J is for JUDGMENT Page 18

  She smiled and held out her hand. “Hello, Kinsey. Nice to meet you. I’m your cousin, Liza.”

  “How did you get here?” I asked. “I only found out yesterday I might have relatives in the area.”

  “That’s when we heard, too. Well, that’s not quite accurate. Last night Lena Irwin called my sister, Pam, and we had an instant meeting. Lena was sure you were related. Both my sisters were panting to drive down to meet you, but we finally decided it’d be too confusing for you. Besides, Tasha really had to get back to San Francisco, and Pamela’s so pregnant she’s about to pop.”

  Three girl cousins suddenly. That was a bit much. I shifted the subject. “How do you know Lena?’”

  Liza waved dismissively, a gesture I’d used a hundred times myself. “Her family’s up in Lompoc. The minute she said she’d met you, we knew we had to come down. We haven’t said a word to Grand, but I know she’ll want to meet you.”

  “Grand?”

  “Oh, sorry. That’s our grandmother, Cornelia. Her maiden name was LaGrand, and we’ve always just shortened it. Everybody calls her Grand. It’s been her nickname since childhood.”

  “How much does she know about me?”

  “Not that much, really. We knew your name, of course, but we really weren’t sure where you’d ended up. The whole family scandal was so ridiculous. I don’t mean at the time. Good heavens, from what I’ve been told, it split the sisters down the middle. Am I interrupting your work? I should have asked before.”

  “Not at all,” I said with a quick look at my watch. I had three hours before my lunch appointment. “Alison told me she’d hold the calls, but I couldn’t think what could be so important. Tell me about the sisters.”

  “There were five of them altogether. I guess they had a brother, but he died in infancy. They were completely divided by the breach between Grand and Aunt Rita. You really never heard the story?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “I’m sitting here wondering if you really have the right person.”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “Your mother was a Kinsey. Rita Cynthia, right? Her sister’s name was Virginia. We called her Aunt Gin, or Gin Gin sometimes.”

  “So did I,” I said faintly. I’d always thought of it as my pet name for her, one that I invented.

  Liza went on. “I didn’t know her that well because of the estrangement between those two and Grand, who’ll be eighty-eight this year and sharp as a tack. I mean, she’s virtually blind and her health’s not that good, but she’s great for her age. I’m not sure the two of them ever spoke to Grand again, but Aunt Gin would come back to visit and all the sisters would converge. The big horror was that somehow Grand would get wind of it, but I don’t think she ever did. Anyway, our mother’s name is Susanna. She’s the baby in the family. Do you mind if I sit?”

  “I’m sorry. Please do. You want coffee? I can get us some.”

  “No, no. I’m fine. I’m just sorry to barge in and bury you under all this. What was I saying? Oh, yes. Your mother was the oldest and mine’s the youngest. There are only two surviving – my mother, Susanna… she’s fifty-eight. And then the sister one up from her, Maura, who’s sixty-one. Sarah died about five years ago. God, I’m sorry to spring all this on you. We just assumed you knew.”

  “What about Burton… Grandfather Kinsey?”

  “He’s gone, too. He only died a year ago, but of course he’d been sick for years.” She said it like I should have known the nature of his illness.

  I let that pass. I didn’t want to focus on the fine points when I was still struggling with the overall picture. “How many cousins?”

  “Well, there’re the three of us, and Maura has two daughters, Delia and Eleanor. Sarah had four girls.”

  “And you’re all up in Lompoc?”

  “Not quite,” she said. “Three of Sarah’s four are on the East Coast. One’s married, two in college, and I don’t know what the other one’s doing. She’s sort of the black sheep of the family. Maura’s kids are both in Lompoc. In fact, Maura and Mom live within five blocks of each other. Part of Grand’s master plan.” She laughed and I could see that we had the same teeth, very white and square. “We better do this in small doses or you’ll die of the shock.”

  “I’m close to that as it is.”

  She laughed again. Something about this woman was getting on my nerves. She was having way too much fun, and I wasn’t having any. I was trying to assimilate the information, trying to cope with its significance, trying to be polite and make all the right noises. But I felt foolish, in truth, and her breezy, presumptive manner wasn’t helping much. I shifted on my chair and raised my hand like a kid in a classroom. “Could I ask you to stop and go back to the beginning?”

  “I’m sorry. You must be so confused, you poor thing. I wish Tasha’d done this. She should have canceled her plane. I knew I’d probably botch it, but there just wasn’t any other choice. You do know about Rita Cynthia’s elopement. They must have told you that part.” She made a statement of it, equating the story with the news that the world was round.

  I shook my head again, beginning to feel like a bauble-head in some body’s rear car window. “I was five when my parents died in the accident. After that, Aunt Gin raised me, but she gave me no family history whatsoever. You can safely operate on the assumption that I’m dead ignorant.”

  “Oh, boy. I hope I can remember it all myself. I’ll just launch in, and anything you don’t get, please feel free to interrupt. First of all, our grandfather Kinsey had beaucoup bucks. His family ran a diatomite mining and processing operation. Diatomite is basically what they use to make diatomaceous earth. Do you know what that is?”

