M Is for Malice

some items. Do you have any idea what they took?"
    She leaned her elbows on her knees and put her hands across her eyes. "They left a copy of the warrant and a list of items seized. I know it's around here somewhere, but I haven't seen it yet. Donovan went down to the pool house as soon as they left. He says they took a lot of sports equipment – golf clubs and baseball bats."
    I winced, thinking of the impact of such items on the human skull. Switching the subject, I asked, "What about Bennet? Where was he that night?"
    "He went back to the restaurant he's remodeling, to see what the workers had done that day. Construction's been a nightmare and he spends a lot of time down there."
    "Did anybody see him?"
    "You'd have to ask him," she said. "Donovan and I were here. We'd had quite a lot to drink at dinner and I went straight to bed." There was a marked tremor in the hand Christie was running through her hair.
    "Have you had anything to eat?"
    "I couldn't touch a bite. I'm too anxious."
    "Well, you ought to have something. Is Enid here yet?"
    "I think so."
    "Let me check in the kitchen and have her make you a cup of tea. You should have a cookie or a piece of fruit. You look awful."
    "I feel awful," she said.
    I left her in the library and headed down the hall. I couldn't believe I'd put myself on tea detail again, but simply being in the house made me tense. Any activity helped. Besides, I didn't want to pass up the chance to talk to Enid if she was on the premises.
    "Me again," I said when I entered the kitchen.
    She was standing at the island with a cutting board in front of her, smashing garlic with the blade of a Chinese cleaver. She was wrapped in a white apron with a white cotton scarf around her head, looking as round and as squeezable as a roll of toilet paper. While I watched, she laid down assorted sizes of unpeeled cloves, placed the wide blade on top of them, and pounded once with her fist. I could feel myself flinch. If the blade were angled incorrectly, she was going to end up whacking down on it with the outer aspect of her own hand, hacking straight to the bone. I stopped in my tracks. With her eyes pinned on me politely, she repeated the process, fist smashing down. She lifted the blade. Under it, the hapless garlic had been crushed like albino cockroaches, the peel sliding off with the flick of a knife tip.
    "I thought I'd fix Christie a cup of tea," I said. "She needs something in her system – do you have a piece of fruit?"
    Enid pointed at the refrigerator. "There are grapes in there. Tea bags up in the cabinet. I'd do it myself, but I'm trying to get this sauce under way. If you set up a tray, I'll take it in to her."
    "No problem. You go right ahead."
    She leaned to her left and slid open a compartment in which the trays were stored, pulling out a teak server with a rim around the edge. She placed it on the marble counter next to six big cans of crushed tomatoes, two cans of tomato paste, a basket of yellow onions, and a can of olive oil. On the stove top, I noticed a stainless steel stockpot.
    I moved over to the cabinet and removed a mug, pausing to fill the electric kettle as I'd seen Myrna do. I glanced at Enid casually. "You have paper napkins somewhere?"
    "Third drawer on the right."
    I found the napkins and placed one, along with a teaspoon, on the tray. "I take it you heard about Jack's arrest."
    She nodded assent. "I was coming in the gate just as they were taking him away. I wish you could have seen the look on his face."
    I shook my head regretfully, as if I gave a shit. "Poor thing," I said. "It seems so unfair." I hoped I hadn't laid it on too thick, but I needn't have worried.
    "The police were asking about his running shoes," she said. "Something about a pattern on the soles – so there must have been bloody footprints in the bedroom where Guy was killed."
    "Really," I replied, trying to disguise my startlement. Apparently, she felt no reluctance about discussing the family's business. I'd thought I'd have to be cunning, but she didn't seem to share Myrna's reservations about tattling. "They picked up the shoes yesterday?"
    "No. They called me this morning at home. Before I left for work."
    "Lieutenant Robb?"
    "The other one. The woman. She's a cold fish, I must say. I hope she's not a friend of yours."
    "I only met her this morning when I went in to be interviewed."
    She flicked me a look as if taking my measure. "Myrna tells me you're a detective. I've seen 'em on the TV of