J is for Judgement

up the outside stairs and into the building. I turned right again, pushing through the turn-stiles designed to capture book thieves. The city directories and various telephone books from towns all across the state were shelved on the first floor to the left of the reference desk. I found the telephone book for Lompoc and leafed through the pages where I stood. I didn't want to act as if I cared enough to sit.
    There was only one "Kinsey" listed, not Burton but Cornelia, my mother's mother, with the telephone number but no address. I found the Polk Directory for Lompoc and Vandenberg Air Force Base, checking the section where the telephone numbers were listed in order, beginning with the prefix. Cornelia was listed with an address on Willow Avenue. I checked the Polk Directory for the year before and saw that Burton was listed with her. The obvious inference was that she'd been widowed sometime between this year's census and the last. Terrific. What a deal. First time I find out I have a grandfather, he's dead. I made a note of the address on one of the deposit slips at the back of my checkbook. Half the people I know use deposit slips in lieu of business cards. Why don't banks add a few blanks back there for memos? I shoved the checkbook in my bag again and resolutely forgot about it. Later, I'd decide what I wanted to do.
    I went back to the law office and let myself in the side entrance. When I opened the door, I found the message light blinking on my answering machine. I pressed the playback button and then went about the business of opening a window while I listened.
    "Miss Millhone, this is Harris Brown. I'm a retired Santa Teresa police lieutenant and I just got a call from Lieutenant Whiteside over there who tells me you're trying to locate Wendell Jaffe. As I believe he mentioned, that was one of the last cases I worked before I left the department, and I'd be happy to discuss some of the details with you if you'll give me a call. I'll be in and out this afternoon, but you can probably reach me between two and three-fifteen at . . ."
    I snatched up a pen and caught the number as he re- cited it. I checked my watch. Poot. It was only twelve forty-five. I tried the number anyway on the off chance he'd be there. No such luck. I tried Renata Huff again, but she wasn't home, either. I still had my hand on the receiver when the phone rang. "Kinsey Millhone Investigations," I said.
    "May I speak to Mrs. Millhome?" some woman asked in a sing-song voice.
    "This is she," I replied with caution. This was going to be a pitch.
    "Mrs. Millhome, this is Patty Kravitz with Telemarketing Incorporated? How, are you today?" She'd been instructed to smile at this point so her voice would sound very warm and friendly.
    I ran my tongue along the inside of my cheek. "Fine. What about yourself?"
    "That's good, Mrs. Millhome, we know you're a busy person, but we're conducting a survey for an ex- citing new product and wonder if you could take a few minutes to answer some questions. If you're willing to assist us, we have a nice prize already set aside for you. Can we count on your help?"
    I could hear the babble of other voices in the boiler room behind her. "What's the product?"
    "I'm sorry, but we're not allowed to divulge that information. I am permitted to indicate that this is an airline-related service and within the next few months will result in the introduction of an innovative new concept in business and leisure travel. Can we take just a few minutes out of your busy schedule?"
    "Sure, why not?"
    "That's good. Now, Mrs. Millhome, are you single, married, divorced, or widowed?"
    I was really liking her sincere, spontaneous manner as she read from the laminated card in front of her. I said, "Widowed."
    "I'm sorry to hear that," she said in a perfunctory manner as she breezed right on. "Do you own your home or rent?"
    "Well, I used to own two homes," I said casually. "One here in Santa Teresa and one in Fort Myers, Florida, but now that John's passed away, I've had to sell the property down there. The only place I rent is an apartment in New York City."
    "Really."
    "I do quite a bit of traveling. That's why I'm helping you with the research," I said. I could practically hear her making frantic flagging motions to her supervisor. She had a live one on the line, and she might need help.
    We moved on to the matter of my annual income, which I knew would be substantial with that extra million coming in. I proceeded to lie, fib,