B is for Burglar
Page 11"When was this?"
"Middle of January. Something like that." She paused, watching the ash on her cigarette. Her eyes came up to mine again, her expression remote.
"And you've been staying here ever since?"
"Sure, why not? I'd just lost the lease on my place and she said I could move in."
"Why'd she take off?"
"You'd have to ask her that."
"When did you last hear from her?"
"Two weeks ago, something like that."
"And she was in Sarasota then?"
"That's right. Staying with some people she met."
"Can you tell me who?"
I felt as if we were playing a parlor game that I couldn't possibly win. Pat Usher was having a better time than I was too, and I resented that. I went at it again. Was it Mrs. Peacock in the library with the rope?
"Can you tell me anything else you think might help?"
"I wasn't aware I'd helped so far," she said with a smirk.
"I was trying an optimistic approach," I snapped.
She shrugged. "Sorry to dim your little ray of hope. I've told you everything I know."
"I guess we'll have to let it go at that. I'll leave you my card. If she calls again, would you have her contact me?"
"Hey, sure. No sweat."
I took a card out of my wallet and put it on the table as I got up. "I understand you're getting some hassles from people here."
"Can you believe that? I mean, what's it to them? I've paid my rent. No parties, no loud music. I hang my laundry out and the manager comes unglued. Threw a fit. I don't get it." She got to her feet and led me to the door. The caftan billowing out behind her made her seem like a larger woman than she was. As I went past the kitchen, I caught sight of some cardboard boxes stacked up near the sink. She turned and followed my gaze.
"I'll probably find a motel close by if it comes to that. The last thing in the world I need is the sheriff on my case. That's who I thought you were, as a matter of fact. They got women sheriffs these days, did you know that? Sheriffettes."
"What about you?" she asked. "How'd you become a detective. That's a weird way to make a living, isn't it?"
She was becoming real chatty now that I was on my way out and I wondered if I might pump her for more information. She seemed eager to prolong the contact, like someone who's been cooped up too long with a pack of preschool kids.
"I sort of backed into detective work," I said, "but it beats selling shoes. You don't work yourself?"
"Not me. I'm retired. I don't ever want to work again."
"You're lucky. I don't have much choice. If I don't work, I don't eat."
She smiled for the first time. "I used to spend my life waiting for a break. Then I figured out I better make my own luck, you know what I mean? Nobody gives you nothing in this world, that's for sure."
I feigned agreement, glancing down toward the parking lot.
"I better be on my way," I said. "But could I ask you one more thing?"
"Like what."
"Do you know Elaine's other friends? There must be someone who knows how to get in touch with her, don't you think?"
"How'd you connect up this time? I understand she flew down almost on impulse."
She seemed momentarily perplexed at that, but regained her composure. "Yeah, that's right, she did. She called me from the airport in Miami and then picked me up on her way through."
"In a rented car?"
"Yeah. An Oldsmobile Cutlass. White."
"How long was she here then before she took off?"
Pat shrugged again. "I don't know. Not long. A couple of days, I guess." "Did she seem at all nervous or upset?"
She became faintly irritated at that. "Wait a minute. What are you getting at? Maybe I could come up with something if I knew what was on your mind."
"I'm not sure," I said mildly. "I'm just fishing around, trying to figure out what's going on. The people who know her in Santa Teresa think it's unusual that she'd disappear without a word."