Wolf in the Shadows - Marcia Muller [25]
Renshaw asked, “Are you still with us, Ms. McCone?”
I hardened my expression as the lights came up. Turned to him and said firmly, “Yes, I am.”
“Then let’s discuss your price.”
Six
The bargain I struck with Gage Renshaw would have been lucrative—had I any intention of honoring it. In fact, it shocked me to learn just how much money could be made, providing you worked for a certain type of people. The outrageous figure Renshaw agreed to pay when I delivered information about Hy’s whereabouts told me that for years I’d been shortchanged by even more than I’d suspected; in fact, made me feel like a mere novice in a field where only hours before, I’d considered myself a consummate pro. If you threw in expenses, which Renshaw also agreed to pay, for a single job I would have earned only slightly less than my yearly salary at All Souls.
Yes, there was a lot of money to be made in investigation—providing you wanted to work for a firm like RKI. Providing you were willing to bend the rules as they did. Providing your sleep wasn’t susceptible to guilt-and horror-induced nightmares.
None of those circumstances applied in my case, though. I pocketed the advance check Renshaw had the business office issue me for expenses, took down directions to the Mourning home outside Novato, and agreed to meet him there at four. Diane Mourning, he said, had been adamantly against calling in the authorities, but that hadn’t prevented her from taking RKI to task for mishandling the situation. Perhaps talking with me would assure her they still were making every effort. Since I’d hoped to speak with the victim’s wife anyway, the drive up there seemed worthwhile.
My business with Renshaw concluded, I stopped at RKI’s bank and cashed the check. Then I went to a nearby branch of Bank of America and deposited most of it in my account, holding out some for incidentals. Finally I returned to my office to finish some paperwork and talk with Rae.
The co-op was quiet; Ted slumped in his desk chair, staring at his computer screen. I reached into my box for my message slips and said, “Amo, amas, amat.” It was the only conjugation I remembered from my high-school Latin classes.
He continued staring at the screen, ignoring me.
I asked, “What’s the Latin phrase for today?”
“Tete futae and the horse you rode in on.”
Stung by his uncharacteristic grouchiness, I said, “The same to you,” and went upstairs.
Now, what was that about? I wondered as I dumped my bag and jacket on my chaise longue. He’d been perfectly cheerful when I left the night before. Maybe the stress and uncertainty of this reorganization was taking its toll on him, too.
For about half an hour I took care of my messages and dictated a couple of reports. Then I called Hy’s accountant, Barry Ashford. Ashford said he had a standing arrangement with Hy to take care of his bills when he went out of town for extended periods. “Goes back to the days right after Julie died when he was getting busted for doing stupid things at environmental protests,” he said. “I should’ve explained that to Kate; obviously she’s made this out to be a bigger deal than it is.”
“Did Hy say how long he’d be away?”
“No, but he told me he’d probably be back before anything needed to be paid. In case he wasn’t, though, he wanted to alert me.”
It sounded as if he’d been keeping an open mind about Renshaw’s offer. If things looked good in La Jolla, he’d stay longer; if not, he’d simply return home. “Did Hy mention why he was going away?”
“Hy? Are you kidding?”
I thanked Ashford and hung up, glad I hadn’t talked with him yesterday. The accountant’s casual attitude toward Hy’s unexplained absence might have lulled me into a false sense of security, convinced me there was no need to continue looking.
Next I called Kate Malloy. She said she’d been out to Hy’s ranch and spoken with the hands. “Not much there. Hy didn’t tell them anything, and