K Is for Killer

see my place?"
    "Maybe tomorrow night," I said. "I got some stuff to do tonight."
    "Pop by if you can. I got it fixed up real cute. If business is slow, I'm usually home by one... provided Lester isn't bugging me to score. Thanks for dinner and the ride."
    "Thanks for the cut."
    I watched her clop off into the night, high heels tapping on the short brick walk to her front door, dark hair trailing down her back like a veil. I fired up my car and headed for the Keplers' house.
    I parked in the driveway and made my way along the flagstone path leading to the porch. The porch light was off, and the yard was dark as pitch. I picked my way up the low front stairs, which were dimly illuminated by the light from the living room windows. Janice had told me they usually ate dinner at this hour. I tapped on the front door and from the direction of the kitchen heard a chair scrape back.
    Mace answered my knock, his body blocking most of the light spilling out the door. I smelled tuna casserole. He had a paper napkin in one hand, and he made a swipe at his mouth. "Oh, it's you. We're eating supper right now."
    "Is Janice here?"
    "She's already left. She works eleven to seven every day, but some girl got sick and she went in early. Try tomorrow," he said. He was already moving to shut the door in my face.
    "Mind if I talk to you?"
    His face went momentarily blank, just a tiny flick of temper that wiped out any other expression. "Pardon?"
    "I wondered if you'd object to a quick chat," I said.
    "Yeah, I do. I work a long, hard day, and I don't like people watching while I eat."
    I felt a flash of heat, as though somebody'd taken a blow torch to the back of my neck. "Maybe later," I said. I turned and moved down the porch steps. As the door closed behind me, he muttered something obscene.
    I backed out of the drive with a chirp and threw the car into first. What a turd. I did not like the man at all. He was a horse's ass and a jerk, and I hoped he had itchy hemorrhoids. I drove randomly, trying to cool down. I couldn't even think what to do with myself. I would have gone to Frankie's to talk to Janice, but I knew I'd say spiteful things about her spouse.
    Instead, I went to the Caliente Cafe, looking for Cheney Phillips. It was still early for a Wednesday night, but CC's was already crowded, sound system blasting and enough cigarette smoke to make breathing unpleasant. For a place with no Happy Hour, no two-for-one deals, and no hors d'oeuvres (unless you count chips and salsa as a form of canapé), CC's does a lively business from the time it opens at five p.m. until it closes at two in the morning. Cheney was sitting at the bar in a dress shirt, faded jeans, and a pair of desert boots. He had a beer in front of him and was talking with the guy sitting next to him. When he saw me, he grinned. Lordy, I'm a sucker for good teeth, "Ms. Millhone. How are you? You got your hair cut. It looks good."
    "Thanks. You got a minute?"
    "Of course." He picked up his beer and eased himself off the bar stool, scanning the place for a vacant table where we could talk. The bartender was moving in our direction. "We need a glass of Chardonnay," Cheney said.
    We found a table on the side wall. I spewed for a while about my dislike of Mace Kepler. Cheney wasn't all that fond of the man himself, so he enjoyed my comments.
    "I don't know what it is. He just gets me."
    "He hates women," Cheney said.
    I looked at him with surprise. "Is that it? Maybe that's what it is."
    "So what else are you up to?"
    I spent a few minutes filling him in on my trip to San Francisco, my talk with Trinny, her confession about the porno tape, and finally the money missing from the account. I showed him the bank statement, watching his face. "What do you think?"
    By then he was slouched down on his spine, his legs stretched out in front him. He had one elbow propped up on the table, and he held the statement by one corner. He shifted on his seat. He didn't seem impressed. "She was going out of town. She probably needed money." He sat and studied the bank statement while he sipped at his Corona.
    "I asked Danielle about that. She says Lorna never paid. She only traveled with guys who sported her to everything."
    "Yeah, but it still isn't necessarily significant," he said.
    "Of course it isn't necessarily significant, but it might be. That's the point. Serena says J.D. went into the cabin briefly while they were waiting for the cops. Suppose he lifted it."
    "You think it's