M Is for Malice

bottles. The shower curtain was bone-dry, but a dark blue washcloth had been draped over the rim of the basin and it had been recently used. I peered closely at the basin. There was a trace of water around the small brass ring fixture for the outflow valve. Unless my eyes were deceiving me, the water was ever so faintly pink. I lifted the washcloth and squeezed out some of the excess water. There was a splash of bright red against the white of the basin. "You better call 9-1-1. This is blood," I said.
    While Enid went off to call the police, I closed the door to Myrna's apartment and I retraced my steps through the utility room to the backdoor. In the kitchen, I could hear Enid on the phone, sounding shaken and slightly shrill. Someone must have been waiting to catch Myrna alone. Outside, I crossed the small back patio and took a right at the driveway. Myrna's car was locked, but I circled the exterior, peering in at the front seats and back seats. Both were empty. Nothing on the dashboard. I was curious if the trunk was locked, but I didn't want to touch it. Let the cops do that. To the right, the driveway formed a dead end with space for three more cars. Beyond that, I saw a long line of drab pink stucco wall and a tangle of woods. Suppose she'd been killed in haste? What would you do with the body?
    I headed back toward the garages. Donovan's pickup was parked much closer to the front of the house than the back. There was something about the traces of gravel and dried soil that bothered me. I put a hand out. The hood of the pickup was warm. I walked around the truck, hands behind my back as I scrutinized the exterior. The bed liner was littered with gravel and dead leaves. I peered over the tailgate, looking closely at the liner. There was what looked like a dark smear on one edge. I left that alone. Whatever had happened, they couldn't blame Jack this time.
    In the distance, I heard the rumble of a motorcycle and moments later, I looked up to see Bennet roaring down the drive on Jack's Harley-Davidson. I moved away from the truck, watching as he went through his parking ritual. His black leather gloves looked as clumsy as oven mitts. He pulled them off and laid them on the seat, placing his helmet on top. He didn't seem that thrilled to see me. "What are you doing here?"
    "Enid called, about Myrna. When did you last see her?"
    "I saw her at breakfast. I didn't see her at lunch. Enid told me she wasn't feeling well. What's going on?"
    "I have no idea. Apparently, she's disappeared. Enid called the police. They'll be here shortly, I'd imagine."
    "The police? What for?"
    "Why don't you save the bullshit for the cops," I said.
    "Wait a minute. 'Bullshit'? What's the matter with you? I'm tired of being treated like a creep," he said.
    I started walking away.
    "Where are you going?"
    "What difference does it make? If I stand here another minute, I'll just end up insulting you."
    Bennet walked alongside me. "That wouldn't, be a first. I heard about your meeting with Paul. He was pissed as hell."
    "So what?" I said.
    "I know you think we did something."
    "Of course I do!"
    He touched my arm. "Look. Hang on a minute and let's talk about this."
    "Go ahead and talk, Bennet. I'd love to hear what you have to say."
    "All right. Okay. I might as well level with you because the truth isn't nearly as bad as you think."
    "How do you know what I think? I think you cheated the Maddisons out of fifty thousand dollars' worth of rare documents."
    "Now wait a minute. Now wait. We didn't mean any harm. It was just a prank. We wanted to go to Vegas, but we were broke. We didn't have a dime between us. All we wanted was a few bucks. We were only kids," he said.
    "Kids? You weren't kids. You were twenty-three years old. You committed a felony. Is that your rationalization, calling it a prank? You should have gone to prison."
    "I know. I'm sorry. It got out of hand. We never thought we could pull it off and by the time we realized how serious it was, we didn't have the courage to admit what we'd done."
    "It didn't seem to bother you to blame Guy," I said.
    "Listen, he was gone. And he'd done all that other stuff. The family was down on him and Dad just assumed. We were assholes. I know that. We were wrong. I've never felt right about it since."
    "Well, that absolves you," I said. "What happened to the letters? Where are they?"
    "Paul has them at his place. I told him to destroy them, but he couldn't bear to do it. He's been afraid to put