W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone Mystery)

In some ways, Mary Lee Bryce and Owen Pensky seemed well suited for each other since both projected insecurity. Pete himself had been an outcast in his teen years, so he didn’t fault either one in that regard. He couldn’t help but wonder if Pensky was dishonest by nature or if he’d taken up cheating to compensate for a lack of self-confidence.
    Odd that Mary Lee had ended up married to a man whose coloring was so much like her own. She and Willard were close enough in appearance to be brother and sister instead of husband and wife. Pete wondered how Willard’s unfortunate accident had factored into the overall equation. The wreck that killed his best friend and resulted in the loss of his own leg dated back to his youth, which meant he was already on crutches when he and Mary Lee first met. Some women were drawn to the physically impaired; witness his own wife’s attraction to him.
    He swiveled his chair and scooted closer to a rolling typewriter table and removed the cover from his manual Remington Streamliner. He’d bought the machine in 1950, and aside from a few minor repairs, it had served him handily ever since. He opened his desk drawer and removed two sheets of stationery and placed a carbon between them, then rolled them into the carriage and began the laborious job of retyping the report on his own letterhead. He made minor adjustments so the language would sound more like his own.
    Despite his two-fingered-typing technique, he was fast and accurate. Even so, the job took him the better part of an hour. The Nevada investigator was very detail oriented and he spared nothing in his passion for spelling out the minutia. This allowed Pete to pick and choose his facts while he converted the report to his own personal style. By judicious editing, he could easily fashion a follow-up report and charge for that as well.
    The relationship between Mary Lee Bryce and this Pensky fellow certainly cried out for further study. If he could talk Willard into extending their agreement, he could submit a second round of paperwork without actually having to do anything. The report itself offered no interpretation or speculation about the nature of the relationship. Pete liked the neutral tone, which seemed crisp and professional, one he might have adopted himself if he’d elected to do the work. He’d offer Willard a verbal summary first in which he’d set the stage. Properly prepared, Willard would be eager to authorize additional surveillance.
    Pete took the finished report, made a copy for his files, and attached the photocopies of both sets of round-trip tickets with the relevant adjustments made to reflect how thoroughly he’d done his work. The Nevada PI had spent four nights at the same convention hotel where Mary Lee Bryce had been. Pete made a copy of the bill, whited out the other fellow’s name and credit card information, typed his own into the blank, and photocopied the bill for a second time. He leaned close to the page, inspecting the results, and decided it would be fine and dandy for his purposes. Willard would be too busy hyperventilating over the contents to pay attention to expenses. Generously, Pete discounted his fees by twenty percent, which he noted at the bottom of the page.
    He tucked the paperwork in the half-filled banker’s box and shoved it in the knee hole under his desk. He put a call through to Willard. Pete had scarcely identified himself when Willard jumped on him with both feet.
    “You want to tell me what’s going on?” he’d snapped. “I should have heard from you weeks ago. As much money as I paid, I expected you to be prompt.”
    “Now, let’s just hold on a minute, son. I’m not some pal of yours, doing you a personal favor. You hired me to do a job and I went far above and beyond. Your tone is a hair accusatory for a man who’ll benefit mightily from my being such a thoroughgoing professional. Most investigators would be content to leave well enough alone. I went the extra mile. Let’s not even talk about the twenty percent discount I accorded you in appreciation for your business. I guess none of what I uncovered is of interest.”
    He could picture Willard’s eyelids turning a brighter shade of pink. Willard probably wasn’t accustomed to being backed into a corner and it took him a few seconds to collect himself.
    “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested,” he murmured.
    “You sounded pretty hot under the collar if you want my take on it.”
    “I’m