Kinsey and Me (14 page)

“Did she suffer much?” I asked.

“Doctor said not. He said it was quick, as far as he could tell. Her heart probably
seized up and she fell down dead before she could draw a breath.”

“It must have been terrible for you.”

Her cheeks flushed with guilt. “You know, her and me had a falling-out.”

“Really? Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Of course, she always said you two had your
differences. I hope it wasn’t anything serious.”

“She drank. I begged her and begged her to give it up, but she wouldn’t pay me no
mind,” Justine said.

“Did she ‘go’ here at home?”

She shook her head. “In a welfare hotel. Down on her luck. Drink had done her in.
If only I’d known . . . if only she’d reached out.”

I thought she was going to weep, but she couldn’t quite manage it. I clutched her
hand. “She was too proud,” I said.

“I guess that’s what it was. I’ve been thinking to make some kind of contribution
to AA, or something like that. You know, in her name.”

“A Marge Crispin Memorial Fund,” I suggested.

“Like that, yes. I was thinking this money you’re talking about might be a start.”

“That’s a beautiful thought. I’m going right out to the car for my checkbook so I
can write you a check.”

It was a relief to get out into the fresh air again. I’d never heard so much horsepuckey
in all my life. Still, it hardly constituted proof she was a murderess.

I hopped in my car and headed for a pay phone, spotting one in a gas station half
a block away. I pulled change out of the bottom of my handbag and dialed Sis Dunaway’s
motel room. She was not very happy to hear my report.

“You didn’t find anything?” she said. “Are you positive?”

“Well, of course I’m not positive. All I’m saying is that so far, there’s no evidence
that anything’s amiss. If Justine contributed to her mother’s death, she was damned
clever about it. The autopsy didn’t show a thing.”

“Maybe it was some kind of poison that leaves no trace.”

“Uh, Sis? I hate to tell you this, but there really isn’t such a poison that I ever
heard of. I know it’s a common fantasy, but there’s just no such thing.”

Her tone turned stubborn. “But it’s possible. You have to admit that. There could
be such a thing. It might be from South America . . . darkest Africa, someplace like
that.”

Oh, boy. We were really tripping out on this one. I squinted at the receiver. “How
would Justine acquire the stuff?”

“How do I know? I’m not going to set here and solve the whole case for you! You’re
the one gets paid thirty dollars an hour, not me.”

“Do you want me to pursue it?”

“Not if you mean to charge me an arm and a leg!” she said. “Listen here, I’ll pay
sixty dollars more, but you better come up with something or I want this sixty-dollar
payment back.”

She hung up before I could protest. How could she get money back when she hadn’t paid
it yet? I stood in the phone booth and thought about things. In spite of myself, I’ll
admit that I was hooked. Sis Dunaway might harbor a lot of foolish ideas, but her
conviction was unshakable. Add to that the fact that Justine was lying about
something
and you have the kind of situation I can’t walk away from.

I drove back to the trailer park and eased my car into a shady spot just across the
street. Within moments, Justine appeared in a banged-up white Pinto, trailing smoke
out of the tailpipe. Following her wasn’t hard. I just hung my nose out the window
and kept an eye on the haze. She drove over to Milagro Street to the branch office
of a savings and loan. I pulled into a parking spot a few doors down and followed
her in, keeping well out of sight. She was dealing with the branch manager, who eventually
walked her over to a teller and authorized the cashing of a quite large check, judging
from the number of bills the teller counted out.

Justine departed moments later, clutching her handbag protectively. I would have been
willing to bet she’d been cashing that insurance check. She drove back to the trailer,
where she made a brief stop, probably to drop the money off.

She got back in her car and drove out of the trailer park. I followed discreetly as
she headed into town. She pulled into a public parking lot and I eased in after her,
finding an empty slot far enough away to disguise my purposes. So far, she didn’t
seem to have any idea she was being tailed. I kept my distance as she cut through
to State Street and walked up a block to Santa Teresa Travel. I pretended to peruse
the posters in the window while I watched her chat with the travel agent sitting at
a desk just inside the front door. The two transacted business, the agent handing
over what apparently were prearranged tickets. Justine wrote out a check. I busied
myself at a newspaper rack, extracting a paper as she came out again. She walked down
State Street half a block to a hobby shop, where she purchased one of life’s ugliest
plastic floral wreaths. Busy little lady, this one, I thought.

She emerged from the hobby shop and headed down a side street, moving into the front
entrance of a beauty salon. A surreptitious glance through the window showed her,
moments later, in a green plastic cape, having a long conversation with the stylist
about a cut. I checked my watch. It was almost twelve-thirty. I scooted back to the
travel agency and waited until I saw Justine’s travel agent leave the premises for
lunch. As soon as she was out of sight, I went in, glancing at the nameplate on the
edge of her desk.

The blond agent across the aisle caught my eye and smiled.

“What happened to Kathleen?” I asked.

“She went out to lunch. You just missed her. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Gee, I hope so. I picked up some tickets a little while ago and now I can’t find
the itinerary she tucked in the envelope. Is there any way you could run me a copy
real quick? I’m in a hurry and I really can’t afford to wait until she gets back.”

“Sure, no problem. What’s the name?”

“Justine Crispin,” I said.

I
FOUND THE NEAREST
public phone and dialed Sis’s motel room again. “Catch this,” I said. “At four o’clock,
Justine takes off for Los Angeles. From there, she flies to Mexico City.”

“Well, that little shit.”

“It gets worse. It’s one-way.”

“I knew it! I just knew she was up to no good. Where is she now?”

“Getting her hair done. She went to the bank first and cashed a big check—”

“I bet it was the insurance.”

