Kinsey and Me (10 page)

I tried Mona Starling’s number and got a busy signal. I threw some clothes on, grabbed
my car keys, and headed over to the Frontage Road address she’d given me. As I chirped
to a stop out front, a Yellow Cab pulled away from the curb with a lone passenger.
I checked the house number. A duplex. I figured the odds were even that I’d just watched
Mona split. She must have seen the headlines about the same time I did.

I took off again, craning for a glimpse of the taxi somewhere ahead. Beyond the next
intersection, there was a freeway on-ramp. I caught a flash of yellow and pursued
it. By keeping my foot to the floor and judiciously changing lanes, I managed to slide
in right behind the taxi as it took the airport exit. By the time the cab deposited
Mona at the curb out in front, I was squealing into the short-term lot with the parking
ticket held between my teeth. I shoved it in my handbag and ran.

The airport at Santa Teresa only has five gates, and it didn’t take much detecting
to figure out which one was correct. United was announcing a final boarding call for
a flight to San Francisco. I used the fifty bucks Mona’d paid me to snag a seat and
a boarding pass from a startled reservations clerk and then I headed for the gate.
I had no luggage and nothing on me to set off the security alarm as I whipped through.
I flashed my ticket, opened the double doors, and raced across the tarmac for the
plane, taking the portable boarding stairs two at a time. The flight attendant pulled
the door shut behind me. I was in.

I spotted Mona eight rows back in a window seat on the left-hand side, her face turned
away from me. This time she was wearing jeans and an oversized shirt. The aisle seat
was occupied, but the middle was empty. The plane was still sitting on the runway,
engines revving, as I bumped across some guy’s knees, saying, “’Scuse me, pardon me,”
and popped in beside Ms. Starling. She turned a blanched face toward me and a little
cry escaped. “What are you doing here?”

“See if you can guess.”

“I didn’t do it,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Yeah, right. I bet. That’s probably why you got on a plane the minute the story broke,”
I said.

“That’s
not
what happened.”

“The hell it’s not!”

The man on my left leaned forward and looked at us quizzically.

“The fellow she picked up Friday night got killed,” I said, conversationally. I pointed
my index finger at my head like a gun and fired. He decided to mind his own business,
which suited me. Mona got to her feet and tried to squeeze past. All I had to do was
extend my knees and she was trapped. Other people were taking an interest by now.
She did a quick survey of the situation, rolled her eyes, and sat down again. “Let’s
get off the plane. I’ll explain in a minute. Just don’t make a scene,” she said, the
color high in her cheeks.

“Hey, let’s not cause you any embarrassment,” I said. “A man was murdered. That’s
all we’re talking about.”

“I know he’s dead,” she hissed, “but I’m innocent. I swear to God.”

We got up together and bumped and thumped across the man’s knees, heading down the
aisle toward the door. The flight attendant was peeved, but she let us deplane.

W
E WENT UPSTAIRS
to the airport bar and found a little table at the rear. When the waitress came, I
shook my head, but Mona ordered a Pink Squirrel. The waitress had questions about
her age, but I had to question her taste. A Pink Squirrel? Mona had pulled her wallet
out and the waitress scrutinized her California driver’s license, checking Mona’s
face against the stamp-sized color photograph, apparently satisfied at the match.
As she passed the wallet back to Mona, I snagged it and peeked at the license myself.
She was twenty-one by a month. The address was the same one she’d given me. The waitress
disappeared and Mona snatched her wallet, shoving it down in her purse again.

“What was that for?” she said sulkily.

“Just checking. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

She picked up a packet of airport matches and began to bend the cover back and forth.
“I lied to you.”

“This comes as no surprise,” I said. “What’s the truth?”

“Well, I did pick him up, but we didn’t screw. I just told you that because I couldn’t
think of any other reason I’d want his home address.”

“Why
did
you want it?”

She broke off eye contact. “He stole something and I had to get it back.”

I stared at her. “Let me take a flier,” I said. “It had to be something illegal or
you’d have told me about it right up front. Or reported it to the cops. So it must
be dope. Was it coke or grass?”

She was wide-eyed. “Grass, but how did you know?”

“Just tell me the rest,” I replied with a shake of my head. I love the young. They’re
always amazed that we know anything.

Mona glanced up to my right.

The waitress was approaching with her tray. She set an airport cocktail napkin on
the table and placed the Pink Squirrel on it. “That’ll be three-fifty.”

Mona took five ones from her billfold and waved her off. She sipped at the drink and
shivered. The concoction was the same pink as bubble gum, which made me shiver a bit
as well. She licked her lips. “My boyfriend got a lid of this really incredible grass. ‘Non
Sung Smoke’ it’s called, from the town of Non Sung in Thailand.”

“Never heard of it,” I said. “Not that I’m any connoisseur.”

“Well, me neither, but he paid like two thousand dollars for it and he’d only smoked
one joint. The guy he got it from said half a hit would put you away so we weren’t
going to smoke it every day. Just special occasions.”

“Pretty high-class stuff at those rates.”

“The best.”

“And you told Gage.”

