N Is for Noose

deal."
    "Then why does it matter if you pass it on to me?"
    "He told me to hide it 'til he could decide what to do with it."
    "He didn't know he would die."
    "What a bummer," she said.
    "Look, if you'll give it to me now, I'll make a copy first thing tomorrow and give it back to you."
    After an agonizing moment, she said, "All right."
    She got out of the car on her side and I got out on mine, locking the doors quickly before I followed her in. She kept her handbag in the storage room to the left of the kitchen door. Barrett took the notebook out of her bag and passed it to me. She seemed irritated that I'd managed to outmaneuver her somehow. "The other thing he said was the key's on his desk," she said.
    "The key's in his desk?"
    "That's what he told me. He said it twice."
    "In or on?"
    "On, I think. I have to go."
    "Thanks. You're a doll." I put my finger to my lips. "Top secret. Not a word to anyone."
    "Shit. Then why did I tell you?"
    Nancy stuck her head in the kitchen door. "Oh, Kinsey. You're here. Brant's on the phone," she said.
    I went out into the cafe proper, which was virtually deserted. The receiver was face down on the counter by the register. "Brant, is that you?"
    He said, "Hi, Kinsey."
    "Where are you? How'd you know I was here?"
    "I'm at Mom's. I drove past the Rainbow a while ago and saw your car parked out back. I just wanted to check and make sure you're okay."
    "I'm fine. Is your mother home yet?"
    "She won't get back 'til close to nine," he said. "You need something?"
    "Not really. If you have a way to call her, would you let her know I got it?"
    "Got what?"
    I curled my fingers around the mouthpiece, feeling like a character in a spy movie. "The notebook."
    "How'd you manage that?"
    "I'll explain later. I'll be home in a few minutes. Can you wait?"
    "Not really. I just stopped by for some stuff I'll be taking to Sherry's later."
    "You work weekends?"
    "Not usually," he said. "I'm filling in for someone and hoping to run some errands first. We'll talk tomorrow."
    "Right. I'll see you then," I said.
    I let myself into Selma's house and headed out to the kitchen. The house was dim, silent, insufferably warm. Everything was much as I'd left it, except for a plastic wrapped plate of brownies with chocolate frosting sitting on the counter with a note attached: HELP YOURSELF. The condensation on the wrap suggested it had been refrigerated or frozen until recently. Brant must have assumed the note was meant for him because a plate and fork, showing telltale traces of chocolate, were sitting on the table at the place he occupied. I was sorry I'd missed him. We could have put our heads together.
    I went into Tom's study and sat down in his swivel chair. I turned on his desk light and started going through the notebook. The cover was a pebbly black leather, soft with wear, the corners bent. I took the obvious route, starting at the first page-dated June 1-and working through to the last, which was dated February 1, two days before he died. Here, at last, were the ten months' worth of missing notes. The scribbles, on thin-lined paper, covered all the miscellaneous cases he'd been working on during that period. Each was identified by a case number in the margin to the left, and included complaints, crime-scene investigations, names, addresses, and phone numbers of witnesses. In a series of nearly indecipherable abbreviations, I could trace the course of successive interviews on any given matter; Tom's notes to himself, his case references, the comments and questions that cropped up as he proceeded. There, in something close to hieroglyphics, I read about the discovery of Pinkie's body, the findings of the coroner, Trey Kirchner… whom Tom referred to as III. Any recurring name Tom generally reduced to its first letter. I found references to R and B, which I assumed were Rafer and Tom's boss, Sheriff Bob Staffer. By copious squints and leaps of imagination, I could see that he'd worked backward from Pinkie's death to his incarceration in Chino and his friendship with Alfie Toth, a fact confirmed by MB, Margaret Brine at NLSD, Nota Lake Sheriff's Department. CS I took to refer to Colleen Sellers, sometimes referred to as C, who'd called to report Alfie Toth's jail time in ST. I found the summary of his trip to Santa Teresa in June, including dates, times, mileage, and expenditures for food and lodging. As I'd learned earlier, he'd talked to Dave Estes at the Gramercy on 6-5. Later, he'd talked to Olga Toth,