The Alpine Menace Part 18

"Yes, but-"

"Well, then? What's so difficult?"

Alvin threw his hands up in the air. "The reasonable doubt. Where is it? What is it? I don't have one."

"What about the witnesses? The alibi?" Vida demanded.

"I already told you, they're flimsy," Alvin responded in a weary voice. "Hey, I don't want to lose my first homicide case."

"Hold on," I said. "Do you honestly believe Ronnie killed Carol?"

Alvin's boyish face became miserable. "I don't know."

"That," I said, rising from the chair, "is an easy out. For you."

Vida and I left.

Kendra had mentioned that she worked at a QFC grocery store, a big chain with outlets in almost every Seattle neighborhood. From the time frame she'd given me about the night of the murder and judging from the location of her family home, I guessed that she was probably employed at one of three locations: on Forty-fifth Street near her parents' house, off Roosevelt Way south of her apartment, or possibly the store in Ballard, a block from where I'd had lunch on Easter Sunday.

The closest of the three was on Forty-fifth. Vida and I arrived there just after four o'clock. In my youth, the store had been Food Giant, a mecca for the working-cla.s.s residents of Wallingford, Fremont, and Green Lake. But again, change had swept away another landmark. A younger generation had moved in, with many of the newcomers connected to the University of Washington, a mile and a half away. The shelves and bins of the Forty-fifth Street QFC catered to health-conscious, organic-only, natural-food lovers.

The front-end manager had never heard of Kendra Addison. Vida was shaking her head at the organic artichokes when I spotted Kathy Addison entering the store.

"Well, well," Vida murmured. "Don't tell me she buys beans in bulk."

"She's all yours," I said, ducking back into the produce section. "Kathy and I don't get along."

Vida marched up to the front and grabbed a grocery cart just as Kathy wheeled away toward the deli department. I followed at a discreet distance, seemingly absorbed in a soda-pop display.

Conversation was initiated by Vida in front of fruit salads. Kathy seemed amiable. I wondered what spiel Vida was giving her as they headed for fish and meat.

Fifteen minutes later Vida was going through the express lane, having purchased toothpaste, bunion pads, and two cans of Ajax.

"I had to get something," she announced when I met her out at the car. "Otherwise, she'd have been suspicious."

"She wasn't?" I asked.

"Heavens, no. I started out by mentioning how hard it is to cook for one person. Especially when your husband is no longer with you and your daughters have moved out." Vida simpered a bit as we started off into heavy traffic on Forty-fifth.

"Kathy fell for that?"

"It's true," Vida a.s.serted. "In a way. Kathy told me she knew exactly what I meant, then I said that in my case, it was even more difficult because my granddaughter was adopted, and I'd never been sure if she felt accepted by me. I blamed myself, of course, for being inadequate. Kathy said it wasn't my fault, it was one of the problems of adoption. An adopted child should be grateful for having been placed in a loving family."

"Did she admit she had an adopted daughter?" I asked, turning off onto Meridian Avenue to avoid the crosstown traffic.

"Yes," Vida responded. "She bragged about how she and her husband had treated Kendra-yes, she mentioned her by name-as if she were their own. Now, how do you do that when she's not? You love a child because you're the parent. You shouldn't pretend, as if there's shame in adoption."

"What else did she say?" I asked, stopping at the Fiftieth Street light. The old Good Shepherd Home still stood on the block to my left, but it was no longer a refuge for wayward girls; now it was a community center. Another change. Ben couldn't threaten me anymore with being sent there to get thumped by the nuns and eat un-salted potato soup.

"Kathy mentioned what a lovely home they'd provided for Kendra," Vida said, "with every advantage. The main advantage seemed to be Kathy herself. She sacrificed everything for Kendra, including her career."

"Which was?" I inquired.

"An interior decorator," Vida replied, "which explains the house you described. Unfortunately, she got off on a tangent regarding color schemes and fabrics and such. I finally lost her in feminine hygiene."

"She didn't seem angry with Kendra for moving out?"

"No. She insisted that young people should try their wings." Vida paused, her head swiveling. "Where are we going?"

"To the QFC on Roosevelt," I answered.

"Good," said Vida. "That's the one where Kendra works. Kathy told me that, too."

I shot Vida an admiring glance. "It's too bad we can't figure out a way to arrange another chat between you and Kathy."

"But we can," Vida replied as we pa.s.sed the entrance to I-5 and kept heading east. "She gave me her phone number."

My admiration soared. "How did you manage that?"

"I humbled myself and asked for her advice," Vida replied complacently. "I told her that my granddaughter was a teenager, such a difficult age, and I was afraid that since her parents had moved her to another city and a different school, she might be tempted to drop out in her senior year. Kathy said that although that had never been a problem with Kendra, she-Kathy, of course-could certainly counsel me on how I might help my granddaughter and her parents weather the storm."

