me. “I hope you don’t mind but I went over them myself. This past month, she made two calls to Los Angeles; three to Corpus Christi, Texas; and one to Miami, Florida. Same thing in January and February. If there were other calls, they must have been in the 805 area code.”
“Too bad.” I ran an eye down the list of numbers. Marvin had put a checkmark beside calls he ascribed to her. “Have you tried calling these?” I asked.
“I thought I’d leave it to you. I’m not that good at thinking on my feet. I get rattled and no telling what I’d blurt out. You want to use my phone?”
“Sure. As long as I’m here.”
“Have at it,” he said, indicating the wall-mounted phone.
I stood and reached for the handset, tucking it between my shoulder and my ear. I held the phone bill with my thumb close to the first mark he’d made. I punched in the number in the 213 area code. After three rings, I was treated to an ear-splitting screech, followed by a mechanical voice telling me the number was a disconnect: “If you feel you have received this recording in error, please hang up, check the number, and dial again.”
“Disconnect,” I said.