  “Some kind of filtering medium, isn’t it?”

  “Right. The diatomite deposits up in Lompoc are among the biggest and purest in the world. The Kinseys have owned that company for years. Grandmother must have come from money, too, though she doesn’t talk much about it so I don’t really know the story on that. Her maiden name was LaGrand. She’s always been called Grand, ever since I can remember. I already told you that. Anyway, she and Granddaddy had six kids – the boy who died and then the five girls. Rita Cynthia was the oldest. She was Grand’s favorite, probably because they were so much alike. I guess she was spoiled… or so the story goes, a real hell-raiser. She totally refused to conform to Grand’s expectations. Because of that, Aunt Rita’s become like this family legend. The patron saint of liberation. The rest of us – all the nieces and nephews – took her as a symbol of independence and spirit, someone sassy and defiant, the emancipated person our mothers wished they’d been. Rita Cynthia thumbed her nose at Grand, who was a piece of work in those days. Rigid and snobbish, judgmental, controlling. She raised all the girls to be little robots of gentility.

  Don’t get me wrong. She could be very generous, but there were usually string the money for college, go where she said. Sam the down payment and you found a place within six blocks of her. It really broke her heart when Aunt Rita left.”

  “I don’t understand what happened.”

  “Oh, boy. Right. Okay of all, Rita made her debut in 1935. July fifth – “

  “My mother was a debutante? She actually made a debut and you can recite the date? You must have quite a memory.”

  “No, no, no. It’s all knows that in our family. It’s like Goldilocks and the Three Bears or Rumpelstiltskin. What happened was Grand had a set of twelve sterling silver napkin rings engraved with Rita Cynthia’s name and the date of her debut. She was going to make it a tradition for each of the girls in turn, but it didn’t really work out. She threw this big coming-out party and set it up so Rita could meet all these incredibly eligible bachelors. Real lah-de-dah social register types.”

  “In Lompoc?”

  “Oh, golly, no. They came from everywhere. Marin County, Walnut Creek, San Francisco, Atherton, Los Angeles, you name it. Grand had her heart set on Rita’s ‘marrying well,’ as they used to say in those days. Instead, Rita fell in love
with your father, who was serving at the party.”

  “As a waiter?”

  “Exactly. Some friend of his worked for the caterer and asked him to help out. Aunt Rita started seeing Randy Millhone on the sly. This was right in the middle of the Depression, and his real job was working for the post office here in Santa Teresa. It’s not like he was really a waiter,” she said.

  “Oh, thank God,” I said dryly, but the irony was lost on her. “What’d he do for the post office?”

  “He was a mail carrier. ‘An uncivil servant,’ Grand used to say with her nose all turned up. As far as she was concerned, he was poor white trash… too old for Rita and way too low class. She found out they were dating and threw a pluperfect fit, but there was nothing she could do. Rita was eighteen and headstrong as they come. The more Grand protested, the more she dug her heels in. By November, she was gone. Just ran off and married him without telling a soul.”

  “She told Virginia.”

  “She did?”

  “Sure. Aunt Gin was one of the witnesses at the wedding.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that, but it does make sense. The point is, when Grand found out, she was so furious she cut her off without a dime. She wouldn’t even let her keep the silver napkin rings.”

  “A fate worse than death.”

  “Well, it must have seemed like it at the time,” she said. “I don’t know what Grandmother did with the rest of ‘em, but there was one we all used to vie for at family gatherings. Grand had this whole collection of assorted napkin rings… different styles and monograms, all British silver,” she said. “Before dinner, if she thought you’d been rude or disobedient or something? She’d make you use the Rita Cynthia napkin ring. She meant it to be mean You know, like it was her way of shaming anyone who got out of line – ridiculing all the girls – but we ended up fighting to have possession. We considered it a coup to get to use that one. Rita Cynthia was the only member of the family who ever really got away, and we thought she was great. So secretly we’d all get together and have this pitched battle for which of us would get to be Rita Cynthia. Whoever won would misbehave something fierce, and sure enough, Grand would descend like a witch and make’ em use the Rita Cynthia napkin ring. Big disgrace, but we thought it was such a hoot.”

  “Didn’t anyone object to your making such a big deal of it?”

  “Oh, Grand didn’t know. She could hardly see by then, and besides, we were very careful. That was the best part of the game. I’m not even sure our mothers noticed. Or if they did, they probably applauded secretly. Rita was their favorite, and Virginia ran a close second. That was the hardest part about Aunt Rita’s defection. We not only lost her, but for the most part, we lost Gin as well.”

  “Really,” I said, but I could barely hear myself. I felt as though I’d been struck. Liza couldn’t have guessed how the story was affecting me. My mother was never even a real person to them. She was a ritual, a symbol, something to be fought over like a bunch of rowdy dogs with a bone. I paused to clear my throat. “Why were they driving up to Lompoc?”

  This time Liza was puzzled. I could see it in her eyes.

  “My parents were killed on the way to Lompoc,” said carefully, as if translating for a foreigner. “If they’d broken with the family, why were they going up there?”

