W Is for Wasted

29

Tuesday morning, I caught my alarm clock one split second before it went off and rolled out from under the covers. The loft felt chilly and I was tempted to crawl right back in. Instead, I pulled on my sweats and laced up my running shoes before I brushed my teeth. I avoided the sight of myself in the mirror. I pulled on a knit hat, which I knew would be too hot once I got into the run. For now it did double duty: to contain my coiffeur and to muffle my ears against the damp morning air.

The three-mile jog satisfied my need for oxygen, for action, for solitude, and for a sense of accomplishment. With daylight savings time in effect until the end of the month, the tag end of my run was accompanied by a spectacular dawn. At the horizon, above the silver band of the Pacific, a wide expanse of brooding gray changed to a dark red, and from that to a matte blue. Within a minute, the atmosphere had lightened and all the rich hues were gone. Gulls rode the air currents, screeching with happiness. The wind was down and the tops of the palms scarcely moved. Slow-motion waves thundered along the sand and the surf, then receded to a hush. By the time the sun was fully up it was 7:06, and I was back in my living room, prepared for a final go-round with the remaining two boxes of Pete’s crap.

Instead of getting cleaned up, I sat down and ate my cereal, put on a pot of coffee, and then washed my bowl and spoon while the coffee-maker gurgled to its conclusion. Still in sweats, I sat on the floor with my coffee cup and made quick work of the first box, which was filled with old catalogs and outdated service manuals for appliances I suspected were long gone. The contents yielded no receipts and no personal correspondence. I did come across a black-and-white newspaper photo of Pete and Ruthie on their wedding day. Saturday, September 24, 1949. They’d have been married forty years when September rolled around again.

Pete was gaunt-faced and young. His hair seemed comically thick back then and he had eyebrows to match. His shoulders protruded like the rounded metal ends of a coat hanger. The sleeves of his suit jacket were too short, so his bony wrists extended a good two inches. He did look pleased with life and more than proud to have Ruthie on his arm. She was easily as tall as he was. The dress she wore was a pale chiffon with shoulder pads and ruffles down the front. Her hair was concealed beneath a white straw hat with a broad brim, a length of white tulle serving as a band. She had a corsage pinned to her left shoulder. I looked closer and identified white roses and white carnations. The newly married couple stood on the low steps of the First United Methodist Church with a scattering of wedding guests in the background. I set the photo aside for her.

The second box contained nothing of interest. I repacked the files I’d spread on the floor and hauled fourteen boxes out to the Mustang. I kept the fifteenth, which contained the Byrd-Shine files, Pete’s eavesdropping equipment, and the Bryce file, which was largely Dietz’s work. I took another look at the papers Pete had photocopied, which included the proposal Linton Reed had submitted in support of his theory about Glucotace. This is what had netted him the operating funds for the study he was running. I wondered what Pete had made of it.

By the time I’d loaded the car, the trunk was full, the passenger seat was impassable, and the backseat was stacked two boxes high and four across. There wasn’t much room back there to begin with and now the view out the rear window was largely blocked.

I slipped the wedding photo into my shoulder bag and then drove to Pete and Ruthie’s house. I pulled around to the alleyway that ran behind the property. I could have parked in front and let the engine idle while I knocked on her door and explained what I was up to, but I wasn’t taking Pete’s possessions, I was returning them. Since he stored his boxes in the garage, I figured I should unload them there and talk to her afterward.

Pete’s Ford Fairlane was no longer parked by the shrubs. I surmised, correctly as it turned out, that the new owner had put in an appearance and had made off with his new vehicle, such as it was. He’d left Pete’s gun-cleaning kit and the bag of birdseed in the alley, along with a bulging plastic bag that I was guessing contained the contents of the two map pockets and the glove compartment. I toted the items as far as the side door to the garage and left them there while I moved boxes into the already overcrowded space. When I’d finished, I grabbed the kit, the birdseed, and the bag of odds and ends, and knocked on the back door.

Ruthie appeared in an old-fashioned floor-length peignoir, a filmy pale blue with pin-tucking down the bodice and a matching nightgown under it. For the first time in all the years I’d known Pete, it dawned on me he had a sex life. The notion was so embarrassing, I averted my gaze. Ruthie’s hair was plaited in a long gray-and-blond braid that lay over her left shoulder. It was 9:30 by then and I’d assumed she was the sort who’d be up at the crack of dawn and ready to start her day.

When she opened the door, she said, “Oh, it’s you. I couldn’t imagine who was knocking at my back door. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have put on some clothes. I have the day off, so I was having a lazy morning.”

