I Is for Innocent

semiquestionable slot, with my rear bumper hanging out into somebody's driveway. It was an invitation for a parking ticket, but maybe all the meter maids had gone home by then.
    I spent the rest of the afternoon doing busywork. My appointment with Laura Barney was coming up within the hour, but in truth, I was marking time until I had a chance to talk to Lonnie, who Ida Ruth kept assuring me was temporarily out of service. I found myself loitering in the vicinity of her desk, hoping I'd be nearby if he should happen to call in. "He never calls when he's working," she said patiently.
    "Don't you ever call him?"
    "Not if I'm smart. He gets annoyed when I do."
    "Don't you think he'd want to hear about it if his prime witness turned sour?"
    "What does he care? That's this case. He's tied up doing something else. I've worked for him six years and I know what he's like. I can leave a message, but he'll just ignore it until this trial is over with."
    "What am I supposed to do till he gets back? I can't afford to waste time and I hate spinning my wheels."
    "Do whatever you want. You're not going to get anything from him until nine o'clock Monday morning."
    I glanced at my watch. This was still Wednesday. It was 4:05. "I've got an appointment near St. Terry's in half an hour. After that, I think I'll go home and clean house," I said.
    "What's with the cleaning? That doesn't sound like you."
    "I spring clean every three months. It's a ritual I learned from my aunt. Beat all the throw rugs. Line-dry the sheets...."
    She looked at me with disgust. "Why don't you go on a hike up in Los Padres?"
    "I don't hang out in nature if I can help it, Ida Ruth. There are ticks up in the mountains as big as water bugs. Get one of those on your ankle, it'd suck all your blood out. Plus, you'd probably be afflicted with a pustular disease."
    She laughed, gesturing dismissively.
    I dispensed with a few miscellaneous matters on my desk and locked my office in haste. I was curious about David Barney's ex-wife, but somehow I didn't imagine she'd enlighten me much. I went downstairs and hoofed it the three and a half blocks to my car. Happily, I didn't have a ticket sitting on my windshield. Unhappily, I turned the key in the ignition and the car refused to start. I could get it to make lots of those industrious grinding noises, but the engine wouldn't turn over.
    I got out and went around to the rear, where I opened the hood. I stared at the engine like I knew what I was looking at. The only car part I can identify by name is the fan belt. It looked fine. I could see that some little doodads had come unhooked from the round thing. I said, "Oh." I stuck 'em back. I was just getting in the front seat when a car pulled halfway into the drive. I tried the engine and it fired up.
    "Can I help?" The guy driving had leaned across the front seat and rolled the window down on the passenger side.
    "No, thanks. I'm fine. Am I blocking your drive?"
    "No trouble. There's room enough. What was it, your battery? You want me to take a look?"
    What was this? The engine was running. I didn't need any help. "Thanks, but I've already got things under control," I said. To demonstrate my point, I revved the engine and shifted into neutral, temporarily perplexed about which way to go. I couldn't pull forward because of the car parked in front of me. I couldn't back up because his car was blocking my rear.
    He turned his engine off and got out. I left mine rumbling, wondering if I had time to roll up my window without seeming rude. He looked harmless enough, though his face was familiar. He was a nice-looking man, in his late forties with light brown wavy hair graying at the temples. He had a straight nose and a strong chin. Short-sleeved T-shirt, chinos, deck shoes without socks.
    "You live in the neighborhood?" he asked pleasantly.
    I knew this guy. I could feel my smile fade. I said, "You're David Barney."
    He braced his arms on the car and leaned toward the window. Subtly, I could feel the man invading my turf, though his manner remained benign. "Look, I know this is inappropriate. I know I'm way out of line here, but if I can just have five minutes, I swear I won't bother you again."
    I studied him briefly while I consulted my internal warning system. No bells, no whistles, no warning signs. While the man had annoyed me on the telephone, "up close and personal" he seemed like ordinary folk. It was broad daylight, a pleasant middle-class neighborhood. He didn't