  “I hadn’t thought about that. I guess it was part of the reunion Aunt Gin was setting up.”

  I must have stared at her in some significant way because her cheeks tinted suddenly. “Maybe we should wait until Tasha comes back. She flies down for a visit every couple of weeks. She can fill you in on this stuff much better than I can.”

  “But what about the years since then? Why didn’t anybody get in touch?”

  “Oh, I’m sure they tried. I mean, I know they wanted to. They talked back and forth with Aunt Gin on the phone, so everybody knew you were here. Anyway, what’s done is done. I know Mom and Maura and Uncle Walter will be thrilled to hear we’ve met, and you really must come up.” I could feel something strange happening to my face. “None of you felt any reason to come down when Aunt Gin died?”

  “Oh, God, you’re upset. I feel awful. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just remembered I have an appointment,” I said. It was only nine twenty-five. Liza’s entire revelation had taken less than half an hour. “I guess we’ll have to finish this on another occasion.”

  She was suddenly busy with her handbag and her map. “I better hit the road, then. I probably should have called first, but I thought it would be such a fun surprise. I hope I haven’t blown it. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Please call. Or I’ll call you and we’ll get together again. Tasha’s older. She knows the story better and maybe she can fill you in. Everyone was crazy about Rita Cynthia. Honestly.”

  Next thing I was aware of, cousin Liza was gone. I closed the door behind her and went over to the window. A white wall wound along the properties in the back, bougainvillea spilling across the top in a tumbling mass of magenta. In theory, I’d suddenly gained an en-tire family, cause for rejoicing if you happen to believe the ladies’ magazines. In reality, I felt as if someone had just stolen everything I held dear, a common theme in all the books you read on burglary and theft.

  Chapter 17

  *

  The coffee shop Harris Brown had selected for our brainstorming session was a maze of interconnecting rooms with a huge oak tree growing up the middle. I parked in the side lot and walked into the entrance T. There were benches on either side of a corridor intended as an area where people could sit while they waited for their names to be called. Business had fallen off, and now there was just the length of empty space with potted rubber plants and what looked like a lectern at the end. A row of windows on either side of the entranceway gave an unobstructed view of patrons dining at tables in flanking wings of the restaurant.

  I gave my name to the hostess. She was a black woman in her sixties, with a manner about her that suggested she was wasting her education. Jobs are hard to find in this town, and she was probably grateful to have the work. As I approached her station I could see her reach for a menu.

  “My name’s Kinsey Millhone. I’m having lunch with a man named Hams Brown, but I’m hoping to find the restroom first. Could you show him to a table if he arrives before I get back? I’d appreciate it.”

  “Certainly,” she said. “You know where the ladies’ room is?”

  “I can find it,” I said, incorrectly as it turned out.

  I should have had a little map or dropped bread crumbs behind me. First, I found myself heading into a closet full of floor mops and then through a door leading to the alleyway out back. I retraced my steps and turned myself around. I could see a sign then in the shape of an arrow pointing to the right: “Telephones. Restrooms.” Ah, a clue. I found the proper door, with a ladies’ high heel in silhouette. I did my business with dispatch, moving back to the entrance. I arrived as the hostess was returning to her position. She pointed to the dining area to her left, a wing of the restaurant parallel to the entrance. “Second table on the right.”

  Almost without thinking, I glanced through the two adjacent windows, spotting Hams Brown as he stood to remove his sport coat. Instinctively I backed up a step, obscuring myself behind a potted plant. I looked at the hostess and jerked a thumb in his direction. “That’s Harris Brown?”

  “He asked for Kinsey Millhone,” she said. I peered around the plant at him, but there was no mistake. Especially since he was the only man in there.

  Harris Brown, retired police lieutenant, was the “drunk” I’d seen on the Viento Negro hotel balcony less than a week ago. Now what was that about? I knew he’d worked the fraud investigation, but that was years ago. How had he picked up Wendell Jaffe’s trail, and what was he doing down in Mexico? More to the point, wasn’t he going to turn around and ask me the very same thing? He was bound to remember my handy-dandy hooker act, and while that in itself wasn’t anythin
g to be ashamed of, I wasn’t quite sure how to explain what I’d been up to. Until I knew what was going on, it seemed less than cool to have a conversation with the man.

  The hostess was watching me with bemusement. “You think he’s too old for you? I could have told you that.”

  “You know him?”

  “He used to come in here all the time when he was working for the police department. Brought his wife and kids in every Sunday after church.”

  “How long have you worked here?”

  “Honey, I own the place. My husband, Samuel, and I bought it in 1965.”

  I could feel myself flush, though she couldn’t have guessed the reason.

  Dimples formed in her cheeks, and she flashed a smile at me. “Oh, I get it now. You thought I took this job because I’d fallen on hard times.”

  I laughed, embarrassed that I was so transparent. “I figured you were probably happy to have the work.”

  “Make no mistake about it, I am. I’d be happier still if the business picked up. At least I got old friends like Mr. Brown in there, though I sure don’t see him as often as I used to. What’s the deal? Somebody set you up on a blind date with him?”

  I felt a momentary confusion. “You just said he was married.”