R Is for Ricochet

The crazy part was that I liked her. Despite the differences between us, I responded to her out of the outrageous elements in my own nature. Watching her operate was like seeing a distorted version of myself, only larger than life and much more dangerous.
    When I reached the property, the gates were standing open. As I rounded the bend in the drive, I saw the same Lincoln Continental and Mercedes sedan. Now a third vehicle sat beside the other two – this one a Jaguar convertible, a handsome dark green with a caramel interior that looked good enough to eat. I parked, leaving my car unlocked as I moved up the walk to the house. Reba's massive long-haired orange cat, Rags, sauntered out to greet me, looking at me with startling blue eyes. I extended my hand and he sniffed at my fingers. He allowed me to scratch his head, nudging me repeatedly to keep the action afloat.
    I rang the bell and waited while he circled my legs, leaving long orange hairs on the legs of my jeans. From inside, I heard the muffled tap of high heels on hard marble tile. The door was opened by a woman I immediately pegged as the legendary Lucinda. She appeared to be in her midforties, thanks to the work of a first-rate plastic surgeon. I knew this because her neck and hands were fifteen years older than her face. Her hair was short, streaked with varying shades of blond as though bleached by the sun. She was slim and beautifully dressed in a designer outfit I recognized, though I'd forgotten the name. The two-piece black knit was banded in white and the jacket had brass buttons running down the front. The knee-length skirt revealed a knotty set of calves. "Yes?"
    "I'm Kinsey Millhone. Could you tell Reba I'm here?"
    She studied me carefully with eyes as dark as tar. "She's not home. Is this something I can help you with?"
    "Ah, no. Don't think so. I'll just wait for her."
    "You must be the private investigator Nord's spoken of. I'm Lucinda Cunningham. I'm a friend of the family," she said, extending her hand.
    "Nice meeting you," I said, shaking hands with her. "Did Reba say when she'd be home?"
    "I'm afraid not. It might help if you told me what this was about."
    Pushy woman, I thought. "She has a meeting this afternoon. I told her I'd give her a lift."
    Her smile was not entirely warm, but she stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind her. "I don't mean to pry, but this… um… appointment, is it important?"
    "Very. I called her myself to let her know."
    "Well, this may present a problem. We haven't seen Reba since dinnertime last evening."
    "She was gone all night?"
    "And this morning as well. There's been no note and no call. Her father hasn't said as much, but I know he's concerned. When I saw you at the door, I assumed you had news of her, though I was almost afraid to ask."
    "That's weird. I wonder where she went?"
    "We have no idea. As I understand it she was out late the night before. She slept until noon and then she had a phone call -"
    "That was probably me."
    "Oh. Well, we wondered about that. She seemed upset afterwards. I believe she had a visitor. She was gone much of the afternoon and finally put in an appearance while her father was in the midst of his evening meal. He eats early most days, but this was closer to normal – shortly after six, I'd say. The cook had prepared chicken soup and his appetite seemed good. Reba wanted to chat with him and I decided to leave so the two could be alone."
    "And she didn't mention anything to him?"
    "He says not."
    "I better talk to him myself. This is worrisome."
    "I understand your concern, but he's resting right now. He's been working with his respiratory therapist and he's exhausted. I'd prefer not to disturb him. Why don't you come back later this afternoon? He should be up and about by four."
    "I can't do that. This meeting is urgent, and if she's not going to make it, I need to know right now."
    Her gaze dropped from mine and I could almost see her calculate the extent of her authority. "I'll see if he's awake and if he's up to it. You'd have to keep it brief."
    "Fine."
    She reached behind and opened the door, gesturing me inside. I noticed she put a foot out to prevent the cat from coming in. Rags was offended, shooting her a look. I stepped into the foyer, waiting for directions.
    "This way."
    She crossed toward the stairs and I followed in her wake. As she climbed the stairs, one hand trailing along the bannister, she delivered a comment over her shoulder to me.