I had to wait to turn left on Fifteenth Avenue, since Roosevelt is one way in this part of its north-south direction. While I waited for traffic to clear in the opposite lane, I glanced in the rearview mirror. There was no sign of the black Ford Taurus. Happily, I hadn't noticed anyone following us since our return to Seattle.

"Let's hope Kendra and Kathy don't compare notes about mature women who wear exotic hats," I said as we headed for the Roosevelt business district.

"Exotic?" Vida echoed, smoothing her swallows. "It's called flair. Besides, they're both too self-absorbed to pay much attention to someone else."

At twenty minutes after five on a Tuesday afternoon, the store was busy. I spotted Kendra right away, helping load bags for a middle-aged woman with a long gray ponytail.

"Kendra said she got off at five-thirty, at least she did on the night of the murder," I said in an undertone to Vida as we hid ourselves in the flower section. "Let's see if she quits work then. We can grab her before she goes to change."

The plan struck Vida as sensible. We admired the flowers, browsed the paperback books, and gazed at the magazines. Kendra made five trips to the parking lot and, after the last one, nodded to one of the checkers. She started toward the back of the store; we were right on her heels.

"Are you free for dinner?" I asked, a mere two feet behind her.

Startled, Kendra stopped so abruptly that I b.u.mped into her. "Oh! You scared me," she gasped, a hand to her breast. "What do you want now?"

Kendra's scowl didn't make me feel optimistic. Fortunately, Vida intervened. "My dear," she said, placing a kindly hand on the girl's arm, "we've come to the conclusion that you may hold the key to this entire mystery. May we treat you to supper so that you can enlighten us?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kendra retorted, pulling her arm away. "You two give me the creeps."

"Canlis?" Vida said, mentioning the city's most revered restaurant.

"Canlis?" Kendra's eyes seemed to pop out of her head. "Are you kidding?"

"Of course not," Vida replied. "Do you have your car with you?"

"Yes, but..." Kendra's hand fluttered over her QFC ap.r.o.n. "I'm not dressed for Canlis. I mean, I've got my other clothes here, but they're jeans and a sweatshirt."

"We'll make a six-thirty reservation and meet you there," I said. "How's that?"

Kendra gulped. "Fine. Cool. I'll see you there." She hurried off down the aisle.

"Canlis?" I said to Vida as we headed out of the store. "Why not fly her down to San Francisco and eat at the Fairmont Hotel?"

Vida was grimacing. "I'm sorry. It was the first thing that popped into my head. I'm not familiar with Seattle's finer restaurants. Canlis has been around forever."

It had, for almost half a century, having survived all sorts of rumors, mostly unfounded, about its prices, its exclusivity, and its most famous regular, the Teamsters' Dave Beck. But because it retained an exalted reputation, I stopped at a pay phone to see if we could get a reservation. For all I knew, Canlis had been taken over for the evening by Bill Gates.

We were in luck, unless I considered the limit on my credit card. We could get in at six, which meant we'd have to wait for Kendra. Vida and I drove back to Aurora, then went south over the bridge. The restaurant is located just at the south end, which meant taking the Queen Anne Hill turnoff and making a loop under the bridge and coming back onto Aurora just a few feet from the entrance to the valet parking lot.

The Lexus fit in nicely with the Cadillacs, BMWs, Mercedeses, and other cars of quality. I felt slightly dowdy in my black slacks and red sweater-even though it was cashmere, courtesy of a Nordstrom after-Christmas sale. Vida's swallow-covered hat would give her cachet just about anywhere, including Buckingham Palace.

I hadn't been in Canlis for thirty years. My ex-fiance, a Boeing engineer, and I had gone there to celebrate our engagement. I remembered almost nothing about the evening except that I'd had to lend Don twenty bucks to cover the bill and tip.

To my amazement, Vida ordered a Tom Collins from our lovely, kimono-clad j.a.panese waitress. "I don't want to seem like a cheapskate," she said, with a lift of her chin.

I grinned at her. "I know, but that's probably a ten-dollar gesture."

"What?" Vida stared at me. "I thought five would be excessive."

"It would be," I agreed, "in Alpine."

"Am I paying for the view?" she asked, leaning back to gaze out over Lake Union and the University of Washington. If it hadn't been a cloudy evening, we could have seen the Cascades in the distance.

"Not really," I said as the waitress brought our c.o.c.ktails. I'd splurged, too, and gotten a Rob Roy. "You're paying for the quality of the food, the excellent service, and the right to say you dined at Canlis. Try that on Mary Lou Hinshaw Blatt."

A slight smile curved on Vida's lips. "So I shall. It's as good a reason as any to speak to her again. She may be my sister-in-law, but Mary Lou is an idiot."

Kendra arrived looking wide-eyed and well groomed. She wore a short black dress with white piping around the neckline and patent-leather high heels.