“I was just dropping off the boxes we picked up from Pete’s landlady. I left everything in the garage.”

I held up the kit and the two bags. “His car’s gone. Looks like the guy who bought it cleared out the trunk, the map pockets, and the glove compartment.”

Ruthie relieved me of the items and put them on the kitchen counter. “Come in and have a cup of coffee. I could use the company.”

“I’d like that, thanks.”

I followed her into the kitchen. During the earlier visit, the front rooms had been tidy and I suspected the disorder here had accrued as a function of too much stuff and no clear sense of what to do with it. My guess was that for a short time after Pete’s death, she’d worked with efficiency, thinking if she kept everything shipshape, she’d stay on top of the process. Little by little, though, she’d lost control. In her shoes, I’d have called the junk man and had him haul everything away, but something of Pete’s obsession with storage cartons must have been contagious. Truly, there was no way to know what he might have hidden away. Pack rats by nature are attached to the objects they accumulate—old newspapers, tires, vintage soda bottles, bobbleheads, canned goods, shot glasses, baseball caps. Pete had an issue with cardboard boxes, which he’d apparently found irresistible. I’m sometimes reluctant to toss one myself, especially if it’s in pristine condition. What if you have to ship something? What would you pack it in?

As soon as we settled at the kitchen table with our coffee cups, I leaned down and removed the wedding clipping from my shoulder bag and passed it across the table. “I thought you might like to have this.”

She took the picture and studied it, smiling to herself. “Nineteen forty-nine. It seems like yesterday and then I’m reminded how young we were. I swear that dress felt very stylish at the time.”

“How’d you meet him?”

“I’d just completed my AA degree at City College and I was waiting to get into nursing school. I was working at the front desk at a walk-in clinic. He came in to pick up a prescription for an antibiotic in advance of some dental work. We chatted and when I got off work, he was waiting in the parking lot. He asked if I wanted to have coffee and I said sure.”

“And that was that,” I said.

“More or less. I was smitten with him from the first. He was sweet and unassuming and almost pathologically shy because of his Marfan’s, which wasn’t that severe. He had scoliosis and those long white fingers of his. His eyesight was bad, too, but none of that bothered me.”

“What did your family think?”

“They were puzzled, but they didn’t discourage the relationship. I’m sure they didn’t think it would last. I was never interested in motherhood, and with his Marfan’s, kids were out of the question because the condition’s genetic and the risk is too high.”

“So you didn’t have to explain.”

“Right, and I didn’t have to justify the choice. Nobody understood what I saw in him, but I didn’t care about that.”

“He was a lucky man.”

“I was lucky, too,” she said. “I take it there was no sign of accounts receivable and no cash hidden away.”

“No, though I confess I skimmed over much of it. I don’t know how you’ll decide what to keep and what to toss, but most of it looked like trash. No offense.”

“It’s the same with his belongings here. Clearly, he was secretive and it worries me to think there are items of value tucked into the nooks and crannies.”

“If there’s any way I can help, I’ll be happy to,” I said.

“I appreciate that.”

“There’s one issue I want to clear with you. For some reason, Pete had files that belonged to the old agency run by Ben Byrd and Morley Shine. I held on to the box because I’m uneasy at the idea of those contracts and reports in circulation. Throw files in the trash and you really never know where they’ll end up.”

“I wouldn’t have known a box was missing, but thanks for telling me.”

We chatted for a while and then I decided I’d better be on my way. I gave her one of my business cards in case she needed to get in touch. My car was still parked in the alley, so I left by way of the back door.

Before we parted company, she reached out impulsively. “I have a favor to ask. And please . . . if this is something you’re not comfortable with, feel free to speak up. I’d like to have a memorial service for Pete. Not right away, but in a month or so. He didn’t have close friends, but people around town knew him and I think he was well liked. He was a gentle soul and I can’t imagine he had enemies. I wondered if you’d be willing to give the eulogy. You knew him better than anyone else since you worked together for so long.”

I could feel the heat coming up in my face. Given my disdain for Pete, I was the last person in the world she should’ve asked to stand up and testify as to his sterling character. But Ruthie was good-natured and oblivious, and I felt bad at the state he’d left her in. All of this flashed through my mind before I opened my mouth.

“I don’t know,” I said, uneasily, and I could feel the lie bubble up in my throat like acid indigestion. “I’m terrified of public speaking. Occasions like that trigger panic attacks. I once fainted when I was asked to read a Bible verse in Sunday school. Much as I’d love to help, I couldn’t handle it.”

