“I wouldn’t go that far. There’s still a big chunk of the story missing and he’s not the one who’s going to fill me in. At any rate, talking to him was a good suggestion. I guess I should thank you for browbeating me into it.”

“I’ll take full credit.”

As soon as I let myself into the studio, I went straight to the phone and called Ruthie. When she answered, I said, “Hey, Ruthie. Kinsey Millhone again.”

“Forget the last name. You’re the only Kinsey I know.”

“Sorry about that. Force of habit. Quick question I should have asked you while I was there. The guy who bought Pete’s Fairlane pulled the junk out of the map pockets and the glove compartment. Do you still have that plastic bag?”

“I’m looking at it. I was just about to go through it. I need the proof-of-insurance card so I can call Allstate and cancel the coverage.”

“Could you check and see if there’s a parking ticket in there? Not a citation—from a pay lot. It’d be an ivory color with pale green stickers on the back.”

“Hang on. I’m putting the receiver down, so don’t go away.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m turning the bag upside down, shaking everything out on the counter,” she called. “Ick. There’s a dead bug. What the hell is that thing?”

“Take your time,” I said.

She came back on the line. “Good news. I found a savings passbook I didn’t know we had. Okay, here. I’m looking at a ticket from UCST with stickers on the back.”

“Is there a date-and-time stamp?”

“Says July 12. Machine stamped at twelve forty-five P.M. when it was issued, but that’s it. No time stamp going out or the machine would have eaten it.”

“Hold on to that, okay? I’ll pop over there first chance I get and pick it up.”

“No problem.”

I trotted up the spiral stairs to the loft, where I unzipped my all-purpose dress and stepped out of it. Then I stripped off my pantyhose with a sigh of relief. I pulled on my usual workaday rags and went downstairs again.

There was a knock at the door and when I opened it, there stood Anna. She wore jeans and a blue knit top that made her blue eyes electric. “I need to talk to you.”

“Sure.”

I stepped back, inviting her in. “Sit anywhere you like.”

She chose a kitchen stool. I moved around the counter to the other side so we were facing each other. I was aware that I was putting a barrier between us, but it felt appropriate. Given her demeanor, I wasn’t sure how cozy this chat was going to be. I’d been irritated with her. Now it was payback time.

She said, “I called Ethan to give him Henry’s number so he’d know where I was. He has questions.”

“And what might those be?”

“Not for you. Ethan thinks I should talk to Daddy’s doctor directly. Henry says you have his phone number.”

“Dr. Reed wasn’t his physician. He’s in charge of the research program your father was enrolled in at one point.”

“I still want to talk to him if it’s all the same to you.”

“May I say one thing first?”

“Say anything you like.”

“Your father was scared to death of Dr. Reed. He thought the test drug was killing him and that’s why he dropped out of the trial. I believe he was right. His friends are convinced of it, too, but of course Dr. Reed won’t own up to that. According to him, your father was incapable of adhering to the guidelines and the clinic gave him the boot.”

“Why would he say that if it wasn’t true?”

“He has an agenda of his own. He came up with a proposal about a drug he thought would be effective in treating addicts. Now it looks like he’s being paid big bucks for a theory that isn’t panning out.”

“Why should I take your word for it? You say Daddy changed his will because he was pissed off at us, like it’s our fault and we should just suck it up and let you have everything. I can see how that serves your purposes, but we’re getting screwed.”

“I don’t have a purpose except to see that his wishes are carried out.”

“But you never met him. Isn’t that what you said?”

“That’s correct.”

“So you don’t know what was going on in his mind.”

“That’s true.”

“How do you know he wasn’t suffering from dementia? Ethan thinks he could have been delusional or confused.”