Spiral

tie come over, tell Umberto they need him and who am I?”
    ”You get a name on this officer?”
    ”No,” said Dujong. ”But he is like a bull and not polite, hair over his collar.”
    Kyle Cascadden. ”What did you tell this other policeman?”
    ”I say I am Mrs. Held’s spiritual advisor. He make a face, ask if I am at party. I say not yet, I am late. He say, ‘Then stay the hell away from here,’ and he take Umberto with him back to the gate.”
    I tried to process all that. ”Meaning, neither Jeanette Held nor the police know the details about why you were late getting to the party.”
    ”That is right.”
    ”Then why are you telling me these things?”
    A clouded look came over Dujong’s dark eyes. ”I tell police, they make Jeanette more upset with their questions. But the one I see that day is stupid, and he cannot get right answers or use them wisely. I do not think you would hurt Jeanette for no reason. I do not think you are stupid, either, so maybe my answers to you can help find who kill Veronica.”
    ”How?”
    ”I think somebody who come to party not want me there.”
    ”Why would they care?”
    ”Because, if I am there, I maybe sense something that tell me who the bad person is.”
    I tried to tie it together. ”You think this Wendy woman was used to keep you away from the house that day so that you wouldn’t pick up an aura or something from the killer?”
    ”Evil kill Veronica, Mr. Cuddy. She is a difficult little girl, but no one should die like that. When you know evil is your enemy, maybe you can win.” Dujong rose from her chair. ”I doubt it, but maybe.”
    As she turned for the house, I said, ”If I need to reach you again?”
    ”I am registered at the tennis club.”
    ”Where Cassandra Helides belongs?”
    Over the shoulder with, ”Yes.”
    Then Cornel Radescu, too, the tennis pro I had to see. ”But what if you’re not playing there?”
    At the sliding glass door, Malinda Dujong turned and gave me one of her small smiles. ”I live there, Mr. Cuddy.”

    When I finally made it inside the kitchen, Malinda Dujong, Gordo Lazar, and Delgis Reyes were all nowhere in sight. I went out to the corridor, climbed the spiral staircase, and knocked on the turret door.
    ”Not yet,” came Spi Held’s voice from behind the wood. ”It’s John Cuddy, Mr. Held. I want to talk with you again before I go.”
    A pause, then, ”Just a second.”
    I heard some footsteps and the shifting of equipment. When he opened the door, Held seemed to be alone. ”Thanks,” I said, stepping across the threshold.
    ”I’m, uh, kind of under the fucking gun, man. Got to get this new Very tune ready so we can rehearse it toward the CD.”
    I stopped in the center of the room, everything except his guitar where I remembered it, still nobody else with us. ”The one about your daughter?”
    ”Yeah. I think it’s got potential.”
    I turned back to him. ”Potential.”
    ”To be on the album. Maybe even the tide track.”
    ”That would be special, wouldn’t it?”
    ”Karma, even. Now, what do you need?”
    ”Can I sit down?”
    ”Uh, sure. Take that one again.”
    I eased into the ergonomic chair like I had all the time in the world. ”You told me before that after you and your wife chased after Veronica, your daughter insulted both of you.” The Fu Manchu did a nip-up. ”Told us we should fuck off, which I’d call insulting, yeah.”
    ”And that was the last time you saw her alive.”
    ”Right, right. I was so mad at Very, I was afraid what I’d do, so Jeanette and me went back to the living room, try to make my father feel a little better about it.”
    ”And did he?”
    ”Shit, man, you probably know him better than I do. He can’t tolerate any curse words, never could. He was ballistic, least as far as somebody already had a stroke can get.”
    ”Were you worried for his health that day?”
    ”Huh?”
    ”Since your father was so angry, did you worry it might bring on another stroke?”
    ”No, man. I was just—the fuck’s the word? Distracted. Yeah, I was distracted by all the other shit going down.”
    ”Like what?”
    ”Like what other shit?” said Held.
    ”Yes.”
    ”Look, it’s no secret Buford’s got the AIDS, man. He pops about a jar of different pills every day, but how much longer he can do studio work, much less the steady hump of a national tour, I don’t know. Gordo’s always been a loose fucking cannon, and Ricky don’t have a lot of brand