Part 8 (2/2)
”Or just wanted to cause trouble,” Henrietta said. ”He strikes me as a bully.” She drummed her fingernails next to her coffee cup on the end table. ”I didn't speak very well of your cousin, Emma. May I call you that?” She saw me nod and went on. ”Sometimes I tend to sum up people kind of fast. He was lazy and he drank and all that, but the only reason I thought he killed Carol was because the police said so.”
”You don't agree?” I asked.
Henrietta's expression was uncertain. ”Let's say that if you have doubts, then I shouldn't be so hasty. Ronnie seems like the most likely suspect, but I'd never think of him as having what you call a killer instinct. Does that make sense?”
I didn't say that killer instinct wasn't always necessary when it came to murder. Sometimes people killed out of frustration, stupidity, blind rage. They murdered almost by accident, and grieved as much as any loved one's survivor. Instead, I agreed with Henrietta. ”He's much too easygoing.” It seemed to be true, but in fact, she probably knew Ronnie better than I did.
She nodded. ”He seemed too laid-back. The few times I saw him and Carol together, he treated her real nice. Of course they did fight, but I figure it was Carol who started things.”
Once again, I inquired about the dog, and asked if I could get Mr. Chan's number. Henrietta knew it by heart and told me to use the phone in her bedroom. ”Ronnie was real fond of that dog,” she said. ”He taught it to do tricks. Last Christmas he got Budweiser one of those red-and-green hats with bells on it. It was real cute, even if the dog was a pest.”
I left Vida to continue the conversation and made my way into the bedroom. It took some explaining to make Mr. Chan understand who I was and what I wanted. His English wasn't proficient. At last he told me that the dog was at his son's place in Lake City. It was unclear whether or not they intended to keep the animal, but I got Peter Chan's number and called his home in the city's north end.
Peter, who sounded as if he'd been born in this country, was in, but hedged about Budweiser. The younger Chans had two boys, five and seven, who liked the dog. He told me to call back in a week or so.
Vida and Henrietta were discussing Kendra when I returned. Apparently, Vida had told our hostess about the new apartment and the boyfriend.
”Shenanigans,” Henrietta said with a wink.
”Of a most peculiar sort,” Vida a.s.serted. ”Whatever happened to cla.s.sic lovemaking?”
Henrietta let out a gusty laugh. ”Variety's the spice of life. A little innovation can perk things up. If you know what I mean.” She winked again.
Vida apparently didn't know. But instead of showing disapproval, she moved uneasily on the sofa. ”Perhaps,” she allowed, then changed the subject. ”You never saw Kendra with the boyfriend?”
”I hardly saw Kendra,” Henrietta replied, looking pained. ”She seemed pleasant enough, but not one to visit with the likes of me. You know how these young folks are. If you've got a few wrinkles and a couple of gray hairs, they think you should be put to sleep.”
”So true,” Vida sighed, feeding into Henrietta's opinion of The Young, even though I knew of no one in Alpine, regardless of age, who would dare ignore my House and Home editor.
”Look here,” Henrietta said as she showed us to the door, ”if you have any more questions or if I can help you in any other way, feel free to stop by. I don't go back to work until Thursday.”
We a.s.sured her we'd be in touch. She was smiling as we headed for the parking lot, but when I glanced over my shoulder a moment later, Henrietta's shoulders were slumped, and her expression was sad.
We were getting into the Lexus when we saw the white Mazda Miata pull in. It was Kendra, and she was alone. The sports car stopped halfway into the parking area, where Kendra whipped out a flip phone and dialed frantically.
”What's she doing?” Vida asked, craning her neck.
I hadn't yet started the car. ”She's calling somebody.”
”I see that now,” Vida replied, still gawking.
The phone disappeared, but Kendra didn't move the car. The Miata blocked our exit. After a few moments she rolled down her window and leaned out.
”I don't know who you are,” she shouted, ”but you're stalking me. I just called the cops.”
KENDRA IMMEDIATELY ROLLED the window back up and sat with her arms folded. She looked furious. I compared her with the graduation photo I'd seen at the Addison house. Kendra's face had changed, matured, the cheekbones more prominent. Her curly golden hair with its reddish highlights was pulled back into what appeared to be a ponytail.
