R Is for Ricochet

side, when the elderly housekeeper had called from the front door and then hurried down the walk, a photograph in hand.
    Winded, she'd said, "Mr. Lafferty forgot to give you this. It's a photograph of Reba."
    "Thanks. I appreciate that. I'll return it as soon as we get back."
    "Oh, no need. He said to keep it if you like."
    I thanked her again and tucked the photo into my bag. Now, while I waited for Parole Agent Holloway to answer her phone, I plucked out the photo and studied it again. I'd have preferred something recent. This had been taken when the woman was in her mid- to late twenties and almost puckish in appearance. Her large dark eyes were intent on the camera, her full lips half-parted as though she were on the verge of speaking. Her hair was shoulder-length and dyed blond, but clearly at considerable expense. Her complexion was clear with a hint of blush in her cheeks. After two years of prison fare, she might have packed on a few extra pounds, but I thought I'd recognize her.
    On the other end of the line, a woman said, "Holloway."
    "Hi, Ms. Holloway. My name is Kinsey Millhone. I'm a local private investigator -"
    "I know who you are. I had a call from Nord Lafferty, telling me he'd hired you to pick up his daughter."
    "That's why I'm calling, to clear it with you."
    "Fine. Have at it. It'll save me the trip. If you're back in town before three, bring her over to the office. Do you know where I am?"
    I didn't, but she gave me the address.
    "See you Monday," I said.
    I spent the rest of the afternoon taking care of paperwork, mostly sorting and filing in a vain attempt to tidy up my desk. I also did some boning up on parole regulations from a pamphlet printed by the California Department of Corrections.
    Returning to my apartment for the second time that day, I saw no sign of picnic items on the patio table. Perhaps he'd decided the meal was better served indoors. I crossed to his back door and peeked in. As it turned out, my hopes for their romantic interlude were squelched by William's presence in the kitchen. Looking aggrieved, Henry sat in his rocking chair with his usual glass of Jack Daniel's while Mattie nursed a goblet of white wine.
    William, two years Henry's senior, has always looked enough like him to be his twin. His shock of white hair was thinning where Henry's was still full, but his eyes were the same hot blue and he carried himself with the same erect military bearing. He wore a dapper three-piece suit, his watch chain visible across the front of his vest. I tapped on the glass and Henry motioned me in. William rose to his feet at the sight of me, and I knew he'd remain standing unless I urged him to sit. Mattie rose to greet me, and though we didn't actually hug, we did clasp hands and exchange an air kiss.
    She was in her early seventies, tall and slender, with soft silver hair she wore pulled into a knot on the top of her head. Her earrings glinted in the light – silver, oversize, and artisan-made.
    I said, "Hey, Mattie. How are you? You must have arrived right on time."
    "Good to see you. I did." She wore a coral silk blouse and a long gypsy skirt over flat-heel suede boots. "Will you join us in a glass of wine?"
    "I don't think so, but thanks. I've got business to take care of so I have to run."
    Henry's tone was morose. "Have a glass of wine. Why not? Stay for supper as well. William's invited himself so what's the difference? Rosie couldn't tolerate having him underfoot so she sent him over here."
    William said, "She had a small conniption fit for no reason at all. I'd just returned from the doctor's office and I knew she'd want to hear the results of my blood work, especially my HDLs. You might want to take a look yourself." He held the paper out, pointing with significance at the long column of numbers down the right side of the page. My gaze slid past his glucose, sodium, potassium, and chloride levels before I caught the expression on Henry's face. His eyes were crossed so close to the bridge of his nose I thought they'd trade sides. William was saying, "You can see my LDL-HDL risk ratio is 1.3."
    "Oh, sorry. Is that bad?"
    "No, no. The doctor said it was excellent… in light of my medical condition." William's voice carried a hint of feebleness suggestive of a weakened state.
    "Well, good for you. That's great."
    "Thank you. I called our brother Lewis and told him as well. His cholesterol is 214, which I think is cause for alarm. He says he's doing what he can, but he