W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone Mystery)

himself as a victim or a realist. I could hear the coffee machine gurgle to a halt and I got to my feet. “What do you take in your coffee?”
    “Milk and two sugars, please.”
    “Sugar for sure. Milk could be a problem. Let me see what I can do.”
    I left the office and went down the hall to the kitchenette, where I opened my pint-size refrigerator and gave the milk carton a sniff. Slightly off, I thought, but I’ve heard that sometimes the residue of milk on the pour spout sours before the rest. I filled two mugs with coffee and added milk to mine, checking for the telltale curdling that suggests beaucoup bacteria at work. No evidence of spoilage, so I added a big dollop to his coffee and returned the carton to the fridge.
    I handed him his mug and two paper packets of sugar and resettled myself in my swivel chair. I held up a finger. “Before I forget . . .” I leaned down and extracted the three packs of cigarettes from the shoulder bag at my feet and pushed them across the desk. “Consider this a bribe.”
    “Much appreciated. I’ll pass along a pack each to Felix and Pearl.”
    “Pearl, in particular. I was hoping to elevate myself in her opinion.”
    There was a dip in the conversation. My usual practice is to let the silence lengthen until the other fellow gets squirmy enough to speak his mind. This time, I took the lead. “I’m assuming you didn’t walk all this way to pay a social call.”
    “Not entirely. Don’t take this wrong, but your asking about Terrence really set Pearl off.”
    “As I’m keenly aware. What’s the big deal?”
    “She says you smell like a cop.”
    “That’s because I was a cop, once upon a time. I was with the STPD two years and then I got out. I like playing by the rules when it suits, but I don’t like answering to anyone.”
    “Understandable,” he said. “Then again, Terrence hadn’t been dead a full day when you came sniffing around. Her words, not mine.”
    “‘Sniffing’ seems an odd choice. I told you I was hoping to locate his family, which is not a federal offense. Right now, he’s a John Doe. His name might be Terrence, but that’s the extent of what we have. The coroner’s office is swamped this week, so I said I’d see what I could find out. What’s she think I’m up to?”
    “She’s suspicious by nature while I’m the opposite. I believe most folks are honest until proven otherwise.”
    “My policy as well,” I said. “What else is bugging her? We might as well put all our cards on the table as long as you’re here.”
    “She thinks you’re not being honest about who you’re working for.”
    “What, like I’m an undercover agent? I’m self-employed. None of my work has anything to do with Terrence, dead or alive. You don’t believe me, you can search my files.”
    “You don’t work for St. Terry’s?”
    “Nope.”
    “You’re not associated with the hospital or the university in any capacity at all?”
    “No way. I’m freelance. I’ll swear to it,” I said. “I don’t have clients in the medical profession or any related field. And that includes dentists and podiatrists. I don’t know how else to assure you of my sincerity.”
    “I’ll pass that on to her.”
    “Are we square?”
    “As far as I’m concerned.”
    “Good. Then it’s my turn. Why did Terrence need the services of a PI? I asked before and I didn’t get an answer.”
    “He didn’t spell out the particulars, but I know what was on his mind. He believed he had kin in the area. Growing up, he had an uncle he very much admired. The two were close when he was a kid, but he hadn’t seen the man for years. Said he came to visit his uncle here shortly after the man moved to Santa Teresa. Later he heard the fellow died. He hoped to connect with family members, assuming there were any left.”
    “He never mentioned his uncle’s name?”
    “No. I happened to overhear him talking about it to someone else.”
    “Why pick me when there are half a dozen private eyes in town?”
    “You know a fellow named Pinky Ford?”
    “Of course. How do you know him?”
    “He’s a man about town, in some sense of the word. I haven’t seen him in weeks, but he lives in a big yellow Cadillac he parks here and there. Terrence was asking around and Pinky told him you were a decent sort.”
    “I’d like to think so.”
    Dandy cocked his head. “How do you know Pinky? He doesn’t seem like your type.”
    “Long story I’ll save for another