“Or was killed,” Melissa corrected.
“Are you telling me this loan shark’s reach stretched from Vegas to Vail?”
“Look. All I know is what happened when I made a stink. I’d heard Dante’s name and I thought the Vegas police should be told. Then the problems started and I took my cue. I packed up my stuff and came back to Santa Teresa because my parents are here and I really felt I needed to hang out someplace safe. Now I’m living with them and working as a nanny, so my name doesn’t appear in public records, like telephone and utility hookups.”
“And you explained this to Sergeant Priddy?”
“Every word of it. I told him Audrey’s suicide and Phillip’s were identical and I thought they should contact the Las Vegas police about reopening the case to see if there was a link to Lorenzo Dante here.”
“Police don’t always appreciate being told their business,” I remarked.
Diana said, “Now she’s scared. She thinks she saw Sergeant Priddy drive past her parents’ house, like he wants her to know he knows where she lives.”
“The car was dark green, but I couldn’t tell you what kind.”
“So what do you think?” Diana asked, in a rare concession that I might have something to contribute.
“I don’t know what to think, but here’s my take on it: You made a mistake going to the Santa Teresa police. Len Priddy works vice and he’s handling the shoplifting angle of Audrey’s case. The Santa Teresa County Sheriff’s homicide detectives are the ones in charge of the death investigation. You should drive out to Colgate and tell them.”
“You think they’ll take her seriously?”
“Well, I know for sure they won’t drive past her house, scaring her out of her wits.”
26
Dante had given her a key to the beach house. In her mind’s eye she was already there, waiting for him to appear. In reality, Channing had postponed his return to L.A. until Tuesday morning, which nearly drove her insane. She’d managed to get in a quick call to Dante’s private line, where she left a message indicating she couldn’t see him that day. Monday went on forever, so dull and flat she wondered how she’d endured before Dante came along. Tuesday morning, she and Channing ate breakfast together, their conversation pleasant and inconsequential. The entire time she thought about Dante. It was almost as though he were sitting at the table with them, and she wondered if Thelma was present as well. She pondered the complexities of the human heart, cunning, opaque, unknowable, and impervious to judgment. What one did in the world at large might be condemned, but thoughts and feelings and daydreams were protected by the simple expedient of silence. How easy it was to deceive Channing, whose inner state was as unavailable to her as hers was to him. How many times had they sat at this same table, conducting the ordinary business of life? Courtesy served as an artful disguise that veiled the more profound dialogue of fantasy and desire. Toast, coffee, talk of her appointment in Santa Monica later in the day. She told Channing she’d set up a meeting with her broker to review her portfolio. He urged her to stop by the office and she demurred, citing a round of errands. The exchange was perfunctory. She’d never understood Channing so well or liked him so little, but at least her infidelity had evened the score. Maybe one day she’d tell him. She hadn’t decided yet. She walked with him to the door and they kissed briefly. She took care to give no indication of her impatience to have him gone or the giddiness she felt at what was to come. The minute he was out of the house, she put on her sweats and walking shoes and drove to the house on Paloma Lane.
She left her car in the motor court at the beach house and tramped through the soft sand to the hard pack. She did her four miles on the beach, timing herself since she had no way to measure distances. Beach access was blocked in places, which forced her into detours that took her up a set of steep wooden stairs built into the hillside and through two gated communities otherwise closed to the public. She emerged on the two-lane road that passed in front of the Edgewater Hotel, pausing to allow two cars to pass. The first turned into the driveway leading to the hotel entrance. The second came to a stop. She heard a horn toot and looked over as the driver rolled down her window.
“I thought I recognized you,” the woman said, with what passed for gaiety. “What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”
Imelda Malcolm lived two doors away from the Vogelsangs’ Montebello house. She was in her early sixties and bird thin, with sparse hair dyed a tawny shade. She pushed her sunglasses up on her head and her washed-out gray eyes were sharp. Imelda walked the neighborhood streets, and Nora had learned to avoid the woman by varying her time and route so their paths wouldn’t cross. Imelda was a vicious gossip, unapologetic about her rumormongering. Nora had joined her a few times just after they moved to town and noted that even in the open air, Imelda’s comments were made under her breath, as though the intimacies she passed along weren’t meant to be overheard. It gave Nora the uncomfortable sense that she was supporting Imelda’s malevolence.
“I like the occasional change of scene,” Nora said. “How about you?”
Imelda made a face. “I told Polly I’d sport her to a facial. You know Rex filed for Chapter 13 or maybe it was Chapter 7, I forget which. Talk about a low blow.”
“I heard. That’s too bad.”
“Horrible,” Imelda said. “Polly says she can’t bear to walk into the club, and not just because they’re so far in arrears. I’m sure Mitchell will find a way to let them know they’re not welcome anymore, though he has too much class to make a scene. She says the women aren’t actually cutting her, but the pity is more than she can stand. Have you seen her lately?”
“Not since New Year’s.”
“Oh, my god. She looks awful. Don’t tell anyone I said so, but I promise you she’s aged fifteen years. And she didn’t look that good to begin with, if you’ll pardon the observation.”
“I’m sure they’ll weather the storm,” Nora said. She glanced at her watch and Imelda picked up on the hint.
“I won’t keep you,” she said. “I’m glad I ran into you. I was going to call you about bridge tomorrow afternoon. Mittie’s doing pre-op appointments for the work she’s having done, and I thought with Channing gone, you’d have time on your hands.”
“Won’t work,” Nora said promptly. “I have to be in L.A. I’m just waiting for a call back from our accountant to set a time. Besides, I haven’t played for months. I’d make a miserable partner for anyone.”
“Don’t be silly. This is four tables. Lunch and lots of wine so no one takes it seriously. We’re playing again on Friday, so I’ll put your name down.”
“I’ll have to check my calendar and get back to you.”
“My house. Eleven thirty. We’re usually done by three.”
She did a little finger wave, rolled up her window, and glided away.
Nora closed her eyes, so irritated with the woman she could hardly move. She loathed presumption. She loathed the sort of female aggression Imelda wielded as a matter of course. As soon as she reached the beach house, she’d call and leave a message on Imelda’s answering machine saying she’d forgotten a prior engagement. So sorry. Kiss, kiss. Maybe another time. Imelda would know she was lying, but what could she do? Nora continued to the seawall and picked her way down the battered concrete stairs that put her back on the beach. If Imelda ever got wind of Nora’s relationship with Dante, she’d have a field day.
In truth, she was embarrassed she’d slept with the man. What was the matter with her that she’d succumbed so easily? She knew there was anger at Channing buried in the act. What distressed her was the truth about herself embedded in her decision. Apparently, she didn’t require longevity or trust or the sanctity of marriage. All she needed was the opportunity and there she was, flinging off her clothes in a white-hot flash of desire. Granted, Dante was spectacular, giving and tireless and loving and complimentary-the latter being another source of dismay. Remembering certain things he’d said to her, she felt easily gulled, a woman so shallow that the slightest praise had her flat on her back with her legs in the air. Had Thelma surrendered as easily? Good wine, a few superficial strokes, and she’d hopped in the sack without regard to Channing’s marital status. Now Nora had tossed aside loyalty and fidelity, and while she was ashamed of her behavior, she was also unrepentant. The recollection made her shiver and the shivering made her smile.