Page 31 of A Winter of Discontent for Henry Milch
“I sent my report to Melanie. Maybe she passed it on. Maybe she didn’t.”
“So, they might have killed Roberta even though they didn’t need to?”
“It’s a possibility. Send me an email after you talk to them. We’ll figure out what to do next tomorrow.”
“Are you in a park?” I had to ask.
“I am.”
“In January?”
“I’m watching this dude ice skate.”
“Okay.”
“He’s on workman’s comp for a back injury. I’ve got pictures of him doing a triple axel on two separate days.”
It probably wasn’t atripleaxel. That would be Olympic level. But someone on workman’s comp probably shouldn’t be doing even half an axel. I just said, “Cool.”
We hung up and I called information to get the Wilton’s address. Then I got up off the floor. Reilly and I made our way downstairs. In the kitchen, Nana Cole was sitting at the table with Bev and Barbara. Emerald was on the floor crawling around.
“Why is the baby on the floor?” I asked. “I don’t know how clean that is.” I certainly hadn’t mopped it. Quickly I snatched Emerald off the floor.
“She needs to crawl around,” Barbara said. “She shouldn’t spend so much time in the car seat.” Then, seeming to realize how critical that sounded, she added, “I know why you’re relyingon the car seat. It makes perfect sense. I’m just saying… You reallyaredoing a wonderful job.”
Bev was nodding her head, while my grandmother gave an annoyed snort, then said, “I was telling them about Bobbie LaCross. Barbara used to be in a book club with her.”
I bounced Emerald a bit. “Really?”
“Well… she only came a few times, and she didn’t read the books. People were annoyed because she talked too much.”
“She didn’t read the book? What did she find to talk about?”
“She did sort of talk about the books, even though she hadn’t read them. One book she was very critical of because she’d dated a police officer, and she knew the author got the policework all wrong.”
“She knew that without reading the book?”
“Well, she didn’t admit she hadn’t read the books. She’d read the jacket and then pretend. Or she’d ask the librarian. Somehow she knew without actually doing the work.”
Interesting, but not relevant. I doubted anyone killed her because she was annoying. Tempted, I’m sure, but I didn’t think anyone would. I said, “I need to go out, I shouldn’t be more than an hour. Will you still be here?”
“Yeah, we’re going to make you and Emma dinner.”
“I’ll probably be back,” I said, handing the baby to Bev. “If you want to put her on the floor, at least put down a blanket.”
“It’s fine,” Nana Cole said. “Babies are washable.”
The Wiltons livedin Lakeside Heights condominiums. It wasn’t an especially inspired name since the complex was built on a hill that looked out at the lake. Halfway between Masons Bay and Bellflower, it sat on the east side of M-22 with a privatebeach and a handful of docks on the lakeside. The buildings were vaguely colonial, each with two to four units. I drove around the winding streets until I found 114 Bluebird Lane. The Wiltons lived in Unit D.
I got out of my car, tugged down my hat, tossed my piano scarf over my shoulder, and shoved my bare hands into my blue puffer coat. I walked up to their door and rang the bell. After a few seconds, the door was opened by a guy around my age wearing sweats and a sleeveless sweatshirt. He looked me up and down, and said, “Yeah?”
“Is this the Wilton residence?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Oh, are Mr. and Mrs. Wilton available?”
“Who are you?”