“Well, yeah,” she said reluctantly. “We met and we started talking. He said he needed
to score some pot so I mentioned it. I wasn’t going to sell him ours. I just thought
he might try it and then if he was interested, maybe we could get some for him. When
we got to my place, I went in the john while he rolled a joint, and when I came out,
he was gone and so was the dope. I had to take a cab back to Mooter’s to pick up my
car. I was in such a panic. I knew if Jimmy found out he’d have a fit!”

“He’s your boyfriend?”

“Right,” she said, looking down at her lap. She began to blink rapidly and she put
a trembling hand to her lips.

I gave her a verbal nudge, just to head off the tears. “Then what? After I gave you
the phone number, you got in touch with Gage?”

She nodded mutely, then took a deep breath. “I had to wait ’til Jimmy went off to
work and then I called. Gage said—”

“Wait a minute. He answered the phone?”

“Un-uhn. She did. His wife, but I made sure she’d hung up the extension and then I
talked so he only had to answer yes and no. I told him I knew he fucking stole the
dope and I wanted it back like right then. I just screamed. I told him if he didn’t
get that shit back to me, he’d be sorry. He said he’d meet me in the parking lot at
Mooter’s after closing time.”

“That was Saturday night?”

She nodded.

“All right. Then what?”

“That’s all there was,” she said. “I met him there at two-fifteen and he handed over
the dope. I didn’t even tell him what a shitheel he was. I just snatched the Baggie,
got back in my car, and came home. When I saw the headlines this morning, I thought
I’d die!”

“Who else was aware of all this?”

“No one as far as I know.”

“Didn’t your boyfriend think it was odd you went out at two-fifteen?”

She shook her head. “I was back before he got home.”

“Didn’t he realize the dope had disappeared?”

“No, because I put it back before he even looked for it. He couldn’t have known.”

“What about Mooter’s? Was there anyone else in the parking lot?”

“Not that I saw.”

“No one coming or going from the bar?”

“Just the guy who runs the place.”

“What about Mrs. Vesca? Could she have followed him?”

“Well, I asked him if she overheard my call and he said no. But she could have followed,
I guess. I don’t know what kind of car she drives, but she could have been parked
on a side street.”

“Aside from that, how could anyone connect you to Vesca’s death? I don’t understand
why you decided to run.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “My fingerprints have to be on that car. I was just
in it three nights ago.”

I studied the look in her eyes and I could feel my heart sink. “You have a record,”
I said.

“I was picked up for shoplifting last year. But that’s the only trouble I was ever
in. Honestly.”

“I think you ought to go to the cops with this. It’s far better to be up front with
them than to come up with lame excuses after they track you down, which I suspect
they will.”

“Oh, God, I’ll die.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll feel better. Now do what I say and I’ll check the rest of it
from my end.”

“You will?”

“Of course!” I snapped. “If I hadn’t found the guy for you, he might be okay. How
do you think I feel?”

I
FOLLOWED THE MAID
through the Vescas’ house to the pool area at the rear, where one of the cabanas had
been fitted out as a personal gym. There were seven weight machines bolted to the
floor, which was padded with rubber matting. Mirrors lined three walls and sunlight
streamed in the fourth. Katherine Vesca, in a hot-pink leotard and silver tights,
was working on her abs, an unnecessary expenditure of energy from what I could see.
She was thin as a snake. Her ash-blond hair was kept off her face by a band of pink
chiffon and her gray eyes were cold. She blotted sweat from her neck as she glanced
at my business card. “You’re connected with the police?”

“Actually, I’m not, but I’m hoping you’ll answer some questions anyway.”

“Why should I?”

“I’m trying to get a line on your husband’s killer just like they are.”

“Why not leave it up to them?”

“I have some information they don’t have yet. I thought I’d see what else I could
add before I pass on the facts.”

“The facts?”

“About his activities the last two days of his life.”

She gave me a chilly smile and crossed to the leg-press machine. She moved the pin
down to the 180-pound mark, then seated herself and started to do reps. “Fire away,”
she said.

“I understand a phone call came in sometime on Saturday,” I said.

“That’s right. A woman called. He went out to meet her quite late that night and he
didn’t come back. I never saw him again.”

“Do you know what the call was about?”

“Sorry. He never said.”

“Weren’t you curious?”

“When I married Gage, I agreed that I wouldn’t be ‘curious’ about anything he did.”

“And he wasn’t curious about you?”

“We had an open relationship. At his insistence, I might add. He was free to do anything
he liked.”

“And you didn’t object?”

“Sometimes, but those were his terms and I agreed.”

“What sort of work did he do?”

“He didn’t. Neither of us worked. I have a business here in town and I derive income
from that, among other things.”

“Do you know if he was caught up in anything? A quarrel? Some kind of personal feud?”

“If so, he never mentioned it,” she said. “He was not well liked, but I couldn’t say
he had enemies.”

“Do you have a theory about who killed him?”

She finished ten reps and rested. “I wish I did.”

“When’s the funeral?” I asked.

“Tomorrow morning at ten. You’re welcome to come. Then maybe there’ll be two of us.”

She gave me the name of the funeral home and I made a note.

“One more thing,” I said. “What sort of business are you in? Could that be relevant?”

“I don’t see how. I have a bar. Called Mooter’s. It’s managed by my brother, Ace.”