M Is for Malice

her as his one decent act. He'd described her as unstable, emotionally fragile, something along those lines. It was hard to believe he'd try to convince me of his honor when he'd gone to such lengths to rip her mother off. In truth, he'd ripped Patty off too since the money from the letters was supposed to go to her.
    The sun was beating down on the cab of the pickup. Donovan had left the windows open so I wouldn't cook to death. White dust clouded the air and the growling of heavy equipment battled the quiet. I could hear the clank of metal, the high whine of shifting gears as a wheel loader grumbled across flat ground as barren as a moonscape. I unsnapped my seat belt and slouched down on my spine with my knees propped on the dashboard. I didn't want Guy to be guilty of a crime of this magnitude. What was done was done, but this was bad, bad, bad. I was prepared for pranks, willing to accept minor acts of mischief, but grand larceny was tough to overlook, even at this remove.
    I didn't realize I'd been dozing until I heard the crunch of work boots and Donovan opened the truck door on the driver's side. I awoke with a start. He kicked the sides of his boots against the floor frame, knocking gravel loose before he slid in beneath the steering wheel. I sat up and refastened my seat belt.
    "Sorry it took so long," he said.
    "Don't worry about it. I was just resting my eyes," I said dryly.
    He slammed the door, clicked his seat belt into place, and turned the key in the ignition. Within moments, we were bouncing down the road toward the highway again. "Where was I?" he asked.
    "Guy switched a set of forged letters for the real ones and then disappeared. You were saying your father refused to make good."
    "I'll say. The letters were worth something close to fifty thousand dollars. In those days, Dad didn't have that kind of money and wouldn't have paid anyway."
    "What happened to the letters? Did Guy sell them?"
    "He must have, because as far as I know, they were never seen again. Paul Trasatti could tell you more. His father was the appraiser brought in once the switch was made."
    "So he was the one who confirmed the bad news to Mrs. Maddison?"
    "Right."
    "What happened to her?"
    "She was a lush to begin with and she'd been popping pills for years. She didn't last long. Between the alcohol and cigarettes, she was dead in five years."
    "And Patty?"
    "That was unfortunate. In May of that year – this was two months after Guy left – Patty turned up pregnant. She was seventeen years old and didn't want anyone to know. She'd had a lot of mental problems and I think she was worried they'd put her away, which they probably would have. At any rate, she had an illegal abortion and died of septicemia."
    "What?"
    "You heard me right. She had what they referred to as a 'backroom' abortion, which was more common than you'd think. Procedure wasn't sterile – just some hack down in San Diego. She developed blood poisoning and she died."
    "You're kidding."
    "It's the truth," he said. "We weren't down on Guy for nothing. I know you think we're nothing but a bunch of hostile jerks, but this is what we've had to live with and it hasn't been easy."
    "Why wasn't something said before now?"
    "In what context? The subject never came up. We all knew what happened. We discussed it among ourselves, but we don't run around airing our dirty laundry in front of other people. You think we like owning up to his part in it?"
    I brooded about it, staring out at the passing roadside. "I'm really having trouble believing this."
    "I'm not surprised. You don't want to think Guy would do a thing like that."
    "No, I don't," I said. "Guy told me Patty was hung up on him. He considered it his one decent act that he didn't seduce her when he had the chance. Now why would he say that?"
    "He was hoping to impress you. Stands to reason," he said.
    "But there wasn't any context. This was passing conversation, something he brought up. He didn't go into any detail. What's to be impressed about?"
    "Guy was a liar. He couldn't help himself."
    "He might have been a liar back then, but why lie about the girl all these years later? I didn't know her. I wasn't pressing for information. Why bother to lie when he had nothing to gain?"
    "Look, I know you liked him. Most women did. You start feeling sorry for him. You feel protective. You don't want to accept the fact he was twisted as they come. This is the kind of shit he pulled."
    "It isn't that," I said, offended.