W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone Mystery)

while he was at it,” he said.
    He opened the manila envelope that bore his return address and removed the pictures he’d taken.
    I peered over his shoulder. “That’s the gal you were hired to spy on?”
    “Mary Lee Bryce, right.” Dietz shuffled through the prints while I looked on. “This is her when she first arrived at the hotel and this is Owen Pensky, the high school classmate she met with. Here’s one of her with the boss she was supposed to be having the affair with.”
    “No love lost there,” I remarked.
    “Unless they’re really good at faking it.”
    “I bet Pete collected up front and in cash. He wasn’t the type to bill after the fact.”
    “Depressing, but you’re probably right.”
    “So if Willard Bryce has already paid Pete, there’s no point in asking him for the money. He’d turn you down cold.”
    “When you said Pete was a scumbag, I thought you were exaggerating.”
    “I should point out that you had a better motive to shoot Pete than any armed robber did. All that guy got was an empty wallet and a cheap watch.”
    Dietz tossed aside the manila envelope. “You know what bugs me? Here I was so worried his death was connected to the job I did. If I’d known he was ripping me off, I wouldn’t have given it another thought.”
    “He did provide a great excuse for spending time with me.”
    “Well, there’s that.”
    I checked the receipts for the two sets of plane tickets. “You think he actually paid for tickets? These are copies of copies. I wonder what happened to the originals.”
    “He had to pay for ’em or he wouldn’t have tickets in his possession in the first place. I’m sure he didn’t make two trips to Reno. Hell, he didn’t even make one.”
    “Maybe he has a refund coming.”
    “Maybe he collected the money and spent it all. Who cares?”
    “I’m sure Ruthie would appreciate the windfall.”
    “Fine. Give her the file and let her figure it out.”
    “Such a grouch,” I said.
    Dietz was dropping files back into the banker’s box he’d placed in front of him. “What time is it?”
    I checked my watch. “Ten fifteen. Why?”
    “I told Nick I’d be back in time to take him to lunch.”
    “It’s the middle of the morning. We have eight boxes to go!”
    “Not me. I’ve had it.”
    “I don’t want to do this on my own.”
    “Then don’t. Nobody’s paying you.”
    “Come on. Don’t you have any curiosity at all about who else he might’ve been working for? Suppose he had half a dozen other clients who were all set to pay?”
    “He didn’t. That Bryce fellow was the only one.”
    “But suppose there was another one?”
    “What if there was? If I’d done business with Pete and heard he’d been shot dead, I’d count myself lucky and lay low.”
    Dietz hauled himself to his feet. I extended my hand and he pulled me into an upright position.
    He stepped into the kitchenette to wash his hands. Mine were as filthy as his, but I planned to go on working, so there wasn’t any point in being dainty.
    He picked up his car keys, looking way too cheerful for my taste. “I’ll check with you later. Why don’t you plan on having dinner with us?”
    “You better chat with Nick first. He may have other ideas.”
    “You think?”
    “Dietz, so far he hasn’t been here one full day. He came to talk to you about his plans and from what you’ve said, he hasn’t even told you the whole story yet. You need to pay attention to these things.”
    “How complicated could it be?”
    I would have laughed, but he hadn’t meant to be funny. I said, “Forget about tonight. Find out what’s on his mind and we’ll get together some other time.”
    Once he was gone, I turned my attention to the remaining eight boxes, which I confess didn’t have quite the same appeal. Doing a tedious chore in the company of a friend makes the labor seem less onerous. These files had been packed haphazardly without the benefit of Pete’s casual organizational skills. This was the work of his landlady, who was already annoyed with his bounced checks and probably not that sorry to hear about his unhappy fate. On the other hand, I was feeling slightly more charitable about the man. He might have been a skunk, but he wasn’t a malicious skunk; just someone with a tendency to deceive. Nothing wrong with a lie or two when the situation demanded it.
    I sat down again and started to work. Ruthie was right about his being a pack rat. In the next box I tackled, the