“I understand. Just give it some thought and let me know if you change your mind. I know how much it would have meant to Pete.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said, reciting the second lie in as many sentences. I’d already put the idea out of my mind.

She gave my hand a pat and I was on my way.

By the time I got to my car, the horror of the request had made my hands clammy. Even as accomplished a liar as I am, giving testimony about a man I’d liked so little would have been my undoing.

• • •

After I left her, I stopped by the office to make sure pipes hadn’t broken and there were no pressing calls to return. I gathered bills, flyers, and catalogs from the floor where the mail had been pushed through the slot. Those I tossed onto my desk to deal with at a later time. After that, I headed for home and let myself in the gate. Once in the backyard, I saw Henry’s back door was shut and his kitchen was dark. No telling what Anna had talked him into buying for her now.

Ed had left two dead lizards on my welcome mat. I unlocked the door and as I opened it, he appeared out of nowhere and strolled in ahead of me. I was about to object, but the cat seemed so interested in the place, I didn’t have the heart to shoo him out.

I’d no more than closed the door when I heard a knock. I looked out the porthole and opened the door.

Anna was standing on my welcome mat, her arms crossed as though for warmth, her expression subdued; same boots and jeans, navy fleece top.

She said, “I know I shouldn’t have showed up in Santa Teresa out of the blue. I would’ve called, but I was afraid you’d tell me not to come.”

“It’s your business, Anna. Do anything you want.”

“I know you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad. I’m annoyed. I don’t want you taking advantage of Henry. He’s a sweetheart.”

“I know that. He’s a nice man.”

“And you’re a mooch. I know you can’t help yourself. I get that. Just do not mooch off him.”

“I don’t intend to stay at Henry’s more than a couple of days. As soon as I get a job, I’ll find a place of my own.”

“On your lavish minimum-wage income. Thank you for the reassurance. One reason I would have told you not to come is because you can’t afford it.”

“I’m here because of my dad. I’m not saying that’s the only reason, but I’d like to know what happened to him. Henry told me you’d been trying to find out, so I thought maybe we could talk about it sometime. If you have a minute.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Anyway, I apologize for not letting you know I was on my way.”

“I appreciate the apology.”

She sent me a tentative smile and I didn’t shut the door in her face. I said I’d see her later and waited until she was halfway back to Henry’s.

The studio smelled of the coffeepot that had been sitting far too long and I realized I’d neglected to turn off the machine before I’d left. I leaned across and flipped the switch, then looked over at the answering machine. The red message light blinked merrily. I slung my shoulder bag onto the desk and pressed play. Sure enough, it was Drew again with apologies for not catching me, like it was his fault I was gone. The call had been recorded a mere ten minutes earlier, so I punched in his number and held my breath, waiting to see if I was in luck.

Two rings and he picked up.

“Is that you, Drew? This is Kinsey Millhone.”

“Hey, great! I can’t believe I’m actually talking to you.”

We spent a few minutes congratulating ourselves on finally managing to connect and then we moved on to the subject at hand.

“We’re talking about five grand, right? Because that’s what I have.”

“Works for me,” I said. “It might take me a couple of days to find a replacement. What’s your time frame?”

“The sooner the better. My brother’s in town. He’s the one who had the 429 in high school. I told him about yours and he’s hot to get his hands on it.”

“How long will he be here?”

“A week. It’s not like the deal hangs on him, but if there’s a way to make this happen, it’d be great.”

“I’m right in the middle of something at the moment, but first chance I get, I’ll check a couple of car lots and see what’s out there. No promises, but I’ll do my best.”

“Understood. And thanks.”

The call completed, I did a quick survey to see what the cat was up to. I wasn’t used to having a small animal on the premises. Ed was wholly engaged in inspecting the underside of the sofa bed. A shred of upholstery lining was hanging down, so he had to lie on his back and play with it.

I said, “What were you doing in the yard? Aren’t you supposed to be inside?”

He turned his head in response to my query, looking at me briefly as though to determine if I was worthy of his attention. Apparently, I was. He came out from under the sofa, jumped up onto a kitchen stool, and then onto the counter, where he strolled to the end. He made a turn and came back, making a point of brushing up against me. In my presence, he’d never uttered a sound, but now he launched into a discourse. He pivoted and glided the other way, leaving white cat hair on the sleeve of my turtleneck.

“Oh, now you want to be friends,” I said. “I saw you sitting in Anna’s lap. Have you no shame?”

