E Is for Evidence - Sue Grafton [37]
"What's the matter, baby? Did I come to the wrong place?" Mid-thirties. Lively face. Straight little nose and a sharp, defiant chin. Her smile revealed crooked eyeteeth and gaps where her first molars should have been. Her parents had never gone into debt for her orthodontia work.
I got up and held my hand out. "Hello, Mrs. Case. How are you?"
She allowed her hand to rest in mine briefly. Her eyes were the haunting, surreal blue of contact lenses. Distrust flickered across the surface. "I don't believe I know you."
"I called from California. You hung up on me twice."
The smile drained away. "I thought I made it clear I wasn't interested. I hope you didn't fly all this way on my account."
"Actually, I did. You'd just gone off duty when I got to the lounge. I'm hoping you'll spare me a few minutes. Is there some place we can go to talk?"
"This is called talkin' where I come from," she snapped.
"I meant, privately."
"What about?"
"I'm curious about your husband's death."
She stared at me. "You some kind of reporter?"
"Private detective."
"Oh, that's right. You mentioned that on the phone. Who all are you working for?"
"Myself at the moment. An insurance company before that. I was investigating a warehouse fire at Wood/Warren when Hugh's name came up. I thought you might fill me in on the circumstances of his death."
I could see her wrestling with herself, tempted by the subject. It was probably one of those repetitious nighttime tales we tell ourselves when sleep eludes us. Somehow I imagined there were grievances she recited endlessly as the hours dragged by from 2:00 to 3:00. Something in the brain comes alive at that hour and it's usually in a chatty mood.
"What's Hugh got to do with it?"
"Maybe nothing. I don't know. I thought it was odd his lab work disappeared."
"Why worry about it? No one else did."
"It's about time then, don't you think?"
She gave me a long look, sizing me up. Her expression changed from sullenness to simple impatience. "There's a bar down here. I got somebody waiting so I'll have to call home first. Thirty minutes. That's all you get. I worked my butt off today and I want to rest my dogs." She moved off and I followed, trotting to keep up.
We sat in captain's chairs at a table near the window. The night sky was thick with low clouds. I was startled to realize it was raining outside. The plate glass was streaked with drops blown sideways by a buffeting wind. The tarmac was as glossy as black oilcloth, with runway lights reflected in the mirrored surface of the apron, pebbled with raindrops. Three DC-10s were lined up at consecu-tive gates. The area swarmed with tow tractors, catering vehicles, boom trucks, and men in yellow slickers. A bag-gage trailer sped by, pulling a string of carts piled high with suitcases. As I watched, a canvas duffel tumbled onto the wet pavement, but no one seemed to notice. Some-body was going to spend an irritating hour filling out "Miss-ing Baggage" claim forms tonight.
While Lyda went off to make her phone call, I ordered a spritzer for me and a Bloody Mary for her, at her request. She was gone a long time. The waitress brought the drinks, along with some Eagle Snack pretzels in a can. "Lyda wanted somethin' to snack on, so I brought you these," she said.
"Can we run a tab?"
"Sure thing. I'm Elsie. Give a holler if you need any-thing else."
Ground traffic was clearing and I saw the jetway re-tract from the side of the plane nearest us. On the runway beyond, an L-1011 lumbered by with a stripe of lighted windows along its length. The bar was beginning to empty, but the smoke still sat on the air like a visible smudge on a photograph. I heard high heels clopping toward the table, and Lyda was back. She'd peeled off her vest, and her white blouse was now unbuttoned to a point just between her breasts. Her chest was as freckled as a bird's egg and it made her look almost tanned.
"Sorry it took me so long," she said. "I got this room-mate in the middle of a nervous breakdown, or so' she thinks." She used her celery