Blowing Smoke (26 page)

Z
sa Zsa and I stopped at a couple more of the addresses on my list before heading over to the Taylor estate. The responses I encountered were pretty much the same as the ones I'd gotten at the Peterson house. Puzzlement. Outrage. Lots of rejoinders like: “I don't know what you're talking about” and “Who do you think you are?” I wasn't surprised. After all, who was going to admit they knew they were hiring undocumented workers to clean their kitchens and mow their lawns? These were the kind of people that wouldn't talk to Saint Peter on the final Judgment Day without proper representation. Why the hell should they talk to me?

Geoff opened the door when I rang the bell to his house. He was wearing tennis whites and carrying a racket.

I stopped leaning against the doorframe and straightened up. “Where's the maid?” I asked.

“It's her day off. What do you want?”

He didn't look pleased to see me, but then, so far no one had.

If I had less of an ego, I might have taken it personally.

But despite Geoff's costume, from the way he was looking, I had to surmise two homicides were not what he'd been counting on when he'd signed on as Mr. Taylor. The polished, I'm-so-cool look had been replaced by sprouting facial hair and bloodshot eyes with puffy lids. Evidently he hadn't been sleeping too well these days.

“I'd like to talk to your wife, if you don't mind.”

“The boss lady?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Even if I did mind, what difference would it make?” He tore at one of his cuticles with one of his fingernails.

“None.” I watched Zsa Zsa chase a squirrel a short way before coming back and flopping down next to me.

“Does this have something to do with Pat Humphrey?”

“It might.”

“God.” Geoff ran his free hand through his hair. I noticed his fingers had a slight tremor to them. “I rue the day that woman ever came into this house.”

“I bet you do.” I looked around.

The grass had been mowed, the bushes clipped. The water in the swimming pool was a limpid blue. The sprinklers were making hissing noises as arcs of water shot out from them. Everything looked the way it had the first time I'd set foot in the place, with the notable exception of the outdoor staff, who seemed to have disappeared. Or maybe I was just being unduly suspicious. Maybe they all had the day off. Then I wondered if Johnny had gotten out of the closet yet. I should probably call Russell and make sure.

“So how are things going?” I asked Geoff. “How is Rose doing?”

Geoff let out a strangled laugh. “My wife? Better than I am, if truth be known.”

I gestured toward the house. “Are you going to let me in? I need to see her.”

“She's not in there.”

I waited and watched Zsa Zsa sniff around one of the laurel bushes. “Well, where is she?” I asked after a minute or so had gone by.

Geoff gazed off into the distance, seemingly tracking the lone cloud in the sky. “With Amy,” he finally said.

“At the hospital?”

“No. Our little murderer has been released to the fond embrace of her family.” He waved his tennis racket in the air. “Bad joke. Sorry. Forget I said that. She's staying in the cottage for the present.”

“The place Shana was living in?”

Geoff nodded. “That's right. Pretty bizarre, isn't it? But you know what Rose said when I made a comment? She said, ‘Life goes on.' ”

“Maybe she didn't like Shana as much as you did.”

Geoff gripped my arm and pulled himself toward me. I could smell the whiskey on his breath. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you did like her, didn't you?”

Geoff swallowed. He let go of me. His eyes drifted in the direction of the swimming pool. I wondered if he was seeing himself and Shana there. “She was a nice woman,” he allowed. “Fun to be with. When you gave her things, she had this neat habit of cocking her head and looking as if your present was the best thing in the world. It didn't have to be anything big, either.” He paused. “I still haven't been able to take a swim in the pool.” He shook his head. “I ask you, is that stupid or what?”

“Not really.” After finding Murphy's body in the garage, I hadn't been able to go into it for six months. I'd parked my car in the driveway.

“I wanted to keep her dog,” Geoff said. “Maurice liked me. He really did. I thought it would be nice to have him around.”

“So why didn't you? What happened?”

“Rose wouldn't hear of it. Claimed the dog would ruin the carpets.” Geoff ran his fingers over the tennis-racket strings. “It seemed the least I could do.”

“Where is Maurice?”

“I found a home for him with a friend of mine. He'll be fine.” And Geoff lapsed into silence.

I lit a cigarette.

“Got an extra?” Geoff asked.

“I didn't know you smoked.”

“I quit when I met Rose,” Geoff said as I handed him my pack.

“You know,” I said after he'd lit up, “given the way Amy is, I'm surprised that she consented to stay in the cottage. I would have thought she would have refused. Negative karma. Ghosts. That sort of thing.”

“God, this is good,” Geoff said, taking a deep puff of my Camel. “They have her so doped up she could be in the Taj Mahal and she wouldn't know the difference”

“But why not the house?”

Geoffmade a wry expression. “Amy has someone watching her. Rose said she didn't want to be disturbed by all the comings and goings.” He shifted his weight from his right to his left foot. “And now, if you don't mind, I've got to get onto the courts. I have a tournament coming up at the club, and I'm going to need all the practice I can get in.”

Given Geoff's present condition, I'd say he was going to need a lot more than a couple of practice rounds on the back court to win, but I wished him luck and walked down to the cottage to find Rose.

 

 

The first thing I saw when I pushed the door to the cottage open was a man standing in the middle of the kitchen who could have been a stand-in for one of the World Federation Wrestling bad guys. He was about six feet four, probably weighed at least three hundred pounds, and had biceps the size of cantaloupes, a chest you could break things on, and a shaved head that looked as if it had been polished. The hoops he was wearing in his ears only added to the impression of menace. He put down the sandwich he was eating and turned to face me. The expression on his face was far from welcoming.

“Yes?” he growled.

“I'm Robin Light, and I'd like to speak to Mrs. Taylor.”

