C Is for Corpse

with her need to unload.
    Finally, she started talking, her voice so low I was forced to lean forward so I could hear her. "We'd been married nearly fifteen years. Dwight was on medication for high blood pressure and it made him impotent. We'd never had a highly charged sex life anyway. I got restless and found..... someone else."
    "A lover."
    She nodded, eyes closed as if the recollection hurt her. "Dwight walked in on us one night in bed. He was crazed. He got a gun from the study and came back and there was a struggle."
    I caught the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. I glanced toward the door and she did too, her voice becoming urgent.
    "Don't breathe a word of this. Please."
    "Trust me, I won't. What's the rest?"
    She hesitated. "I shot Dwight. It was an accident, but somebody has the gun with my fingerprints on it."
    "And that's what Bobby was searching for?"
    She nodded almost imperceptibly.
    "But who has it? Your ex-lover?"
    Nola raised a finger to her lips. There was a tap at the door and Dr. Fraker stuck his head in, apparently surprised to see me sitting there. "Oh, hi, Kinsey. Is that your car in the drive? I was just about to take off, and I couldn't figure out who was here."
    "I stopped by to talk to Nola about Glen," I said. "I don't think she's doing too well and I was wondering if we shouldn't work out some arrangement to take turns spending time with her now that Derek's gone."
    He shook his head regretfully. "Dr. Kleinert told me she'd kicked him out. Damn shame. Not that I have any use for him myself, but she's got her share of trouble right now. I hate to see her saddled with something else."
    "Me, too," I said. "Do you need me to move my car?"
    "No, that's fine," he said, looking over at Nola. "I've got some work to do at the hospital, but I shouldn't be back too late. Do we have dinner plans?"
    She smiled pleasantly, though she had to clear her throat before she could speak. "I thought we'd eat here if that's all right with you."
    "Sure, it's fine. Well. I'll let you two hatch your little schemes. Nice to see you, Kinsey."
    "Actually we're finished," Nola said, getting up.
    "Oh, well good," he said, "I'll walk you out."
    I knew she was just using his appearance as a way to terminate the conversation, but I couldn't think of any delaying tactics, especially with the two of them standing there looking at me.
    We exchanged brief good-byes and then Dr. Fraker held the door for me and I left the den. As I glanced back, I could see that Nola's expression was tinged with anxiety, and I suspected she was wishing she'd kept her secret to herself. She had a lot at stake: freedom, money, status, respectability. She was vulnerable to anyone who knew what I now knew. I wondered how desperate she was to hang on to what she had and what kind of payment had been extracted from her as a result.

Chapter 23
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    I went into the office. There was a pile of mail on the floor under the door slot. I gathered that up and tossed it on my desk, opening the French doors to let in some fresh air. The message light on my answering machine was blinking. I sat down and pressed the playback button.
    The message was from my friend at the telephone company with a report on the disconnect for S. Blackman, whose full name was Sebastian S., male, age sixty-six, with a forwarding address in Tempe, Arizona. Well, that didn't sound very promising. If all else failed, I could double back and check that out to see if there was any tie to Bobby. Somehow I doubted it. I made a note in his file. There was a certain security in having it all committed to paper. At least that way, if anything happened to me, someone could come along afterward and pick up the thread – a grim notion, but not unrealistic given Bobby's fate.
    I spent the next hour and a half going through my mail, catching up on my bookkeeping. A couple of checks had come in and I entered those in accounts receivable, making out a deposit slip. One statement had been shipped back to me unopened, marked "Addressee Unknown. Return to Sender" with a big purple finger pointing right at me. God, a deadbeat. I hated getting stung for services rendered. I'd done some good work for that guy, too. I'd known he was a slow pay, but I didn't think he'd actually stiff me for my fee. I set it aside. I'd have to track him down when I had some time.
    It was almost noon by then and I glanced at the phone. I knew there was a call I should make and I picked up the receiver, punching in