Mystery

planet. We ran a high-volume business, meaning new panties and bras and nighties three times a year. Meaning a new crop of trollops three times a year. Can you imagine the temptation Mark faced on a daily basis? I never went to college, fellas, but I’m not stupid. As long as Mark remained faithful to me, he was free to engage in little bits of recreation.”

I said, “Adventures.”

“No, recreation. Mark was not an adventurous person. Didn’t like to travel, didn’t like to expand his comfort zone, it was all I could do to get him to take a Crystal cruise once a year. If you need me to be specific, what I’m referring to is inserting his little you-know-what into a variety of young, moist you-know- whats.”

“So Tara was just another chapter in a long book.”

She favored me with a solemn stare that slid into amusement. “You do have a way with words. Yes, that’s as good a way to put it as any.”

“Was she one of your lingerie models?”

“No, Mark found her after he retired. Online. Which I find hilarious because the entire time we were in business, you couldn’t get him near a computer and we were forced to hire strange little autistic men to attend to our technical needs. So what does he do? Buys himself a laptop that he doesn’t even know how to turn on. Sets it up in his den and begins spending more and more time with it. It got to a point where he’d disappear for hours. I suppose you could call it an addiction.”

Milo said, “What else did he tell you about Tara?”

“Cut to the chase, eh? Well, good for you, it’s refreshing to see civil servants who care about doing a good job. What else did he tell me … that he’d found some late-in-life amusement and promised not to spend too much on her upkeep.”

“By upkeep—”

“Her apartment, her living expenses,” said Leona Suss.

“That didn’t bother you?”

“I said, ‘You old fool, if you’re going to do it, do it right, just keep a lid on the budget.’ I couldn’t have him gallivanting all over town and ending up in a ditch somewhere. Mark had the most atrocious sense of direction. The way I saw it, his being aboveboard about wanting to you-know-what gave me the chance to exert some proper judgment over his Viagra-induced enthusiasm. Besides, if he wanted to live out his last days being ridiculous, who was I to stop him?”

“He was ill?”

“Not in any formal sense but he was always talking about dying, his cholesterol was horrid and he refused to moderate his diet. Meat, meat, meat. Then more meat. Then cheese and sweet desserts. The last thing I wanted was for him to keel over and leave me with guilt over having denied him his fun.”

Milo said, “I see your point, ma’am, but that’s awfully tolerant.”

“Only if I allowed myself to see her as anything more than a toy. Mark loved me deeply and exclusively, he was emotionally faithful, we raised two wonderful boys, built a glorious life together. If he felt like swallowing little blue pills and ripping off some cheap tail, why should it bother me?”

I said, “So you set the upkeep budget.”

“I suggested an upper limit,” said Leona Suss, grinning wider than ever. “Six thousand a month, and that was far too generous. Not that I was in a position to dictate, Mark had put aside a little personal retirement fund—some tax thing on the advice of our accountant. Everything else was in the family trust with both of us as trustees. He was free to crack his little piggy bank at will but he told me my figure was appropriate.”

Milo said, “To some people six thousand a month would be huge money.”

She gestured around the room again. “To some people, all this would be a big deal but one gets used to everything and to me this is just a house.”

“Everything’s relative,” I said.

“Precisely.”

“A Frieseke, a Hassam, and a Thomas Moran isn’t sidewalk art.”

Lavender eyes narrowed. “A policeman who knows his paintings? How refreshing. Yes, those pictures are pricey by today’s standards but you’d be amazed at how little we paid for them thirty years ago. The secret to being a successful collector, fellas, is have exquisite taste then grow old.”

I said, “So six grand was a drop in the bucket.”

She placed the sunglasses next to one of her photos. Moved the frame so that we could see the image better.

Beautiful brunette with long, wavy, windswept hair peering up at a cloudless sky. A smile that could be interpreted a thousand ways.

“I’m going to say something that’s going to sound disgustingly snobby but it’s the truth: I can easily spend more than that on a single excursion to Chanel.”

“So all things considered, Tara was a cheap date.”

“She was cheap in every sense of the word. Liked to talk to Mark in a phony British accent. Like she was Princess Di. He laughed at her.”

Milo said, “Do you know where her apartment is?”

“West Hollywood, Mark didn’t want to drive far. If you wait here, I’ll fetch the address.”

She was gone less than a minute, returned carrying a three-by-five card that matched the apricot couches. The cat padded several paces behind her, tail up, ears perked, eyes unreadable.

“Here you go.” After copying the information on a scrap of paper, she handed it to me.

From the Desk of Leona Suss

An address on Lloyd Place written in elegant fountain-pen cursive.

“I drove by exactly once,” she said. “Not to stalk the old fool, to make sure he was getting his money’s worth. Nice place, at least from the outside.”

Milo said, “How much of the six went for rent?”

“I couldn’t tell you. One thing I did insist should come out of the total was testing her for diseases. I couldn’t have Mark infecting me with some gawdawful plague.”

Cocking her head and batting her lashes. Wanting us to know she’d remained sexually active with her husband.

I said, “You saw the results of the tests?”

“A couple of times. Not the most pleasant of tasks but one needs to safeguard one’s health.”

“Do you remember where she got tested?”

“Some doctor on San Vicente. And no, I didn’t save the reports, I’m not one for tawdry souvenirs.”

“You saw the reports,” said Milo, “but you don’t know Tara’s last name.”

“The reports came with a number code.”

“You took it on faith that the code was her.”

“Of course I did, I trusted Mark. Without trust there’s no relationship.”

She unfolded herself, pranced to the mantel, pushed a button. The Slavic maid appeared. “Ma’am?”

“I’d like some Diet Snapple, Magda. Peach—how about you fellas?”

“No, thanks.”

Magda curtsied and left.

“She’s from Kosovo, lost a lot of her family,” said Leona Suss. “My ancestors were immigrants from Bulgaria, settled in Lawrence, Kansas. Father worked building church organs for the Reuter Company until he was eighty. I find immigrants the best workers.”

Magda returned bearing a cut-crystal tumbler on a silver tray. Lemon, lime, and orange wedges rode the rim of the glass.

“Thank you so much, Magda.”

“Ma’am.”

Leona sipped. “Mmm, yummy. How does the kitchen look, dear?”

“I need to do the oven.”