"Grafton, Sue - Kinsey Millhone - N is for Noose" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grafton Sue)

"One more thing. And don't get all testy on me. Just tell me what you think. Is there any possibility Tom might have been involved with another woman?"
"No."
I laughed. "Try to keep your answer to twenty-five words or less," I said. "Why not?"
"He was a deeply moral man."
"Well, couldn't that explain his brooding? A man with no conscience wouldn't be at war with himself."
"Objection, your honor. Purely speculative."
"But Rafer, something was troubling him. Selma's not the only one who saw that. I don't know if it was personal or professional, but from what I gather, he was truly distressed."
We pulled into the parking area between the Rainbow Cafe and the Nota Lake Cabins. Rafer put the car in park and then opened his door. "Come on. I'll buy you breakfast. I got a daughter works here."
I struggled with the handle and then gave up. I sat while he walked around the car and opened the door on my side. He even offered a helping hand as I emerged. "Thanks. I can see this is going to be a pain."
"It'll be good for you," he said. "Force you to deal with your dependency issues."
"I don't have dependency issues," I said stoutly.
He smiled in response.
He held the cafe door open and I entered ahead of him. The place was bustling, all men, clearly the stopping-off place of early risers, ranchers, cops, and laborers on their way to work. The interior was, as usual, overheated, and smelled of coffee, bacon, sausages, maple syrup, and cigarettes. The brown-haired waitress, Nancy, was taking an order from a table full of fellows in overalls while Barrett, behind the counter, was focused on a griddle spread with pancakes and omelettes in the making. Rafer took the lead and found us an empty booth. As we passed the intervening tables, I could see we were attracting any number of stares. I was guessing the jungle drums had already spread the news about my assailant.
"How'd you end up in Nota Lake?" I asked, as we slid into the seats.
"I started out as a dispatcher for the L.A.PD., working on my degree at night. Once I graduated, I applied to the academy. I was hired on at San Bernardino, eventually assigned to robbery detail, but when Barrett was born, Vicky started bugging me to leave LA. She was working as an ER nurse at Queen of Angels, and hated the commute. Even on two salaries, we couldn't afford to buy a house in any of the areas we liked. I heard about an opening in the sheriff's department up here. Vick and .I drove up one weekend and fell in love with the place. That's been twenty-three years. Tom was already here. He grew up in Bakersfield."
Two tables over, I caught sight of Macon with his gaze fixed on me. He leaned forward, making some comment. The man with him. made one of those casual turns, pretending to glance idly around the room when he was really taking aim at me. I picked up a menu, pretending I didn't notice him pretending not to notice me. Margaret's husband, Hatch.
"You know what you want?" Rafer asked. "I do the works myself. I keep trying to reform, but I can't resist."
"I'm with you," I said. "Your daughter's name is Barrett?"
"That was Vick's idea. I'm not sure where she got it, but it seems to fit. The job is temporary, by the way. She's applied to med school. She wants to be a shrink. This allows her to live at home and save her money 'til she goes."
"Where'd she do her undergraduate work? U.C.L.A.
"Where else?" he said, smiling. "What about you?"
"I hated school," I said. "I made it through high school by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin, but that's as far as I went. Well, I guess I did three semesters of junior college, but I hated that, too."
"How so? You seem smart."
"I'm too rebellious," I said. "I graduated from police academy, but that was more like boot camp than academia."
"You're a cop?"
"I was. I was rebellious about that, too."
Nancy appeared with a coffee pot in hand. She was in her forties, hair pulled back in a smooth chignon over which she wore a net. She had large brown eyes, a beauty mark high on her right cheek, and the sort of body men seem to have trouble keeping their hands off. She wore a T-shirt, generously cut slacks, and brown oxfords with an inch-thick crepe sole. "You're out early," she remarked to Rafer. We both pushed our mugs in her direction and she filled them.
"You met Kinsey?"
"Not formally, but I know who she is. I'm Nancy. You talked to Alice about me."
"How are you," I said. "I'd shake hands if I could."
"Yeah, I heard about that. Cecilia stopped by when we were opening the place. She says you took quite a hit. I can see your jaw turning blue."
I put a hand to the place. "I keep forgetting about that. It must look terrific."
"Gives you character," she said. She glanced at Rafer. "What's for breakfast?"
He looked back at the menu. "Well, let's see. I'm trying to keep my cholesterol up so I think I'll have the blueberry pancakes, sausage, couple of scrambled eggs, and coffee."
"Make that two," I said.
"You want orange juice?"
"Oh sure. What the heck?" he said.
"Back in a flash," she said.
I saw Rafer's gaze flicker to the window. "Excuse me. I see Alex. I'll take him on back to the cabin and get him started."
I had to use two hands to hold my coffee mug, given that three fingers on my right hand were taped together like an oven mitt. The doctor had told me I could remove the tape after a day or two, as long as it felt comfortable. He'd given me four painkillers, neatly sealed in a small white envelope. I remembered a similar envelope from my childhood church-going days, when my nickel or dime offering was placed in the collection plate. The plate itself was wood, passed from hand to hand until it reached an usher at ,the end of the pew. I'd been kicked out of any number of Sunday school classes for reasons I've repressed, but my Aunt Gin, feeling huffy on my behalf, decided I was entitled to go to proper church services. I suppose her intention was to expose me to spiritual admonition. Mostly what I learned was how hard it is to do an accurate visual count of organ pipes.
I glanced out the window, watching Rafer cross the parking pad, heading toward the cabin in the company of a young man carrying a black case, like a doctor's bag. I took a physical inventory, noting the sore ribs on my right side. I didn't think my jaw was swollen, but it was clearly bruised. No teeth missing or loose. I could feel a knot on my butt the size of a silver dollar and I knew from experience it would itch like a son of a bitch for weeks on end.
"Miss Millhone, can I talk to you?"
I looked up. James Tennyson was standing at the table in his tan CHP uniform, complete with all its creaking paraphernalia: nightstick, flashlight, keys, holster, gun, bullets.
"Sure. Have a seat."
He put a hand against his holster, securing his gun as he slid into the booth. I thought he was ill at ease, but I didn't know him well enough to be certain. "I saw Rafer step away from the table and figured you might have a few minutes."
"This is fine. Nice to see you. You got your flashlight back?"
"Yes ma'am. I appreciate your returning it. Jo found it inside the storm door when she went out to get the paper." He pointed at my hand. "I just heard about the fellow coming after you last night. You all right?"
"More or less."
"He meant business."
"I'll survive," I said.