Part 18 (1/2)

”Yes, but-”

”Well, then? What's so difficult?”

Alvin threw his hands up in the air. ”The reasonable doubt. Where is it? What is it? I don't have one.”

”What about the witnesses? The alibi?” Vida demanded.

”I already told you, they're flimsy,” Alvin responded in a weary voice. ”Hey, I don't want to lose my first homicide case.”

”Hold on,” I said. ”Do you honestly believe Ronnie killed Carol?”

Alvin's boyish face became miserable. ”I don't know.”

”That,” I said, rising from the chair, ”is an easy out. For you.”

Vida and I left.

Kendra had mentioned that she worked at a QFC grocery store, a big chain with outlets in almost every Seattle neighborhood. From the time frame she'd given me about the night of the murder and judging from the location of her family home, I guessed that she was probably employed at one of three locations: on Forty-fifth Street near her parents' house, off Roosevelt Way south of her apartment, or possibly the store in Ballard, a block from where I'd had lunch on Easter Sunday.

The closest of the three was on Forty-fifth. Vida and I arrived there just after four o'clock. In my youth, the store had been Food Giant, a mecca for the working-cla.s.s residents of Wallingford, Fremont, and Green Lake. But again, change had swept away another landmark. A younger generation had moved in, with many of the newcomers connected to the University of Was.h.i.+ngton, a mile and a half away. The shelves and bins of the Forty-fifth Street QFC catered to health-conscious, organic-only, natural-food lovers.

The front-end manager had never heard of Kendra Addison. Vida was shaking her head at the organic artichokes when I spotted Kathy Addison entering the store.

”Well, well,” Vida murmured. ”Don't tell me she buys beans in bulk.”

”She's all yours,” I said, ducking back into the produce section. ”Kathy and I don't get along.”

Vida marched up to the front and grabbed a grocery cart just as Kathy wheeled away toward the deli department. I followed at a discreet distance, seemingly absorbed in a soda-pop display.

Conversation was initiated by Vida in front of fruit salads. Kathy seemed amiable. I wondered what spiel Vida was giving her as they headed for fish and meat.

Fifteen minutes later Vida was going through the express lane, having purchased toothpaste, bunion pads, and two cans of Ajax.

”I had to get something,” she announced when I met her out at the car. ”Otherwise, she'd have been suspicious.”

”She wasn't?” I asked.

”Heavens, no. I started out by mentioning how hard it is to cook for one person. Especially when your husband is no longer with you and your daughters have moved out.” Vida simpered a bit as we started off into heavy traffic on Forty-fifth.

”Kathy fell for that?”

”It's true,” Vida a.s.serted. ”In a way. Kathy told me she knew exactly what I meant, then I said that in my case, it was even more difficult because my granddaughter was adopted, and I'd never been sure if she felt accepted by me. I blamed myself, of course, for being inadequate. Kathy said it wasn't my fault, it was one of the problems of adoption. An adopted child should be grateful for having been placed in a loving family.”

”Did she admit she had an adopted daughter?” I asked, turning off onto Meridian Avenue to avoid the crosstown traffic.

”Yes,” Vida responded. ”She bragged about how she and her husband had treated Kendra-yes, she mentioned her by name-as if she were their own. Now, how do you do that when she's not? You love a child because you're the parent. You shouldn't pretend, as if there's shame in adoption.”

”What else did she say?” I asked, stopping at the Fiftieth Street light. The old Good Shepherd Home still stood on the block to my left, but it was no longer a refuge for wayward girls; now it was a community center. Another change. Ben couldn't threaten me anymore with being sent there to get thumped by the nuns and eat un-salted potato soup.

”Kathy mentioned what a lovely home they'd provided for Kendra,” Vida said, ”with every advantage. The main advantage seemed to be Kathy herself. She sacrificed everything for Kendra, including her career.”

”Which was?” I inquired.

”An interior decorator,” Vida replied, ”which explains the house you described. Unfortunately, she got off on a tangent regarding color schemes and fabrics and such. I finally lost her in feminine hygiene.”

”She didn't seem angry with Kendra for moving out?”

”No. She insisted that young people should try their wings.” Vida paused, her head swiveling. ”Where are we going?”

”To the QFC on Roosevelt,” I answered.

”Good,” said Vida. ”That's the one where Kendra works. Kathy told me that, too.”

I shot Vida an admiring glance. ”It's too bad we can't figure out a way to arrange another chat between you and Kathy.”

”But we can,” Vida replied as we pa.s.sed the entrance to I-5 and kept heading east. ”She gave me her phone number.”

My admiration soared. ”How did you manage that?”

”I humbled myself and asked for her advice,” Vida replied complacently. ”I told her that my granddaughter was a teenager, such a difficult age, and I was afraid that since her parents had moved her to another city and a different school, she might be tempted to drop out in her senior year. Kathy said that although that had never been a problem with Kendra, she-Kathy, of course-could certainly counsel me on how I might help my granddaughter and her parents weather the storm.”

I had to wait to turn left on Fifteenth Avenue, since Roosevelt is one way in this part of its north-south direction. While I waited for traffic to clear in the opposite lane, I glanced in the rearview mirror. There was no sign of the black Ford Taurus. Happily, I hadn't noticed anyone following us since our return to Seattle.

”Let's hope Kendra and Kathy don't compare notes about mature women who wear exotic hats,” I said as we headed for the Roosevelt business district.

”Exotic?” Vida echoed, smoothing her swallows. ”It's called flair. Besides, they're both too self-absorbed to pay much attention to someone else.”

At twenty minutes after five on a Tuesday afternoon, the store was busy. I spotted Kendra right away, helping load bags for a middle-aged woman with a long gray ponytail.

”Kendra said she got off at five-thirty, at least she did on the night of the murder,” I said in an undertone to Vida as we hid ourselves in the flower section. ”Let's see if she quits work then. We can grab her before she goes to change.”

The plan struck Vida as sensible. We admired the flowers, browsed the paperback books, and gazed at the magazines. Kendra made five trips to the parking lot and, after the last one, nodded to one of the checkers. She started toward the back of the store; we were right on her heels.

”Are you free for dinner?” I asked, a mere two feet behind her.

Startled, Kendra stopped so abruptly that I b.u.mped into her. ”Oh! You scared me,” she gasped, a hand to her breast. ”What do you want now?”

Kendra's scowl didn't make me feel optimistic. Fortunately, Vida intervened. ”My dear,” she said, placing a kindly hand on the girl's arm, ”we've come to the conclusion that you may hold the key to this entire mystery. May we treat you to supper so that you can enlighten us?”

”I don't know what you're talking about,” Kendra retorted, pulling her arm away. ”You two give me the creeps.”

”Canlis?” Vida said, mentioning the city's most revered restaurant.

”Canlis?” Kendra's eyes seemed to pop out of her head. ”Are you kidding?”

”Of course not,” Vida replied. ”Do you have your car with you?”

”Yes, but...” Kendra's hand fluttered over her QFC ap.r.o.n. ”I'm not dressed for Canlis. I mean, I've got my other clothes here, but they're jeans and a sweats.h.i.+rt.”

”We'll make a six-thirty reservation and meet you there,” I said. ”How's that?”