”I guess postcoital bliss doesn't agree with her,” I muttered.
”Emma...” Vida's tone was heavy with reproach.
”Let's try to explain,” I said, but Vida was already getting out of the car.
”See here, young woman,” she began as I dutifully followed on the parking lot's gravel surface, ”we're not stalking you. We're trying to help Ronnie Mallett.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Kendra thrust out her chin and bared her teeth. They were excellent teeth, white and even, and had no doubt set the Addisons back a few grand, courtesy of the orthodontist.
Vida was undaunted. She bent far down to bang on the window. The gravel's uneven footing threw her off balance; she staggered and fell against the car, the cartwheel hat sailing off to land on the Miata's hood.
Kendra not only stopped making faces, but burst out laughing as she finally rolled down the window.
”That's... too... funny,” she gasped between peals of laughter. ”How much would you take for that hat? It's wonderful!”
As she righted herself, Vida looked furious. ”That's not funny. Look what's happened to my b.u.t.terflies. One fell off.”
Kendra stopped laughing, but she still seemed amused. As Vida retrieved her hat and tried to stick the blue b.u.t.terfly in with its red, yellow, and orange mates, I approached the car window.
”I'm Ronnie's cousin,” I said. ”I'm trying to help him. Could we ask you a couple of questions?”
Kendra rolled her eyes. ”Oh, brother!” She paused, palms pressing against the steering wheel, gaze now fixed on Vida, who was putting her hat back on. ”Okay, I'll give you five minutes. I'm still cleaning out my mother's apartment.”
Vida and I walked slowly back toward Carol's unit. I half expected to see Henrietta in the doorway, or at least peeking out between the drapes. There was no sign of her, however. Perhaps she was making more coffee.
”Okay,” Kendra said as she joined us, her step and speech brisk. ”Let's get this over with.”
She unlocked the door and went in ahead of us. The apartment looked exactly as we had left it when Henrietta gave us the tour. Like her adoptive mother, Kendra didn't offer us chairs. She merely stood in the middle of the room, fists on hips, her trim figure clad in blue jeans and a black knit top.
Vida formally introduced us. Kendra didn't put out a hand. ”So why do you think I can help you and your dorky cousin?” she demanded.
I tried to phrase my words carefully. ”You must have been happy to meet your birth mother. I'm sure that experience answered many questions for you. But I'll bet it also opened up some new ones. Such as, why she had a rather poor track record with men. You knew that your birth father hadn't married her, that she'd been divorced, that her other boyfriends seemed to be unsatisfactory. When you finally met her, she was going with my cousin Ronnie, who-I'll admit-is no prize. Tell me-did you bad-mouth him to the police simply because he was there?”
I thought I'd exhibited tact and self-control. Kendra didn't agree. She burst out laughing. ”What a bunch of c.r.a.p. My real mother's problem was low self-esteem. Her brother was the family favorite, a son, Pop's pride and joy. She told me all about that. He doted on Chuckie, and ignored my mother. Grandma Nerstad was a real cipher. She did everything that her jerk of a husband wanted.”
I glanced at Vida. I could tell from her expression that she didn't disagree with Kendra's a.s.sessment of the Nerstads.
”As for Ronnie Mallett,” Kendra went on, a faintly vicious note in her voice, ”he was a real loser. So were the other men in her life, but what would you expect? All she needed was a good therapist to show her how special she was. Right after we met, I tried to get her into therapy, but she put it off.”
Simple solutions for a simple teenage girl, I thought. ”Someone who's a loser isn't necessarily a killer,” I pointed out.
”Ronnie didn't like being bossed,” Kendra said, her tone turning bitter. ”He drank too much. He lost it and strangled my real mother. End of story.” The girl's face was now frozen, and there was sadness in her blue eyes.
I shook my head. ”That's not evidence, Kendra. I got the impression you had it in for Ronnie because he made a pa.s.s at you.”
”So? Lots of guys do that. Besides, it wasn't real hard to discourage Ronnie. All I had to do was tell him that Gavin would beat the c.r.a.p out of him if he ever touched me again.”
”Gavin?” Vida said. ”Is that your beau?”
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