Palm Springs itself is a town of resorts and vacation homes and poodle groomers for the affluent, but the men and women who keep the city running live in smaller communities like Cathedral City to the south or North Palm Springs on what's considered the wrong side of the freeway.
Paulette Renfro lived in a small, neat desert home in the foothills above the freeway with a view of the windmills. Her home was beige stucco with a red tile roof and an oversized air conditioner that I could hear running from the street. Down in Palm Springs the people can afford to irrigate for grass lawns, but up here the lawns were crushed rock and sand, with desert plantings that required little water. All their money goes into the air conditioner.
I parked off the street and walked up her drive past an enormous blooming century plant with leaves like green swords. A brand-new Volkswagen Beetle was parked behind a Toyota
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Camry, only the Camry was in a garage and the Beetle was out in the sun. Visitor.
A tall, attractive woman answered when I rang the bell. She was wearing a nice skirt and makeup, as if she planned to leave soon or had just returned.
I said, 'Ms. Renfro?'
'Yes?' Nice teeth and a pretty smile. She was five or six years older than me, but that meant she must've been younger than Abel Wozniak.
'My name's Cole. I'm a private investigator from Los Angeles. I need to speak with you about Abel Wozniak.'
She glanced inside like she was nervous about something. 'Now isn't really a good time. Besides, Abel died years ago. I don't know how I could help you.'
'Yes, ma'am. I know. I'm hoping you can answer a few questions about a case he was working on at the time of his death. It's pretty important. I've come a long way.' Sometimes if you look pathetic enough it helps.
A younger woman appeared behind her, the younger woman saying, 'Who is it, Mom?'
Paulette Renfro told me that we were letting out all the cold and asked me to come in, though she didn't look happy about it. Most people don't. 'This is my daughter Evelyn. Evelyn, this is Mr. Cole. From Los Angeles.'
'I have to finish moving.' Annoyed.
'Hi, Ms. Renfro.' I offered my hand, but Evelyn didn't take it.
'My name's Wozniak. Renfro was
'Evie, please.'
I said, 'This shouldn't take any more than ten minutes. I promise.'
Paulette Renfro glanced at her watch, then her daughter. 'Well, I suppose I have a few minutes. But I have things to do, and I have an appointment to show a house in less than an hour. I'm in real estate.'
Evie said, 'I don't need your help. I just need to bring in the rest of my things.'
Evie Wozniak stalked out of the house and slammed the door. She looked like a twenty-something version of her
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mother in the face, but where Paulette Renfro was neat and well put together, her daughter was puffy and overweight, her features pinched with a set that said most things probably annoyed her.
I said, 'Looks like I interrupted something. Sorry about that.'
Ms. Renfro seemed tired. 'There's always something to interrupt. She's having boyfriend problems. She's always having boyfriend problems.'
The house was neat and attractive, with an enormous picture window and comfortable Southwestern furniture. The living room flowed through to a family-room combination with the kitchen on one side and a hall that probably led to bedrooms on the other. Beyond the family room, a small blue pool glittered in the heat. From the picture window, you could look down across the freeway and see the windmills, slowly turning, and farther south, Palm Springs.
'This is very nice, Ms. Renfro. I'll bet Palm Springs looks beautiful at night.'
'Oh, it does. The windmills remind me of the ocean during the day, what with their gentle movement like that, and at night the Springs can look like one of those fairy-tale cities from
She led me to a comfortable couch that looked toward the view.
'Could I offer you something to drink? With our heat out here, you have to be careful to keep yourself hydrated.'
'Thanks. Water would be good.'
The living room was small, but the open floor plan and a spare arrangement of furniture made it feel larger. I hadn't expected Paulette Renfro to keep any fond memories of Joe Pike, but as I waited for the water, I noticed a small framed picture resting in a bookcase among a little forest of bowling trophies. Paulette Wozniak was standing with her husband and Pike in front of an LAPD radio car that was parked in the drive of a modest home. Paulette was wearing jeans and a man's white shirt with the sleeves rolled and the tails tied off in a kind of halter.
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Joe Pike was smiling.
I went over to the bookcase, and stared at the picture.
I had never seen Pike smile. Not once in all the years that I'd known him. I had seen a thousand pictures of Joe in the Marines, of him hunting or fishing or camping, pictures of him with friends, and in none of them was he smiling.
Yet here was this picture of her former husband and the man who had killed him.
Smiling.
Paulette Renfro said, 'Here's your water.'
I took the glass. She'd brought water for herself, too.
'That's Abel on the left. We were living in the Simi Valley.'
I said, 'Ms. Renfro, Joe Pike is a friend of mine.'
She stared at me for a moment, holding her glass with both hands, then went to the couch. She sat on the edge of it. Perching.
'I imagine you find it odd that I would keep that picture.'
'1 don't find anything odd. People have their reasons.'
'I've been reading about all that mess down in Los Angeles. First Karen, now Joe being accused of murdering this man. I think it's a shame.'
'You knew Karen Garcia?'
'Joe was dating her in those days, you know. She was a pretty, sweet girl.' She glanced at her watch again, then decided something. 'You say you and Joe are friends?'
'Yes, ma'am. We own the agency together.'
'Were you a police officer, also?' Like she wanted to talk about Joe, but wasn't sure how to go about it.
'No, ma'am. Private only.'
She glanced at the picture again, almost as if she had to explain it. 'Well, what happened to Abel happened a long time ago, Mr. Cole. It was a terrible, horrible accident, and I can't imagine that anyone feels worse about it than Joe.'
Evelyn Wozniak said, 'Your child feels worse about it, Mother. Since he killed my father.'
She had come through the kitchen carrying a large cardboard box.
Paulette's face tightened. 'Do you need a hand with that?'
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