W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone Mystery)

going on and on about this? I mean, give me a break. This is insulting enough as it is.”
    “I appreciate your time,” I murmured as I got up.
    Binky was already grabbing for the manila envelope, which she tried to stuff into her mouth without much success. She looked down at it, as though sizing it up for another approach.
    He snatched it away from her and sailed it in my direction. “Take the damn thing.” This time, the baby’s face crumpled and she howled.
    I left the envelope on the floor where it landed. “I’m at the Thrifty Lodge if you need to reach me.”
    “I don’t. Just get the hell out of here and watch the dogs don’t escape.”

16
    I stood on the porch, waiting for the flop sweat to cool before I headed down the steps. I had to congratulate myself on my efficiency. Here it was only 3:10 and I’d already had my ass handed to me on a plate. Ordinarily, I’d have sat in the car out front, taking notes while the conversation was still fresh in my mind. Instead, I fired up the Mustang and drove half a block, waiting until I’d turned the corner before I pulled over to the curb. I took a deep breath and exhaled. That had most certainly not gone well. I reran the conversation, considering alternative responses, but I couldn’t come up with any that might have served me better than the ones I’d voiced at the time. I’d hoped to persuade Ethan to give me Anna’s contact information, but that was out of the question now. I recited a string of cuss words, calling up some of the really nasty four-letter jobs that trip so refreshingly off the tongue. Didn’t seem to help.
    I couldn’t think what else to do with myself, so I went back to my motel. This was my second mistake in as many moves. The Thrifty Lodge, while thrifty, was a sorry piece of work. When I pulled in, mine was the only car in the lot. Maybe word had gone out on the motel underground that something was afoot. Why wasn’t anyone else staying there, unless they knew something I didn’t? I unlocked the door and stepped into my room. I’d neglected to leave a light on for myself, and even at this hour of the day the room was shadowy. Some of the gloom I attributed to the fact that the drapes were closed, blocking what was otherwise an outstanding view of the parking lot. I crossed to the big window and pulled the drapery cord dangling to the right. I gave a mighty tug, but the drapes refused to budge.
    I went into the bathroom, flipped on the light, and stared at myself in the mirror. Why did I feel so guilty? Why was I chiding myself when there wasn’t a good way to deliver the news I’d been called upon to “share”? I’d known I was doomed to failure before I made the drive to Bakersfield. Ethan couldn’t admit he was in any way responsible for the pain and distress he’d caused his father, and he wasn’t prepared to own up to the part he’d played in the changing of the will. I understood his rage. After years of humiliation, he’d suffered this final insult. During that last visit, his father had talked about the money, and while Ethan probably told himself he didn’t care, the idea must have lingered at the back of his mind in the same way it had in mine. You can’t anticipate a windfall like that without fantasizing what you’d do with it and what a difference it would make. Even with the money divided three ways, he was still looking at something close to two hundred thousand bucks. I could understand that, but I was puzzled by the cynicism he’d expressed about his father’s release from prison. Apparently, regardless of the reality, he still believed his father was implicated in the girl’s abduction and murder.
    Whatever the underlying attitude, I was going to suffer a repeat of the same scene two more times, with Ellen and again with Anna. I assumed Ethan would slap them with the bad news the first chance he got, but I couldn’t be sure of it. I had the option of notifying both by mail, but I still harbored the notion that I could soften the blow if I talked to them in person. Not that I’d done such a sterling job to date. Still, I figured as long as I’d traveled 150 miles, I might as well try. With luck, I wouldn’t see the three of them again in my lifetime.
    I left the bathroom and rounded up my shoulder bag, which I’d tossed on the bed. I checked the outside pockets and found Big Rat’s business card. I picked up the handset and dialed. Three rings . . . four. His machine kicked