“That’d be my guess.”

“She’s got all that money
on
her?”

“Well, no. She stopped by the trailer first and then went and picked up her plane
ticket. I think she intends to stop by the cemetery and put a wreath on Marge’s grave—”

“I can’t stand this. I just can’t stand it. She’s going to take all that money and
make a mockery of Marge’s death.”

“Hey, Sis, come on. If Justine’s listed as the beneficiary, there’s nothing you can
do.”

“That’s what you think. I’ll make her pay for this, I swear to God I will!” Sis slammed
the phone down.

I could feel my heart sink. Uh-oh. I tried to think whether I’d mentioned the name
of the beauty salon. I had visions of Sis descending on Justine with a tommy gun.
I loitered uneasily outside the shop, watching traffic in both directions. There was
no sign of Sis. Maybe she was going to wait until Justine went out to the grave site
before she mowed her down.

At two-fifteen, Justine came out of the beauty shop and passed me on the street. She
was nearly unrecognizable. Her hair had been cut and permed and it fell in soft curls
around her freshly made-up face. The beautician had found ways to bring out her eyes,
subtly heightening her coloring with a touch of blusher on her cheeks. She looked
like a million bucks—or a hundred thousand, at any rate. She was in a jaunty mood,
paying more attention to her own reflection in the passing store windows than she
was to me, hovering half a block behind.

She returned to the parking lot and retrieved her Pinto, easing into the flow of traffic
as it moved up State. I tucked in a few cars back, all the while scanning for some
sign of Sis. I couldn’t imagine what she’d try to do, but as mad as she was, I had
to guess she had some scheme in the works.

Fifteen minutes later, we were turning into the trailer park, Justine leading while
I lollygagged along behind. I had already used up the money Sis had authorized, but
by this time I had my own stake in the outcome. For all I knew, I was going to end
up protecting Justine from an assassination attempt. She stopped by the trailer just
long enough to load her bags in the car and then she drove out to the Santa Teresa
Memorial Park, which was out by the airport.

The cemetery was deserted, a sunny field of gravestones among flowering shrubs. When
the road forked, I watched Justine wind up the lane to the right while I headed left,
keeping an eye on her car, which I could see across a wide patch of grass. She parked
and got out, carrying the wreath to an oblong depression in the ground where a temporary
marker had been set, awaiting the permanent monument. She rested the wreath against
the marker and stood there looking down. She seemed awfully exposed and I couldn’t
help but wish she’d duck down some to grieve. Sis was probably crouched somewhere
with a knife between her teeth, ready to leap out and stab Justine in the neck.

Respects paid, Justine got back into her car and drove to the airport, where she checked
in for her flight. By now, I was feeling baffled. She had less than an hour before
her plane was scheduled to depart and there was still no sign of Sis. If there was
going to be a showdown, it was bound to happen soon. I ambled into the gift shop and
inserted myself between the wall and a book rack, watching Justine through windows
nearly obscured by a display of Santa Teresa T-shirts. She sat on a bench and calmly
read a paperback.

What was going on here?

Sis Dunaway had seemed hell-bent on avenging Marge’s death, but where was she? Had
she gone to the cops? I kept one eye on the clock and one eye on Justine. Whatever
Sis was up to, she had better do it quick. Finally, mere minutes before the flight
was due to be called, I left the newsstand, crossed the gate area, and took a seat
beside Justine. “Hi,” I said. “Nice permanent. Looks good.”

She glanced at me and then did a classic double take.

“What are you doing here?”

“Keeping an eye on you.”

“What for?”

“I thought someone should see you off. I suspect your aunt Sis is en route, so I decided
to keep you company until she gets here.”

“Aunt
Sis
?” she said, incredulously.

“I gotta warn you, she’s not convinced your mother had a heart attack.”

“What are you talking about? Aunt Sis is dead.”

I could feel myself smirk. “Yeah, sure. Since when?”

“Five years ago.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit. An aneurysm burst and she dropped in her tracks.”

“Come on,” I scoffed.

“It’s the truth,” she said emphatically. By that time, she’d recovered her composure
and she went on the offensive. “Where’s my money? You said you’d write a check for
six hundred bucks.”

“Completely dead?” I asked.

The loudspeaker came on. “May I have your attention, please. United Flight 3440 for
Los Angeles is now ready for boarding at Gate Five. Please have your boarding pass
available and prepare for security check.”

Justine began to gather up her belongings. I’d been wondering how she was going to
get all the cash through the security checkpoint, but one look at her lumpy waistline
and it was obvious she’d strapped on a money belt. She picked up her carry-on, her
shoulder bag, her jacket, and her paperback and clopped, in spike heels, over to the
line of waiting passengers.

I followed, befuddled, reviewing the entire sequence of events. It had all happened
today. Within hours. It wasn’t like I was suffering brain damage or memory loss. And
I hadn’t seen a ghost. Sis had come to my office and laid out the whole tale about
Marge and Justine. She’d told me all about their relationship, Justine’s history as
a con, the way the two women tried to outdo each other, the insurance, Marge’s death.
How could a murder have gotten past Dr. Yee? Unless the woman wasn’t murdered, I thought
suddenly.

Oh.

Once I saw it in
that
light, it was obvious.

Justine got in line between a young man with a duffel bag and a woman toting a cranky
baby. There was some delay up ahead while the ticket agent got set. The line started
to move and Justine advanced a step with me right beside her.

“I understand you and your mother had quite a competitive relationship.”

“What’s it to you?” she said. She kept her eyes averted, facing dead ahead, willing
the line to move so she could get away from me.

“I understand you were always trying to get the better of each other.”