Wolf in the Shadows - Marcia Muller [26]
“What about American Express? Were you able to find anything out?”
“Yes. He used the card twice after he rented the car in Oakland: for a ticket to San Diego on USAir on Saturday night, and at the Bali Kai Motor Inn there. No additional charges since Sunday, but they may just be slow coming in.”
It fit neatly with the story Renshaw had told me. “Thanks, Kate,” I said. “I’ve got a line on Hy, and I’m going to San Diego tonight. I’ll check in when I know something.” Then I ended the call before she could press me for details.
I swiveled around and slumped in my chair, staring unseeingly out the window. In addition to supporting Renshaw’s story, the facts also supported what I instinctively knew. If Hy had already been in collusion with Timothy Mourning’s kidnappers when he left Tufa Lake, he would have made provisions for a lengthy absence, probably liquidated his assets. But Hy’s departure, prompted by a call from me that precipitated our trip to the Great Whites, had been strictly spur-of-the-moment.
And afterward, when Renshaw contended he’d gone over to the kidnappers’ side? Well, I still had no proof he hadn’t except my faith that he was incapable of such an act. And that was solid enough proof for me.
I thought for a while more before I buzzed Rae’s office and asked her to come upstairs. She didn’t look much more convivial than Ted, and she’d continued to allow her appearance to go to hell. Her hair stuck out in greasy little curlicues, her sweater had holes in it, and her jeans were ripped at the knees. She saw me glance at them and thrust out her jaw as if to say, “You want to make something of it?”
“Have a seat,” I told her. “I need to ask a favor,”
“I heard about your promotion.” She looked at my chaise longue and apparently decided that moving the jacket, briefcase, purse, camera bag, stack of files, and bag of Hershey’s Kisses was too much trouble. Flopping on the floor in front of it, she added, “Congratulations.”
“Thanks—I think.”
“Your rose came. Since you weren’t here to deal with it, I stuck it in a water glass in the bathroom. Couldn’t bear to put it in your bud vase; that was so dirty I’ve got it soaking in the sink.” She glared at me, as if she’d narrowly prevented me from neglecting a child.
I ignored the glare, said humbly, “Thank you, Rae.”
“Just see you take care of it. I’m not your gal Friday, you know.” Then she perked up some. “I suppose this promotion means you’ll be getting a raise. Maybe we should celebrate. You want to go down to the Remedy?”
The Remedy Lounge is All Souls’s favorite tavern, on Mission Street. We hang out there a fair amount, but we don’t usually head downhill at a little after two in the afternoon. “Now?” I asked.
Rae shrugged, looking hurt.
What the hell, I thought. Maybe if I bought her a beer she’d stop sulking long enough for me to ask my favor. “Why not?” I said. “Let’s go.”
“Forget it—it was just an excuse to get plastered. I’ve got to watch that. Don’t want to turn into a stereotype.”
“Stereotype?”
“The Irish sot, and the scorned woman.”
“Willie still being difficult?”
“Still. Bastard’s not budging on the prenup. God, as if I wanted his money! I’m not even sure I want him anymore. He’s no prize, you know. The man used to be a criminal.”
Poor Rae. I was sorry she was hurting, but relieved she wasn’t about to become the third—or was it the fourth?—Mrs. Willie Whelan. The man had a big heart, but he’d yet to prove he could stick to the straight and narrow; when I met him, he was a successful dealer in stolen goods, and proud of it. Should his discount-jewelry chain—empire, he called it—collapse, he might revert to type, and then where would Rae be?
I said, “Instead of a drink, have some of those Hershey’s Kisses.”
“Kisses are what got me into this mess in the first place,” she said sullenly. But she reached for the bag and proceeded to litter the rug with little paper pull tabs and