E Is for Evidence - Sue Grafton [29]
"Hello, Kinsey. Come upstairs. I think we should talk."
I followed her. She was wearing a wide-shouldered black suit, nipped in at the waist, a stark white shirt, knee-high glossy black boots with heels sharp enough to pierce a cheap floor covering. She smelled of a high-powered per-fume, dark and intense, faintly unpleasant at close range. A trail of it wafted back at me like diesel fuel. This was going to give me a headache, I could tell. I was already annoyed by her attitude, which was peremptory at best.
The second floor was carpeted in pale beige, a wool pile so dense I felt as if we were slogging through dry sand.
The hallway was wide enough to accommodate a settee and a massive antique armoire. It surprised me somehow that she was living at home. Maybe, like Ash, she was here temporarily until she found a permanent residence some-where else.
She opened a bedroom door and stepped back, wait-ing for me to pass in front of her. She should have been a school principal, I thought. With a tiny whip, she could have done a thriving trade in dominance. As soon as I'd entered the room, she closed the door and leaned against it, still holding onto the knob at the small of her back. Her complexion was fine, loose powder lending a matte finish to her face, like the pale cast of hoarfrost.
9
There was an alcove to the left, done up as a little sitting room with a coffee table and two easy chairs. "Sit down," she said.
"Why don't you just tell me what you want and let's get on with it?"
She shrugged and crossed the room. She leaned down and plucked a cigarette from the crystal box on the coffee table. She sat down in one of the upholstered chairs. She lit her cigarette. She blew the smoke out. Every gesture was separate and deliberate, designed to call maximum atten-tion to herself.
I moved to the door and opened it. "Thanks for the trip upstairs. It's been swell," I said, as I started out the door.
"Kinsey, wait. Please."
I paused, looking back at her.
"I'm sorry. I apologize. I know I'm rude."
"I don't care if you're rude, Ebony. Just pick up the pace a bit."
Her smile was wintry. "Please sit, if you would."
I sat down.
"Would you like a martini?" She set her burning ciga-rette in the ashtray and opened a small refrigerator unit built into the coffee table. She extracted chilled glasses, a jar of pitted green olives, and a bottle of gin. There was no vermouth in sight. Her nails were so long they had to be fake, but they allowed her to extract the olives without getting her fingers wet. She inserted an acrylic tip and pierced the olives one by one, lifting them out. I watched her pour gin with a glint in her eye that suggested a thirst springing straight from her core.
She handed me a drink. "What happened with you and Lance?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because I'm curious. The company's affected by whatever affects him. I want to know what's going on." She picked up her cigarette again and took a deep drag. I could tell the nicotine and alcohol were soothing some inner anxiety.
"He knows as much as I do. Why don't you ask him?"
"I thought you might tell me, as long as you're here."
"I'm not sure that's such a good idea. He seems to think you're part of it."
Her smile returned, but it held no mirth. "In this family, I'm not part of anything. I wish I were."
I felt another surge of impatience. I said, "Jesus, let's quit fencing. I hate conversations like this. Here's the deal. Someone set me up and I don't like it. I have no idea why and I don't much give a shit, but I'm going to find out who it was. At the moment I'm self-employed, so the only client I have to answer to is me. If you want information, hire a private detective. My services are spoken for."
Her expression hardened like plaster of Paris, dead white. I suspected if I reached out to touch her, her skin would have had the same catalytic heat. "I hoped you'd be reasonable."
"What for? I don't know what's going on, and what I've seen so far, I don't like. For all I know, you're at the bottom of this or you know who is."
"You don't mince