"It's my high-school graduation dress," she explained, twisting and turning in every direction after she'd been seated. "Are all these people rich?" she asked, taking in the half-filled dining area.

"Either that, or they're on an expense account," I said, noting that Kendra seemed to have forgotten that Vida and I gave her the creeps.

The black dress must have added a couple of years to her appearance, because the waitress asked if she, too, would like something to drink before dinner. Kendra, however, demurred.

"I don't want to get busted in a place like this," she confided after the waitress had left.

"The salad is separate," Vida hissed from behind her menu. "Everything is separate. Goodness!"

We ordered salads anyway, then Vida began her quest for information. "Kendra," she said, making a face after every sip of her Tom Collins, "we want you to go back in time, to the night of Carol's murder. I know this is difficult, but it's terribly important."

"I already told you about that," Kendra protested. "There's nothing more to say."

"Yes, there is," Vida responded. "You've no idea how important your recollections and observations are to this murder case. Sit back, relax, and close your eyes. You're a very smart young woman, and I know you want to make sure that the person who actually killed your birth mother is punished. Now, see if you can remember what you saw in Carol's apartment when you found her body."

Kendra frowned, seemed uncertain, then shrugged. "Okay, I'll try. But I doubt I'll think of anything I haven't mentioned before."

We waited in silence while Kendra sat with her eyes shut and her head thrown back. If any of the other diners noticed, they did so discreetly. After almost a full minute Kendra spoke.

"My mother's purse is on the floor. Some of the stuff had spilled out." She paused to take a deep breath. "A lipstick, a pen, a mascara wand. I put everything back and set the purse on the end table by the sofa." Kendra opened her eyes. "I suppose I shouldn't have done that. The police asked if I'd touched anything. I said not really, but I had. It didn't seem important."

"It probably wasn't," I said. "You're doing beautifully. What else?"

Kendra closed her eyes again. "The phone. It was off the hook." Her eyes flew open. "I did forget that. But I remember now. I had to click it several times to get a dial tone to call the police."

Vida and I exchanged curious looks. "You didn't tell the investigating officers?" Vida asked, keeping any reproach out of her voice.

Kendra shook her head. "No. I didn't even think about it until now. What does it mean?"

Our salads arrived, three Caesars that had to be tossed at our table. It took a few minutes. Vida squirmed impatiently in her chair.

"It might mean that Carol-your mother-was trying to call for help," I said. "If she'd actually dialed 911, the call would have registered the number and the location. The police would have come at once. They didn't, so it appears that she never got through. If, in fact, that's what happened."

Kendra gave me a helpless look. "I hope not. I'd hate to think she was just a second away from getting help." Her eyes started to glisten.

Vida put a hand on the girl's arm. "Don't fuss. Even if she'd gotten through, it would have been too late. The killer was already on the attack."

Kendra nodded slowly, then brushed at her eyes with her napkin. "Shall I try again?"

"Not now," Vida said, her voice at its most kindly. "Eat your salad. I'm sure it's delicious."

It was. Vida began questioning Kendra about the cleanup process. "You were responsible for most of that, I understand?"

Kendra made a face. "Yes, even though I didn't want to do it. But there wasn't anybody else. Ronnie was already in jail. Mr. Chan insisted it wasn't up to him."

"So you did your duty," Vida remarked. "Most admirable. Do you recall anything you saw or found that seemed odd?"

"Like what?" Kendra asked. "My mother-my birth mother-wasn't much of a housekeeper. My adoptive mother is way at the opposite end of the scale." She sounded as if she didn't approve of either extreme.

Vida paused in the process of demolishing her Caesar and sat back in the chair, fists on hips. "You might have seen things that didn't seem to belong. Items that wouldn't or shouldn't have been in Carol's apartment. Or notes she'd written to herself, telephone numbers, anything of that sort."

"I had to go through the mail," Kendra said. "It was just bills and the usual junk. She had a bunch of phone numbers stuck to the refrigerator, but I think they were mostly friends." She stopped suddenly and put a hand to her mouth. "There was something that should have been there that wasn't. It made me mad, that's why I remember it."

"What?" I asked, eager.

"My picture," Kendra said. "The one from my graduation. My mother had it pasted on the refrigerator. It was gone. Why would anyone take it down?"

VIDA AND I grappled with the disappearance of Kendra's graduation picture. Was it taken as a souvenir? Torn down out of spite? Or had Carol herself put it away?

"When was the last time you saw it on the refrigerator?" I inquired of Kendra.

She looked blank. "I don't know. I gave it to my mother about a month after we were reunited. Right around New Year's, I guess. It was in one of those cardboard frames, but she took it out after a while because she said Ronnie's dog had knocked it down off the end table a couple of times. Buddy couldn't get at it on the fridge."

"So it might not have been there just before the murder?" I asked.

Kendra regarded me with a quizzical expression. "You mean, my mother put it someplace else? I don't think so. I'd have found it when I was going through her things."