She watched me for a moment, then turned away and lapsed into a curious wooden silence that matched my own. We couldn’t talk and we couldn’t be quiet: it was so deadly I had to turn on the radio, something I never do when I have people in the car. A couple of educated idiots were screaming at each other on KOA, giving a bad impression of what passes today for talk radio. I couldn’t stand it. Eventually I found KEZW, a nostalgia station. They were playing “Sam’s Song,” a vocal banter by Bing and Gary Crosby that I had heard four thousand times by actual count. At least I could stand that.
Ruby had answered my one essential question by drawing me a map. He had only been here once, almost a year ago, but he remembered it well enough to get me here. I spread the map on the seat as we rolled up the back highway, the mountains sprawling whitely to the left. I caught Rita glancing at the map. Our eyes met again. I stopped at a light and we just looked at each other for a moment. On the radio they were playing “I Hadn’t Anyone Till You.” Tommy Dorsey. Jack Leonard was singing the vocal refrain.
“Light’s green,” she said, and I started off again.
Then, without looking my way, she began to take me apart. She did it like a surgeon, without a tremor in her voice to betray her.
“It would seem that I’ve become a suspect again. I don’t like that, not from you.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Trust is a precious thing to me,” she said. “If I didn’t think you understood that, I promise you last night wouldn’t‘ve happened.”
“I know that.”
“Then talk to me, you bastard.”
Even when the words were loaded, her voice remained calm, icy.
“There may be a woman involved in it,” I said. “I don’t know what she did or why.”
“But you think it was me.”
“I don’t think anything.”
“Wrong answer, Janeway, and a lie to boot.”
I nodded.
“This is turning ugly,” she said.
“It’s always been ugly.”
“That’s funny, I thought it was something else. What happened to love at first sight?”
“Alive and well. It’s got nothing to do with this.”
“Then it can’t be much good.”
“Not true,” I said. “I’m just doing what a cop always does. Following my nose.”
“Is that what you were doing last night? You may’ve been following something, but it sure wasn’t your nose. You know what I think?”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“You should be. It doesn’t put you in a good light.”
We were getting close to Longmont. My eyes scanned the road for the turnoff.
I knew the question was coming before she asked it: knew and dreaded.
“How long have you been thinking these things?”
I took a deep breath. “You want an honest answer?”
“You bet.”
“It’s always been there. I push it back in my head and try to smother it, but it won’t ever go away.”
“Then it was in bed with us last night.”
“It’s that goddamn appraisal. I just can’t square it.”
She gave a dry little laugh. “You’re pretty good, though, I’ll have to say that. You have a way of saying I love you that makes a girl believe it.”
“It’s true,” I said. “It is, Rita.”
“Ah,” she said in a small voice.
I thought that might be the end of it, but she said, “What I can’t figure out is why I’m supposed to have done this. It couldn’t be for money. You want to see my bankbook?” She flipped open her checkbook from First Federal Savings. It made me dizzy, trying to drive and look. What really made me dizzy were all those digits, and not a decimal anywhere in sight. It was like standing on the edge of a deep cliff, looking straight down.
“This is my traveling money. My book account is about four times this big. I have another account that I use
