G Is for Gumshoe

to the bed. The maid came in to turn the sheets down and there we were grappling on the floor. We never even heard her knock. It turned out she was a patient of his at the clinic where he works. You know how you do when the phone rings and you're on the pot? He sort of scrambled to his feet and hobbled off to the bathroom with his trousers down around his knees."
    "Vera, if I laugh now, I'll end up peeing in my pants." I gave her a quick pat and headed straight to the nearest stall, relieving myself while I talked to her across the top of the cubicle. "What happened to the maid? She must have been mortified," I said. "Her own doctor with his bum hanging out of his pants? My God."
    "She was out of there like a shot and that's when he proposed. He started screaming it was my fault. He said if I'd marry him we could grapple on our own floor without all the interruptions-"
    "The man's got a point."
    "You really think so?"
    I flushed the toilet and emerged. "Vera, do me a favor. Just marry the guy. He's a doll. You'll be deliriously happy for eternity. I promise." I washed my hands and dried them, grabbing up my shoulder bag. "Dietz is waiting for me. I gotta go or he'll think I've been kidnapped. I get dibs on maid of honor, but I won't wear dusty rose. Let me know when you set the date." When I left, she was staring after me with a dazed look on her face.
    As I passed California Fidelity, I caught sight of Darcy at the file cabinet behind the receptionist's desk. She was barely moving, apparently intent on cooling her fevered brow against the cold metal of the cabinet top where she'd laid her head. I detoured into the office. She managed to raise her eyes without moving her head. "Vera chew your ass out?"
    "We're fine. She's getting married. You can be the flower girl," I said. "I need to know what you were talking about when I mentioned that Agnes died. You said it was weird. What was weird?"
    "Oh, I wasn't referring to her death," Darcy said. "That's the name of a book."
    "A book?"
    "Agnes Grey. It's a novel by Anne Bronte, written in eighteen forty-seven. I know because it was the subject of my senior thesis at UNLV."
    "You went to college in Las Vegas?"
    "What's wrong with that? I grew up there. Anyway, I was a lit major and it was the only paper I ever wrote that netted me an A-plus."
    "I thought the name was Charlotte Bronte."
    "This is a sister. The youngest. Most people only know about the two older ones, Charlotte and Emily."
    A chill tiptoed over me like a daddy longlegs. "Emily…"
    "She wrote Wuthering Heights."
    "Right," I said faintly. Darcy went on talking, waxing eloquent about the Brontes. I was sifting back through Agnes's account of Emily's death, the hapless "Lottie" who was simpleminded and couldn't remember how to get in and out the back door. Was her real name Charlotte? Could Agnes Grey's real name be Anne something, or was that strictly a coincidence? I moved back toward the corridor.
    "Kinsey?" Darcy was startled, but I didn't want to stop and explain what was going on. I didn't get it myself.
    When I got to my office, Dietz was just hanging up the phone. "Did you talk to Rochelle?" I asked, distracted.
    "It's all taken care of. She's hopping in her car and heading straight up. She has a friend who runs a motel on Cabana called the Ocean View. I said we'd meet her there at four. You know the place?"
    "As a matter of fact, I do," I said. The Ocean View had been the setting of my last and most enlightening encounter with an ex-husband named Daniel Wade. Not my best day, but liberating after a fashion. What had Agnes told me about Emily? She was killed in an earthquake. Down in Brawley or somewhere else? Lottie was the first to go. Then the chimney fell on Emily. There was more, but I couldn't remember what it was.
    Dietz glanced at his watch. "What shall we do till she gets here? You want to pop by your place?"
    "Give me a minute to think." I sat down in my client chair and ran my hand through my hair. Dietz had the good sense to hold his tongue and let me ruminate. At this point, I didn't even want to have to stop and bring him up to speed. Could Emily's death have been the event that precipitated Agnes Grey's departure from Santa Teresa? Had she actually been here? If the name Agnes Grey was a phony, then what was her real name? And why the subterfuge?
    "Let me try this on you," I said to Dietz. I took a few minutes then to fill him in on Darcy's remark. "Suppose her name really wasn't Agnes