Part 16 (2/2)
”With you in a sec,” she said, not bothering to look up.
The wall behind her held sagging shelves displaying dusty gallon-size bottles of cleaners and numerous gadgets to keep pools purified. Three rattan chairs with high-fanned backs lined another wall. A ceiling fan slowly turned, blades wobbling, feebly trying to stir the stale air.
The young woman hit SEND and smiled up at us, flipping her hair back from eyes heavily lined in black pencil. ”What can I do for you?” Her lipstick was the same color as her nails.
”I'd like to speak with Mr. Binder.” I took off my sungla.s.ses.
”Daaad ... dyyyyy!” she yelled at the top of her lungs.
Ryan lurched back from the counter.
She c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at him. ”Hung over?”
”Jesus, don't you have an intercom system?” he complained.
”What do you think this is, Home Depot?”
The door next to the chairs opened and a man in his late sixties with a thick gray beard, and shoulder-length hair to match, stepped from his office.
”You want me?” His voice sounded like two rocks rubbing together.
”Mr. Binder?” I asked.
”Yep.” His belly, the size of a small bag of sand, filled his faded blue work s.h.i.+rt.
”We're here about the house in Bel Air with the indoor swimming pool.” He looked like a man you needed to be direct with.
”Know nothing about it.” He started to go back into his office.
”I think you cleaned that pool a long time ago. You knew my mother, the actress Nora ...”
He turned slowly and faced me again. ”Nora?” His weathered face softened as he studied me. ”You must be her daughter Diana.”
I nodded.
”Come on in.”
We followed him into a small room decorated with a large metal desk, an American flag on a stand in one corner, and a rifle hung on the wall behind his desk.
”Take a seat,” he gestured, We sat on two folding chairs.
”Sorry to hear about your mother.” He settled into a worn leather chair that had one arm missing and a jean jacket hung on the back. ”She was d.a.m.n good to me.” He grinned, baring yellow teeth.
Not another one who had an affair with her, I thought. Since I had never seen him, I tried to imagine him younger but there was no shadow of youth in his worn face.
”So what can I do for you?”
”I know you discovered the corpse at the Bel Air house. Could you tell us what you told the police?”
”I saw you on TV. You discovered that girl's body.”
”Jenny Parson.”
”And now you want to know what I told the police about another dead body.”
”That's right.”
”You in trouble?”
”Yes!” Ryan blurted desperately.
”I was asking her,” he said, eyeing Ryan suspiciously.
”Let's just say my life has become very complicated since I found Jenny Parson, and I'd like to un-complicate it.”
”Dealing with one corpse isn't enough for you?”
”You might be able to shed some light on the death of Jenny Parson.”
”You think the two are connected?”
”They could be.”
He shook his head. ”Sorry, but I can't help you.”
”You said my mother was good to you. How?”
His eyes s.h.i.+ned with memories. He was having an affair with her.
”Your mother talked about her career, about work, as if it could save a person. Make them whole. She never once asked about the war.” His brown eyes fell on Ryan. ”That would be 'Nam.”
”I a.s.sumed by the rifle.” Ryan crossed his bare legs importantly. ”M-21, right?”
Binder warily took in his curly red hair, Bermuda shorts, Hawaiian s.h.i.+rt, and Uggs. ”Right. Sniper rifle.”
”Accurate up to 750 yards. Light armor piercing and equipped with a Leatherwood 3x-9x adjustable ranging telescope.” Ryan sounded like a college student listing what he had memorized for a test.
”You shoot?”
”No. Only write about them.”
”You write about guns, but don't shoot?”
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