“I'll ask around.”
“You know this is all bullshit,” I said. “What I can't figure out is why Davenport is gunning for me.”
“Parker Davenport has his own mind about things.”
A truck rumbled by, blasting us with a wave of hot air. Crowe straightened.
“I'm going to talk with our DA, see if I can't inspire a push for that warrant.”
Something suddenly struck me. Though Larke Tyrell had cited trespass when he'd banished me from the investigation, the issue of the courtyard house hadn't been raised today.
“I tracked down the owners.”
“I'm listening.”
“The property has belonged to an investment group called H&F since 1949. Before that it was owned by Edward E. Arthur, before that Victor T. Livingstone.”
She shook her head.
“You're talking way before my time.”
“I've got a list of the H&F officers in my room. I could bring it by your office after I check on my car.”
“I need to swing by Fontana when I'm done with the DA. We've got Fox Friggin' Mulder over there thinks he's found an alien.” She looked at her watch. “I should be back by four.”
I drove back to High Ridge House, feeling feverish with anxiety. To work off the tension I offered Boyd a jog. I also felt I should make up for breakfast. Not one for grudges, he accepted with enthusiasm.
The road was damp from yesterday's rain, and our feet made soft popping sounds on the muddy gravel. Boyd panted and his tags jingled. Jays and sparrows were the only other creatures breaking the stillness.
The view was another Impressionist tableau, an endless expanse of valleys and hills polished and buffed by a brilliant morning sun. But the wind had shifted overnight and now carried an edge. Each time we moved into shadow, I sensed winter and shortening days.
The exercise calmed me, but not much. As I climbed the stairs to Magnolia, my chest tightened at the memory of Monday's intrusion. Today my door was closed, my belongings intact.
I showered and put on fresh clothes. As I turned on the phone it rang in my hand. I answered with rigid fingers. Another journalist. I hung up and dialed Pete.
As usual, a machine took the call. Though I was anxious for an opinion on my legal situation, I knew it was useless to try his other numbers. Pete had both car and cell phones, but rarely recharged either. If he did progress that far, he'd forget to turn the unit on, or he'd leave it on a dashboard or bedroom dresser.
Frustrated, I dug out McMahon's fax, stuffed it in my purse, and headed downstairs.
I was making an egg salad sandwich when Ruby backed through the swinging door into the kitchen, a blue plastic laundry basket in her arms. She wore a white blouse, fake pearls, sweatpants, socks, and slippers, and her hair roll looked freshly lacquered. Her appearance suggested a morning outing, followed by a change from the waist down.
“Can I do that for you?” she asked.
“I'm fine.”
She set down the basket and walked to the sink, slippers flapping against her heels.
“I'm real sorry about your room.”
“I had nothing of value up there.”
“Someone must have come in while I was to market.” She picked up a dish towel, sniffed it. “Sometimes I wonder what the world's coming to. The Lord—”
“These things happen.”
“We've never had stealing in this house.” She turned to me, the towel twisted between her hands. “I don't blame you for being angry.”
“I'm not angry at you.”
She took a quick breath, opened her mouth, closed it. I had the impression she was about to say something, changed her mind, wary of how the telling might impact her life. Good. I was too strung out for sympathetic listening.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Do you have lemonade?”
She tossed the towel into her basket and crossed to the refrigerator. Withdrawing a plastic pitcher, she filled a glass and set it next to my sandwich.
“And that television business and all.”
“All through school, I was never once voted most popular.”
I smiled, not wanting Ruby to see how agitated I was. The gesture must have looked as strained as it felt.
“It isn't funny. You shouldn't let them do this.”
“I can't control the press, Ruby.”
She got a paper plate, placed my sandwich on it.
