“Did not. You said the fresh air’d be good. Said I ought to take advantage while I was up to it.”

I said, “You warm enough?”

“Quit worrying.”

I turned my attention to Lieutenant Dolan. “What’s next?”

Stacey answered before he could. “We’ll meet at my place tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock suit?”

“Fine with me,” I said.

Dolan said, “Sounds good.”

We dropped Stacey first. He lived close to downtown Santa Teresa, five blocks from my office, in a small pink stucco rental house perched above a pink cinder-block wall. Dolan had me wait in the car while he retrieved Stacey’s gun from the trunk and then followed him up the six stairs to the walkway that skirted the place. I could see how tightly Stacey had to grip the railing in order to pull himself up. The two disappeared, moving toward the rear. Dolan was gone for ten minutes, and when he returned to the car, he seemed withdrawn. Neither of us said a word during the drive to my apartment. I spent the remainder of Thursday afternoon taking care of personal errands.

Having finished my jog, I walked the block between the beach and my place. When I reached my front door, I picked up the morning paper as I let myself in. I tossed the Dispatch on the kitchen counter and started a pot of coffee. As soon as it began to trickle through the filter, I went up the spiral stairs to take my shower and get dressed.

I was halfway through my bowl of Cheerios, sitting at the counter, when the telephone rang. I dislike interruptions at breakfast, and I was tempted to wait and let the answering machine pick up. Instead, I leaned over and grabbed the handset from the wall-mounted phone. “Hello?”

“Hello, Kinsey. This is Tasha, up in Lompoc. How’re you?”

I felt my eyes close. This was one of my cousins, Tasha Howard, the only member of the family I’d ever dealt with at any length. She’s an estate attorney with offices in Lompoc and San Francisco.

I’d met her sister, Liza, a couple of years before, and during our one and only conversation discovered hitherto unplumbed depths of disaffection in my otherwise placid frame. My reaction was probably only a side effect of the fact that Liza was telling me things I didn’t want to hear. For one thing, she told me, in the giddiest manner possible, that my mother was regarded as an idol among her living nieces and nephews. While this was meant as flattery, I felt it dehumanized the woman whom I’d never really known. I resented their prior claim, just as I resented the fact that my pet name for our aunt Virginia, that being “Aunt Gin,” was a term already in wide use among these same family members. So, too, was the penchant for peanut-butter-and-pickle sandwiches, which I’d assumed was a secret link between my mother and me. Granted, my reaction was less than rational, but I was left feeling diminished by the idle tales Liza told.

Tasha was okay. She’d bailed me out of a jam once and on another occasion she’d hired me for a job. That hadn’t turned out well, but the fault wasn’t hers.

Belatedly, I said, “Fine. How are you?” We always have conversations that sound like they’re punctuated by transatlantic delays.

“I’m good, thanks. Listen, it looks like Mother and I will be coming down your way to shop and we wondered if you were free. We can have lunch if you like, or maybe get together for drinks later in the afternoon.”

“Today? Ah. Thanks for asking, but I just started work on a case and I’m completely tied up. Maybe another time.” I hoped I didn’t sound as insincere as I felt.

“Must be a busy time of year.”

“Feast or famine,” I said. “It’s the nature of the beast.” I was really trying my best not to be prickly with her. Even in the briefest of conversations, we often manage to butt heads on the subject of family relationships. She favors closer ties while I favor none.

“I suspect you’d refuse no matter what.”

“Not at all.” I let a silence fall.

We breathed in each other’s ears until she said, “Well. Mother will be down again on Tuesday. I know she’s anxious to talk to you. Are you still in the office on Capillo?”

“Actually, I’m not. I’ve rented a bungalow on Caballeria. I just moved in a couple of months ago.”

“I’ll tell her.”

“Great. That’s fine. Not a problem.”

“I don’t want you to take offense, but I hope you’ll be polite.”

“Gee, Tasha, I’ll try to behave myself. It’ll be a struggle, of course.”