M Is for Malice

cartons of Bader's clothing Christie packed away? They were sitting on the front porch. The Thrift Store Industries truck stopped by for an early-morning pickup first thing yesterday."
    "Before the body was discovered?"
    "Before anyone was even up. I don't know how I connected it. I saw the receipt lying on the counter and didn't think much about it.. Later, it occurred to me – if the shoes weren't on the premises, they must be somewhere else."
    "How'd you figure out where they were?"
    "Well, that's just it. I was loading the dishwasher, you know, humming a little tune and boom, I just knew."
    "I've done the same thing. It's almost like the mind makes an independent leap."
    Enid flashed me a look. "Exactly. He must have realized he left a shoe print on the carpeting upstairs."
    "Did you see it yourself?"
    "No, but Myrna says she saw it when she went in Guy's room." She paused, shaking her head. "I don't want to think he did it."
    "It is hard to believe," I said. "I mean, in essence, he must have killed Guy, seen the footprint, slipped off his shoes and shoved them in the box on his way out of the house. He was lucky – or thought he was."
    "You don't sound convinced."
    "I just have trouble with the notion. Jack doesn't strike me as that decisive or quick. Doesn't that bother you?"
    She thought about that briefly and then gave a shrug of dismissal. "A killer would have to depend on luck, I guess. You can't plan for everything. You'd have to ad-lib."
    "Well, it backfired in this case."
    "If he did it," she said. She picked up a can and tilted it into the electric opener. She pressed a lever and watched as the can went round and round, rotating blades neatly separating the lid from the can. Kitchens are dangerous, I thought idly as I looked on. What an arsenal – knives and fire and all that kitchen twine, skewers, meat pounders, and rolling pins. The average woman must spend a fair portion of her time happily contemplating the tools of her trade: devices that crush, pulverize, grind, and puree; utensils that pierce, slice, dissect, and debone; not to mention the household products that, once ingested, are capable of eradicating human life along with germs.
    Her eyes came up to mine. "Do you believe in ghosts?"
    "No, of course not. What makes you ask?"
    She glanced toward the corner of the kitchen where I noticed, for the first time, a staircase. "Yesterday I went upstairs to put some linens away. There was a Presence in the hall. I wondered if you believed in them."
    I shook my head in the negative, remembering the chill in the air and the roaring in my ears.
    "This one smells of animal, something damp and unclean. It's very strange," she said.

Chapter 17
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    I left the Maleks' shortly after one o'clock. Driving home, I spotted a pay phone at a corner gas station. I pulled in and parked. Outside the service bay, a group of kids from the local, alternative high school had organized a car wash. According to the hand-lettered sign, the price was $5.00 and proceeds were being used to pay for a trip to San Francisco. There was not a customer in sight. Buckets of soapy water waited at the ready and the kids milled around in a manner that suggested they were about to spray one another down with hoses. With luck, I wouldn't end up in the line of fire.
    I looked up Paul Trasatti in the telephone book. There were two numbers listed; one a residence on Hopper Road, the other with no address – simply said Paul Trasatti, Rare Books. I found a handful of loose change at the bottom of my handbag and fed coins into the slots. I dialed the business number first, thinking it more likely I'd catch him at his desk. Trasatti answered before the phone on his end had finished ringing the first time.
    "Trasatti," he said, tersely. He sounded like a man who'd been waiting for a call regarding drop-off instructions for the ransom money.
    "Mr. Trasatti, my name is Kinsey Millhone. I'm a private investigator, working with Jack Malek's attorney. You knew he'd been arrested?"
    "I heard about that this morning. I called to talk to Jack and his sister-in-law told me they'd just taken him away. Did she tell you to call?"
    "Well, no. Not really. I –"
    "How'd you get my number?"
    "I looked you up in the telephone book. I need information and I thought maybe you could help."
    "What kind of information?"
    "I'll be talking to Lonnie Kingman and I know he'll want to hear about Jack's activities that night."
    "Why can't he ask Jack?"
    "I'm sure he