M Is for Malice

was such a hot idea, but Guy was determined."
    "Did he say why?"
    "He had emotional accounts to pay. At the time he left home, he was messed up on drugs. He'd been in a lot of trouble and alienated just about everyone. Once he was settled in Marcella, he cleaned up his act, but he'd left a lot of unfinished business. He said he wanted to make his peace."
    "When you last spoke to him, did he mention contact with other people from his past?"
    "No. I know a letter was delivered – Christie mentioned it last night – but that came on Monday and Guy never said a word about it when I saw him. As far as I know, there was nothing else. Was it significant?"
    "We'd rather not discuss the content until we check it out."
    "Who wrote it? Or would you rather not discuss that either?"
    "Right."
    "Was it typed?"
    "Why do you ask?"
    "Because of the letter to the Dispatch that generated all the hype. If the papers hadn't been tipped off, no one would have known he was back in town."
    "I see what you're saying. We'll follow up."
    "Can I ask about the autopsy?"
    "Dr. Yee hasn't finished yet. Lieutenant Robb is there now. We'll know more when he gets back."
    "What about the murder weapon?"
    Her face went blank again. I was wasting my breath, but I couldn't seem to let go. "You have a suspect?" I asked.
    "We're pursuing some possibilities. We're doing backgrounds on a number of people associated with the family. We're also checking everybody's whereabouts to see if all the stories add up."
    "In other words, you won't say."
    Chilly smile. "That's correct."
    "Well. I'll do what I can to help."
    "We'd appreciate that."
    She made no move to close, which was puzzling. From my perspective, we'd pretty much wound up our chat. She'd asked all her questions and I'd told her what I knew. In the unspoken structure of a police interview, Detective Bower was in charge and I'd have to dance to her tune. In the unexpected pause, I could see that it was suddenly her turn to stall.
    She said, "Rumor has it you're involved with Lieutenant Robb."
    I squinted at her in disbelief. "He told you that?"
    "Someone else. I'm afraid this is a small town, even smaller when it comes to law enforcement. So it's not true?"
    "Well, I was involved, but I'm not now," I said. "What makes you ask?"
    The look on her face underwent a remarkable alteration. The careful neutrality fell away and in one split second, she went from blank to blushing.
    I sat back in my chair, taking a new look at her. "Are you smitten with him?"
    "I've been out with him twice," she said cautiously.
    "Ohhh, I see. Now I get it," I said. "Listen, I'm fond of Jonah, but it's strictly over between us. I'm the least of your worries. It's the dread Camilla you'd better. be concerned about."
    Detective Betsy Bower had abandoned any pose of professionalism. "But she's living with some guy and she's pregnant."
    I raised a hand. "Trust me. In the continuing saga of Jonah and Camilla, the mere fact of this infant has no bearing on their relationship. He may act like he's cured, but he isn't, believe me. Camilla and Jonah are so enmeshed with each other I don't know what it would take to split up their act. Actually, now that I think about it, you probably have as good a shot at it as any."
    "You really think so?"
    "Why not? I was always too caught up in my own abandonment issues. I hated being a minor player in their little theater production. We're talking seventh grade bonding. Junior high school romance. I couldn't compete. I lack the emotional strength. You look like you could tackle it. You have self-esteem issues? Are you a nail biter? Bed wetter? Jealous or insecure?"
    She shook her head. "Not a bit."
    "What about confrontation?"
    "I like a good fight," she said.
    "Well, you better get ready then because in my experience, she's indifferent to him until someone else comes along. And for God's sake, don't play fair. Camilla goes for broke."
    "Thanks. I'll remember. We'll be in touch."
    "I can't wait."
    On the street again, I felt as if I was emerging from a darkened tunnel. The sunlight was harsh and all the colors seemed too bright. Nine black-and-white patrol cars were lined up along the curb. Across the street, a row of small California bungalows were painted in discordant pastel shades. Flowering annuals in fuchsia, orange, and magenta stood out in bold relief against the vibrant green of new foliage. I left my car in the public parking lot and walked the remaining blocks to work.
    I entered