E Is for Evidence

stead.
    I was holding my breath, and I shook my arms out like a runner in the middle of a race, moving then toward the rear of the house. I knocked at the back door, cupping my hand against the glass to see if Terry or the housekeeper was home. There was no sign of anyone. I waited, then knocked again. In the lower right-hand corner of the kitchen window there was an alarm-company decal that said "Armed Response" across the bottom. I stepped back so I could scan the area. There was a red light showing on the alarm panel to the right, indicating that the system was armed. If the light was green, any burglar would know it was safe to start work. I took a business card from my handbag and sketched a quick note, asking Terry to call me when he got home. I got in my car again and drove to the Woods'. For all I knew, he was still there.
    Early-afternoon sunlight poured down on the house with its dazzling white facade. The grass was newly cut, as short and densely green as wool-pile carpeting. Beyond the bluffs, the ocean was an intense navy blue, the surface feathered with whitecaps that suggested a strong wind coming off the water. The hot desert wind was blowing at my back, and the palms tossed restlessly where the two met. Ash's little red sports car was parked in the circular driveway, along with a BMW. There was no sign of Terry's Mercedes. I walked around the house to the long, low brick porch on the seaward side and rang the bell.
    The maid let me in and left me in the foyer while she went to fetch Miss Ebony. I had asked for Ash, but I was willing to take pot luck. I wished fervently that I had a theory, but this was still a fishing expedition. I couldn't be far from understanding the truth, but I had no clear con-cept what the revelation might be. Under the circum-stances, all I knew to do is persist, plowing through. Bass was the only member of the family I was hoping to avoid. Not that it made any difference at that point, but pride is pride. Who wants to make small talk with your ex-spouse's lover? I had to be careful that my sense of injury didn't get in the way of spotting his role in this.
    "Hello, Kinsey."
    Ebony was standing at the bottom of the stairs, her pale oval face as smooth as an egg, expressionless, com-posed. She was wearing a shirtwaist dress of black silk that emphasized her wide shoulders and slim hips, the long shapely legs. Her red spike heels must have added five inches to her height. Her hair was skinned back from the taut bones of her face. A swath of blusher on each cheek suggested high stress instead of the good health it was meant to convey. In the family mythology, she was the thrill-seeker, addicted to the sort of treacherous hobbies that can spell early death: sky-diving, helicopter skiing, climbing the sheer faces of impossible cliffs. In the family dynamic, maybe she'd been designated to live recklessly, just as Bass lived with vanity, idleness, and self-indulgence.
    I said, "I thought we should talk."
    "About what?"
    "Olive's death. Lyda Case is dead, too."
    "Bass told me that."
    My smile had a bitter feeling to it. "Ah. Bass. How did he get involved? Somehow I get the feeling you might have put a call through to him in New York."
    "That's right."
    "Dirty pool, Ebony."
    She shrugged, undismayed. "It's your own damn fault."
    "My fault?"
    "I asked you what was going on and you wouldn't say. It's my family, Kinsey. I have a right to know."
    "I see. And who thought about bringing Daniel into it?"
    "I did, but Bass was the one who tracked him down. He and Daniel had an affair years ago, until Bass broke it off. There was unfinished business between them. Daniel was more than happy to accommodate him in the hopes of rekindling the fires."
    "Selling me out in the process," I said.
    She smiled slightly, but her gaze was intent. "You didn't have to agree, you know. You must have had some unfinished business of your own or you wouldn't have been suckered in so easily."
    "True," I said. "That was smart. God, he nicked right in there and gave you everything, didn't he?"
    "Not quite."
    "Oh? Something missing? Some little piece of the scheme incomplete?"
    "We still don't know who killed Olive."
    "Or Lyda Case," I said, "though the motive was proba-bly not the same. I suspect she somehow figured out what was going on. Maybe she went back through Hugh's pa-pers and came up with something significant."
    "Like what?"
    "Hey, if I knew that, I'd probably know who killed her, wouldn't I?"
    Ebony