"So I heard. The D.A.'s office got in touch with Mother. You're being charged with insurance fraud."
"And you believe that," I said flatly.
"Hey, I can understand it. Lance got his tit in a wringer and needed some cash. Burning the warehouse was better than a bank loan. All he needed was a little help from you."
"Oh, really? You seem well informed for someone who's been gone. Who fills you in?"
"What's it to you?"
"You can't believe everything you hear, Bass. Some-times you can't even believe your eyes. There's something going on here, and none of us has been smart enough to figure out what it is."
"I'm sure you'll come up with something. I under-stand you're very good at what you do."
I looked at Daniel. "How did you get sucked into this, or is that a bad choice of words?"
Daniel seemed uncertain how to reply so Bass an-swered for him. "We had to know what was going on. Obviously, you weren't going to tell us so we had to take steps." He paused to shrug. "We'll be turning the tapes over to the D.A., of course."
"Oh shit, yes. Of course. We who?"
"I'd rather not discuss that, in case you're inclined to retaliate," Bass said. "The point is, I knew Daniel and he knew you and it seemed like the logical way to gather information."
"And Andy Motycka? How does he fit in?"
"I don't know all the details on that. Why don't you tell me?"
"Well, I don't know the details either, Bass. My guess is that somebody pressured Andy into it. Maybe he got ner-vous when he found out that Darcy and I were onto him. Or maybe he got wind of Olive's death and felt like it was more than he had bargained for. Anyway, it looks like he's left town unless he's been murdered, too. Doesn't it bother you that Lyda Case died?"
"Why should it? I never knew the lady personally. Sure, I'm sorry she died, but I didn't have anything to do with it."
"How do you know you aren't next, Bass? Or maybe Daniel here? If you're not concerned about Olive, at least give some thought to your own vulnerability. You're deal-ing with someone who has less and less to lose."
"What makes you think he knows who it is?" Daniel said.
"What makes you think he doesn't?" I snapped.
22
When I got home, I turned on all of Henry's exterior lights, flooding his yard like a prison compound. I checked locks on all his doors and windows first and then secured my own. I cleaned and checked my little semiautomatic, load-ing eight cartridges into the magazine. It worried me that the sights were off. A gun is no protection if you can't control what it does. I stuck it in my handbag. I was going to have to leave it at a gun shop in the morning. Grimly I wondered if a gunsmith supplied loaners.
I brushed my teeth and washed my face, then sur-veyed my various burns, bruises, and minor cuts. I felt like shit, but I decided it was better to bypass the pain medica-tion. I was afraid of sleeping deeply on the off-chance that someone might have a go at me. I was afraid, too, that Lyda Case might appear in my dreams unannounced.
I watched the digital clock flick its way through the night. Outside, the wind was hot and dry, teasing the palm fronds into rattling conspiracies. The air in my apartment seemed stifling, sounds muffled by the heat. Twice I got up and moved silently into the bathroom where I stood in the shadows of the bathtub, peering out of the window. The tree branches bucked in the wind. Leaves scuttled along the street. Dust was funneled up out of nowhere into whirling spirals. Once a car passed slowly, its headlights fanning up against my ceiling. I pictured Daniel sheltered in the protective curve of Bass's body and I envied them their security. In the dead of night, personal safety seems more important than propriety.
I slept, finally, as the darkness was lifting to the soft gray of dawn. The wind had died and the ensuing silence was just as unsettling as the erratic creak of the live oak in my neighbor's yard. I woke at 8:15 with a start, disoriented by the sense of the day gone all wrong. I wanted to talk to Ava at Wood/Warren as soon as the plant opened, which meant I'd have to skip my run. I was going to have to live with the brooding dread that was circulating through my bones. Exercise sweeps that away as nothing else can. Without the jog, I suspected the anxiety would accumu-late. I dragged myself into the shower, then dressed and made a quick pot of coffee, double-strength, which I poured into a thermos and sipped as I drove the ten miles to Colgate.
Lance wasn't expected until after 10:00, and Terry was on a leave of absence, but Ava was at her desk, looking dark and sour. She'd had her cracked nail repaired and the color had shifted from harsh red to a mauve, with a chev-ron of dark maroon painted on each fingertip. Her outfit was purple jersey with a cross-chest bandolier of red, alto-gether dazzling, I thought.