managed to say something that momentarily rocked Shelley Kuni's virtually unshakable composure. For a second, the restaurant owner paled, glancing back and forth from Grace to me. Finally, Shelley leaned down and gave the older woman a hug.
'I'm sure everything will work out just fine,' she said. 'If you do end up in jail and the cooks don't serve caramel apple cake, maybe I could send some in for you special.'
'Oh, Shelley,' Grace said, her eyes misting once more. 'You're one of the most thoughtful people I know.'
Being a gentleman, I walked Grace back to her store on Main Street. There was no further conversation. She was obviously quite put out that I had failed to perform as expected. When we arrived at Dorene's, the door was open, but the middle-aged woman I glimpsed through the window couldn't possibly have been Latty Gibson.
'I'm still going to need to talk to Latty in person,' I said, pausing outside the door. 'Will you give her my number and ask her to call?'
'Oh, all right,' Grace agreed.
'And I'll want to speak to Virginia Marks as well. I've already tried calling her, but I only reached her answering machine.'
'She's out of town,' Grace said. 'She's due back sometime later this afternoon. I expect to hear from her as soon as she gets in.'
It sounded to me as though Virginia Marks was still working for Grace Highsmith. 'Do you know where she's been?'
'Of course. She's been down in California.'
'Doing what?'
'Tracking Don Wolf.'
'But why? The man's dead.'
'As Mark Antony said about Julius Caesar, ‘The evil that men do lives after them.' These are the nineties, Detective Beaumont. Just because the man is dead doesn't mean he can no longer hurt her.'
There was a short pause before I finally tumbled to what she meant. 'You mean AIDS?'
'Of course I mean AIDS. I haven't brought it up with Latty, because I don't want to alarm her unnecessarily. Nonetheless, Virginia is trying to find out if he had any other…sexual connections. Besides his wife, I mean.'
It crossed my mind that for that kind of information, a trip to California wasn't the least bit necessary. In fact, all Virginia Marks would have needed to do was talk to Jack Braman of the Lake View Condos. But I didn't tell Grace Highsmith that. It wasn't my job.
'I'll need to talk to Virginia Marks as soon as possible, Miss Highsmith,' I said. 'And to Latty as well. Please give them my phone numbers. Here's another card in case you misplaced the first one. It would be better for all concerned if they contacted me rather than having to be tracked down.'
This time Grace Highsmith slipped the card into her pocket. She seemed suddenly subdued and diminished. 'You knew right away I was lying, didn't you,' she said.
I nodded.
'I was a fair actress once,' she said sadly. 'I really thought I could pull it off. Now that it's out in public, though, my confession is probably going to cause a good deal of trouble.'
'Telling me doesn't mean it's public knowledge. Don't worry about it,' I added. 'I certainly don't hold it against you. After all, Latty's your niece. You were only trying to protect her.'
'Thank you, Detective Beaumont,' she said. 'You've been most kind.'
I opened the door and let Grace back into her shop, then I climbed into the parked Porsche and started the engine. As I glanced in the rearview mirror, I noticed that a van with a television station's logo emblazoned on the front was waiting to pull into my parking place.
At the time, I didn't think a thing about it, although, if I'd been smart, I would have.
Thirteen
Once I was in the car and headed back into Seattle, I remembered the previous day's hassle with Sergeant Watkins about my not using the beeper. Just to be on the safe side, I checked the display. As soon as I saw the number on the readout-Watty's, of course-I felt like one of those fork-bending psychics.
I called him on my cellular phone. 'Detective Beaumont,' he grumbled. 'Where the devil have you been? I've been looking everywhere. I even checked with motor pool, but they told me you hadn't signed out a car.'
'I've been busy,' I said. 'What's up?'
'I'll tell you what's up. The Media Relations folks have been climbing all over me for the last hour and a half. Phil Grimes is fit to be tied.'
'Media Relations? How come?'
'The jail commander is calling every other minute, complaining because the street outside their sally port is blocked almost solid with wall-to-wall television trucks, cameras, and reporters.'
'What's going on at the jail?' I asked. 'Have I missed something important?'
'Don't try running that phony innocence crap past me, Detective Beaumont,' Watty growled into the phone. 'This time, I'm not falling for it.'
Phony innocence? For once, it wasn't a matter of feigning innocence, because I didn't have the foggiest idea of why Watty was so steamed. One thing was painfully clear, however. It had something to do with me.
'What's going on?' Watty continued. 'I'll tell you what's going on. Right around eleven-thirty, somebody supposedly in the know faxed every damn newspaper and television and radio station in town and told them that early this afternoon, Seattle Homicide Detective J. P. Beaumont would be arresting Grace Highsmith and charging her with the murder of Don Wolf. The accompanying confession to Don Wolf's murder appears to be handwritten on Grace Highsmith's personal stationery and over her signature.'
'But I didn't even meet up with her until…Suddenly feeling half sick, I remembered how long it had taken Grace Highsmith to come back out of the back room. She hadn't tried to skip out on me. She had simply outfoxed me at every turn.
'She sent out a signed confession? And an advance announcement of her impending arrest?'
'That's right,' Watty returned glumly.
I tried making light of it. 'Come on, Watty. You know how this stuff goes. There isn't a major case on the books where we don't end up with at least one or two phony confessions. This one's no different.'
'Believe me, Detective Beaumont, it is different. Now where is she, Beau? Did you arrest her or not?'
'No, I didn't arrest her. Her confession was so full of holes it was a joke-a put-up deal. The last time I saw Grace Highsmith, she was walking in the door of her gift shop in downtown Bellevue. I don't understand why everybody's so upset. There was never any question of my arresting her.'
'Why the confession, then?' Watty asked.
'Grace Highsmith is a nice little old lady who was trying to protect her niece.'
'Nice little old lady!' Watty scoffed. 'Here she is, confessing to a killing and announcing the victim's name in public when we haven't even released that information to the media. Makes the whole department look like a bunch of jackasses. And if she's so damned nice, Detective Beaumont, how come she knew the victim's name?'
'I already told you, Watty. She was trying to protect her niece.'
'So the niece is the killer then?'
'Could be. I don't know,' I said. 'Not yet anyway, although there's a good possibility. The aunt gave me a gun that may be the murder weapon. She opened up her purse and dumped a thirty-two auto out onto the table right in the middle of lunch.'
'Is it the murder weapon or isn't it?' Watty demanded.
'Maybe.'
'Look here, Detective Beaumont. I want a lot more than maybes on this, and I want it fast. Where is this alleged murder weapon right now?'
'In my pocket.'
I didn't add that it was wrapped up in doggy-bag aluminum foil. I don't think Sergeant Watkins would have