He sat down and made what I swear was meaningful eye contact.

“You want a bowl of milk? Is that it?”

I took out a saucer and poured a puddle of milk in the center. “This is exactly why I’ve never wanted a pet,” I said. “It’s worse than talking to myself.”

Daintily, he crossed and gave the milk a sniff, and then he leveled the double-0 stare with one green eye and one blue.

I sniffed it myself and sure enough, the milk was sour. He didn’t seem to blame me as much as I blamed myself. When a cat comes to call, it’s nice to have something to offer that isn’t past its sell-by date. While I sat, Ed allowed me the incredible privilege of giving his head a scratch.

There was a tap at the door. I left Ed where he was while I looked out the porthole. There stood Dietz.

When I opened the door, he said, “Can I come in?”

Oh, sure. Like I might refuse. I stepped back. His manner was tentative and I will promise you in that split second, I knew he was leaving. In my view, it’s a hell of a thing when one’s intuition about a guy is solely tied to his departure. “Let me guess,” I said.

“Don’t guess. Let me say this my way.”

“How about coffee first?”

“How about after I get this out?”

“By all means.”

I kept my expression neutral. I disengaged my emotional gears. We hadn’t connected at a deep level this time around. He’d been in town for three days yet here it was again. The perpetual bye-bye that seemed central to our entire relationship. I was thinking, thank god I didn’t sleep with the man or I’d have been in real pain. Even so, I was already suffering the loss of him, which I covered at no small cost to myself.

Dietz said, “Nick’s taken a leave of absence from work. I thought he was here to discuss the plan, but turns out it’s a done deal. He wants us to travel together and get to know each other. What was I supposed to say?”

“You say yes, of course.” I won’t say I sounded chipper, but anyone who didn’t know me well would have thought I was fine.

“It wasn’t my idea,” he said.

“Oh, come on. I’m not chiding you. Plan or no plan, he’s your kid.”

“Well, I appreciate that. I didn’t think you’d take it this well.”

“There you have it. Grown-up at last. So when do you go?”

“Nick’s not awake yet. We settled this last night and I said I’d have to talk to you first before we hit the road.”

Now, that hurt my feelings. There was something about the stinginess of the condition he’d laid out to his son. Yes, he’d take off with Nick. But no, he insisted on giving me my five minutes first.

I moved into the kitchenette and poured him a cup of coffee. I put the mug on the counter and pushed it in his direction.

“Thanks,” he said. He took a sip, watching me over the rim of the mug. He made a face and looked down. “How long has this been sitting?”

“I don’t want to make small talk.”

He set the coffee cup on the counter. “You’re not taking it well,” he said.

“Not taking it well at all,” I replied. “And I don’t want a hug. That makes you feel better and makes me feel like shit.”

“I’m not doing this to make you feel bad.”

“But that’s the effect it has on me anyway, okay? I feel like a whiny baby. I can live without the blow to my dignity.”

“You want me to go through the other boxes with you?”

“Like my consolation prize? No, thanks. I did that. I returned them to Ruthie and had a nice chat about Pete, whom she adored for the better part of forty years.”

“What do you want me to do?” he said. “I can’t change it now. I had no idea Nick would show up. How was I to know he’d want to go off on this field trip?”

“You couldn’t. Not your fault. It’s always going to be like this. I keep thinking I’ll learn to handle it, but I don’t.”

“Would it have been better if I never showed up at all?”

“It would be better if I didn’t care one way or the other.”

“But you do.”

“Yes.”

“Now, you see, that’s nice. I like it that you care.” He smiled and folded me into his arms, which of course made my face heat, my nose swell, and my eyes sting with tears.

I laughed. “Damn it. Now I’ll be ugly at the same time I’m feeling stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. You’re adorable. You make lousy coffee, but I’ll try not to blame you for that.”

“Quit saying nice things.”

He swayed, holding me in his arms. It was like dancing in place; the first time he’d actually touched me since he’d been back. That first night, he’d declined to kiss my cheek. At that point, he was still half mad at me and I was still indignant that he’d accused me of recommending him to Pete. I could feel the whisper of sexuality rising up along my frame.

I stepped back. “Let’s don’t do this. It makes no sense.”

“Does everything have to make sense?”

“Yes, it does and I’ll tell you why. I’m the one being left behind. And I understand why and I wish you well, but I don’t see any reason to put my soul on the line.”

“You think my soul’s not on the line?”

“I don’t.”

“You’re mistaken about that.”