He gave me a quick appraising glance and must have decided I wasn't going to be any trouble, because he said, “She's busy with her daughter. Come back later,” before returning to his sandwich.

“I need to speak to her now.”

“Didn't you hear what I said?” Annoyed, he slapped the sandwich down on the plate and started toward me. “I told you to come back later.”

“Listen, bud, I'm trying to be nice here.”

“Or you'll . . . ” He sneered.

“Leave.”

“It's all right, Tom.”

We both turned. Rose Taylor had wheeled herself into the room. Her hair and face were immaculate. She was wearing an expensive white linen blouse and matching pants. A strand of pearls circled her neck.

Tom touched the edge of his hand to his forehead in a mock salute. “If you say so, Mrs. T,” and went back into the kitchen.

“You're hiring bodyguards now?”

Rose looked up at me and frowned. “Tom is a nurse. He comes highly recommended.”

From where? I wondered. The state psychiatric facility? Attica?

“Moss has been trying to get hold of you,” she continued. “He wants to know what progress you're making.”

“I called him back earlier today. He wasn't there.”

“He's at the club.” Rose absentmindedly brushed the pearls with the tips of her fingers. “You can reach him there. So where have you been?”

“Out at Wolfe Island. Among other places.”

“Wolfe Island,” she mused aloud. “It's been years since I've been there. Sanford and I used to have a nice time there when the children were little. His father built the place as a fishing lodge.”

“That's what Louis said.”

A smile flickered across Rose's face. “He used to love to catch frogs when he was little. He always wanted to bring them back with him. He used to cry when I made him let them go.”

“The lodge you're talking about. Did you turn it over to a man called Sinclair?”

“Sinclair?” Rose looked puzzled.

“The Reverend Ascending Moon, the one who renamed your place the Center for Enlightened Self-Awareness.”

“Oh, yes.” She nodded. “Him. Of course. How could I have forgotten?”

“I was wondering the same thing myself.”

“Do you know how many charitable donations I give each year?” she demanded. “Exactly,” she said when I demurred. “Amy begged me to.” Rose rested her hand on the pearls. “The reverend needed a place, and he seemed to be doing Amy some good. She seemed quieter, more at peace. I couldn't see any harm.”

“And you get to write the property off.”

“That, too,” Rose agreed. “I won't deny it. I don't see anything wrong with helping someone as well as getting a little bit back for myself. Isn't that what enlightened self-interest is all about? I'm not religious, but when Sinclair told me about his beliefs, I thought they made a lot of sense.”

“What are they?”

“You have to give back.”

“Mostly to him, it seems.”

“It's a good principal nevertheless.”

“Did Amy also tell you Sinclair has a sideline?”

“I know he teaches yoga.”

“Besides that.”

“Tell me,” Rose ordered. “I don't like guessing games.”

“He smuggles undocumented workers into the country.”

Rose's eyes narrowed. She compressed her mouth into a thin line. She looked angry, but I couldn't tell if she was angry because of what Sinclair was doing or because I'd found out about it.

“That's a serious accusation. Do you have any proof?”

“I'm sure the authorities will find some if they look.”

“Can I infer from your comment that you've already notified them?”

I didn't say anything.

“How enterprising of you.” Rose steepled her fingers together and rested her chin on them. “And what does Sinclair say to this?”

“He doesn't. He's gone, along with the men he brought over.”

“So where's your evidence?”

“The guy who owns Quotations . . .”

“Fred's child . . .”

“If you say so. He's involved. I think he'll testify.”

Rose tapped her nails on the wheelchair's railing. “You realize you're talking about a relatively minor offense here?”

“Possibly,” I conceded.

“Definitely,” Rose corrected. “In addition, I know Fred. He's extremely well connected. Believe me, he's not about to let his only son go to jail. Or allow himself or his friends to be caught in whatever you're conjuring up.”

“I'm not conjuring up anything.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Now my question to you is, do you think this alleged sideline of Sinclair's is connected in some way to Pat Humphrey's death?”

“It might be.”

“Might isn't good enough. I'm paying you a rather large sum of money to investigate a specific subject, not go tearing off after anything that takes your fancy.”

“This found me. I didn't find it.”

“How far have you gotten with Patti? What have you found out about my children?” Then, before I could reply, Rose raised her hand. “No. Stop. Don't tell me. I don't want to know. Tell Moss. I don't think I can take anymore.”

We heard a low moan.

Rose sighed. “That's Amy.”

Tom moved. It was like watching a boulder come to life. “Do you want me to take care of her, Mrs. T?” he asked.

“No.” Rose shook her head. “Finish your lunch. I'll see what she wants. If I need you, I'll call.”

I followed Rose into the bedroom. She looked as if she wanted to tell me not to come in, but she didn't.

Amy was lying in the bed Shana had recently occupied. One of her arms was in a sling, while the other lay down by her side. She was dressed in a white cotton nightgown. Her usually wild hair had been combed off her face and secured with a large barrette. She was watching television with the sound turned off. Her eyes were dull. Her face slack. A thin strand of saliva made its way out of the corner of her mouth and down her jaw.

“She's been like this since we took her home from the hospital,” Rose explained as she wheeled herself toward her daughter. She reached over and patted Amy's hand. “Everything will be fine,” she told her. “I promise.”

Amy continued to watch television.

“What is she on?” I asked Rose.

“Something to quiet her nerves.”

“It must be a pretty strong something. I'd say it's doing a little bit more than that.”

“The doctor says he'll be able to lower her dosage after a while.”

“She didn't seem bad enough to warrant this the last time I saw her.”

“She got worse in the hospital. Much worse.” Rose turned to look at me. “Moss says this is the best thing to do.”