D Is for Deadbeat

and filled it with essentials, including the accursed cashier's check.
    I dropped the car off at an auto glass shop not far from my office and hoofed it the rest of the way to work. Even with low-heeled pumps, my feet hurt and my pantyhose made me feel like I was walking around with a hot, moist hand in my crotch.
    I let myself into the office and initiated my usual morning routines. The phone rang as I was plugging in the coffeepot.
    "Miss Millhone, this is Ramona Westfall."
    "Oh hello," I said. "How are you?" Secretly, my stomach did a little twist and I wondered if Tony Gahan had told her about his freak-out at the Clockworks the night before.
    "I'm fine," she said. "I'm calling because there's something I'd like to discuss with you and I hoped you might have some time free this morning."
    "Well, my schedule's clear, but I don't have a car. Can you come down here?"
    "Yes, of course. I'd prefer that anyway. Is ten convenient? It's short notice, I know."
    I glanced at my watch. Twenty minutes. "That's fine," I said. She made some good-bye noises and clicked off. I depressed the line and then put a call through to Barbara Daggett at her mother's house to verify the time of the funeral. She was unavailable to come to the phone, but Eugene Nickerson told me the services were at 2:00 and I said I'd be there.
    I took a few minutes to open my mail from the day before, posting a couple of checks to accounts receivable, then made a quick call to my insurance agent, giving her the sketchy details about my car window. I'd no more than put the phone down when it rang again.
    "Kinsey, this is Barbara Daggett. Something's come up. When I arrived here this morning, there was some woman sitting on the porch steps who says she's Daddy's wife."
    "Oh God. Lovella."
    "You know about her?"
    "I met her last week when I was down in L.A., trying to get a line on your father's whereabouts."
    "And you knew about this claim of hers?"
    "I never heard the details, but I gathered they were living in some kind of common-law relationship."
    "Kinsey, she has a marriage certificate. I saw it myself. Why didn't you tell me what was going on? I was speechless. She stood out on the front porch, screaming bloody murder until I finally had to call the police. I can't believe you didn't at least mention it."
    "When was I supposed to do that? At the morgue?
    Over at the funeral home with your mother in a state of collapse?"
    "You could have called me, Kinsey. Any time. You could have come to my office to discuss it."
    "Barbara, I could have done half a dozen things, but I didn't. Frankly, I was feeling protective of your father and I was hoping you wouldn't have to find out about this 'alleged' marriage. That certificate could be a fake. The whole thing could be trumped up, and if not, you've still got problems enough without adding bigamy to his list of personal failings."
    "That isn't yours to decide. Now Mother wants to know what the ruckus was about and I have no idea what to say."
    "Well, I can see why you're upset, but I'm not sure I'd do it any differently."
    "I can't believe you'd take that attitude! I don't appreciate being kept in the dark," she said. "I hired you to investigate and I expect you to pass on whatever comes to light."
    "Your father hired me long before you did," I said. That silenced her for a moment and then she took off again. "To do what? You never did specify."
    "Of course I didn't. He talked to me confidentially. It was all bullshit, but it's still not mine to flap around. I couldn't stay in business if I blabbed all the information that came my way."
    "I'm his daughter. I have a right to know. Especially if my father's a bigamist. What else am I paying you for?" "You might be paying me to exercise a little judgment of my own," I said. "Come on, Barbara. Be reasonable. Suppose I'd told you. What purpose would that have served? If your parents are still legally married, Lovella has no claim whatever and, for all I know, she's perfectly aware of that. Why add to your grief when she might well have slunk away without a word?"
    "How did she know he died in the first place?"
    "Not from me, I can tell you that. I'm not an idiot. The last thing in the world I wanted was her up here camping out on your doorstep. Maybe she read it in the paper. Maybe she heard it on the news."
    She murmured something, temporarily mollified.
    "What happened when the cops got there?" I asked.
    There was another pause while she debated whether to move on