“Okay, fine. I stand corrected and let’s not turn this into an argument. I don’t want us to leave each other with bad feelings. If you come back, we can revisit the issue.”

“When I come back, not if.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

He watched me for a moment and whatever he saw in my eyes must have been more eloquent than our brief exchange. “You want me to call?”

“Nope. I want you to go where the wind blows you. I want you to have an incredible adventure with your son. Anything else can wait and if I never see you again, I’ll somehow manage to survive, so don’t worry on my account.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Although it does sound harsh.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“Better. I’ll get in touch when I can.”

And that’s where we left it. When the door closed behind him, I waited until I heard the low rumble of his Porsche come to life and then diminish as he drove away. I picked up the saucer and let the sour milk run down the kitchen drain. I emptied the coffeepot and washed it, washing the saucer at the same time, thus restoring order to this small life of mine. I checked Ed’s reaction. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

He sat politely and we shared a long look. He blinked at me lazily and I blinked back at half speed, an exchange I later learned was called a cat kiss. When the phone rang, I pointed at Ed. “Stay.”

I crossed to the desk and picked up the handset.

“Hey, Kinsey. This is Aaron Blumberg.”

“Hi, Aaron. How are you?” This was me being cordial in the midst of unacknowledged heartbreak. Really, I should have been weeping my baby eyes out, but I’m made of sterner stuff.

He said, “I’m fine, thanks. I called because we have the autopsy report and lab work on Dace and I thought you might want a rundown.”

“That was fast,” I said. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

“It’s been ten days,” he said. “About par for the course. Case wasn’t complicated. I’ll send you a copy of Dr. Palchek’s notes, but you might as well get the gist of it by phone.”

“Great.”

“I’ll give you the formal version first and then answer any questions you have. Cause of death was hepatic failure due to chronic alcoholism. Thus the jaundice. No big surprise there.”

“Right.”

“He was also suffering from alcoholic ketoacidosis syndrome. AKA for short. Essentially we’re talking about the buildup of ketones in the blood. Ketones are a type of acid that form when the body breaks down fat for energy. Patients typically have a recent history of binge drinking, little or no food intake, and persistent vomiting. This results in a delay and decrease in insulin secretion and excess glucagon secretion. A lot of hokum here that I’ll skip . . .

“Basically, all patients with severe AKA are dehydrated. Several mechanisms might be responsible, including decreased fluid intake and inhibition of antidiuretic hormone secretion by ethanol. Volume depletion is a stimulus to the sympathetic nervous system, which decreases the ability of the kidneys to excrete ketoacids and can culminate in circulatory collapse.

“My guess is if you go back and talk to his pals, they’ll confirm one or more of the following symptoms. You got a pencil and paper handy?”

I picked up a pen and pulled over a scratch pad, jotting down the list as he recited it.

“Abdominal pain, agitation, confusion, an altered level of alertness. Also, let’s see here . . . low blood pressure, fatigue, sometimes dizziness. Fruity breath is one key, so be sure you ask about that. Smells like acetone.”

“You want verification?”

“It might satisfy any questions his cohorts have. His family might be interested as well. The bad news is, if someone had picked up on his condition and had taken him to the ER in time, he might be alive.”

“Oh, man. I think I’ll keep that to myself,” I said. “Anything else?”

“Well, just running down the page here . . .autopsy showed his heart was enlarged and there was also extensive kidney damage.”

“Also associated with chronic alcoholism I’d imagine.”

“Can be. The only thing that struck me as odd was that blood and urine came back negative for opiates and alcohol.”

I was silent. “You’re saying he was sober?”

“Totally.”

“Are you sure? Because two of his homeless pals swear he was drunk to the end. In fact, Pearl was devastated because he swore up and down he’d quit.”

“Well, there’s no way to know how efficiently he metabolized alcohol, but he was clean on October 7 and probably the day before as well. He might’ve behaved like he was drunk. Kidneys start shutting down and the buildup of toxins can render you incoherent. Lethargy’s another symptom that can mimic inebriation. He might have garbled his words.”

I said, “I’ll ask about that. I’m told he’d been going downhill for months.”

“He was a short-timer. No doubt about that. All I’m saying is what got him wasn’t the result of alcohol consumption during the two or three days prior. The time frame’s a guess on my part, by the way.”

“What about pain pills? I hear he was hooked on those.”

“Nope. No sign of anything in his system,” he said. “At any rate, if you hear something to the contrary, you let me know.”

“I’ll do that. And thanks.”