I is for Innocent by Sue Grafton Read Free Book Online

cap while the beautician pulled tiny strands through the rubber with what looked like a crochet hook. Tears were rolling down the woman’s cheeks, but she and the beautician were chatting away as if this were an everyday occurrence. To my right, a manicurist worked on a client, who was having her fingernails painted a bubblegum pink.
    On the back wall, I spotted a paneled door that was probably connected to Morley’s office. There was a woman in the rear folding towels into tidy stacks. When she saw my hesitation, she moved up to the front. Her name tag said: Betty. Given her occupation, I was surprised she didn’t have a better cut. She’d apparently fallen into the hands of one of those cruel stylists (usually male) who delight in mismanaging the hair of women over fifty. The particular cut that had been inflicted on this woman consisted of a shaved backside and a frizzy pouf along the front that made her neck look wide and her facial expression fearful. She fanned the air, her nose wrinkling. “Pee-yew! If they’re smart enough to get a man on the moon, why can’t they make a perm lotion that don’t stink?” She picked up a plastic cape from thenearest chair and assessed me with a practiced eye. “Boy oh boy. You sure do have a hair emergency. Take a seat.”
    I looked around to see who she was talking to. “Who, me?”
    â€œAren’t you the one who just called?”
    â€œNo, I’m here on some business for Morley Shine, but his office is locked up.”
    â€œOh. Well, I hate to be the one to tell you, honey, but Morley passed away this week.”
    â€œI’m aware of that. Sorry. I guess I should have introduced myself.” I took out my identification and held it out to her.
    She studied it for a moment and then frowned, pointing to my name. “How do you pronounce that?”
    â€œKinsey,” I said.
    â€œNo, the last name. Does that rhyme with
baloney
?”
    â€œNo, it doesn’t rhyme with
baloney
. It’s
Mill
-hone.”
    â€œOh.
Mill
-hone,” she said, mimicking me dutifully. “I thought it was Mill-
hony
, like the lunch meat.” She looked back at the photocopy of my private investigator’s license. “Are you from Los Angeles, by any chance?”
    â€œNo, I’m a local.”
    She looked up at my hair. “I thought maybe that was one of those new mod cuts like they do down on Melrose. Asymmetrical, they call it, with a geometrical ellipse. Something like that. Usually looks like it’s been whacked off with a ceiling fan.” She laughed at herself, giving her chest a pat.
    I leaned back to catch a glimpse of myself in the nearest mirror. It did look kind of weird. I’d been growing my hair for several months now and it was definitely longer on one side than it was on the other. It also seemed to have a fewragged places and a stick-up part near the crown. I experienced a moment of uncertainty. “You think I need a cut?”
    She hooted out a laugh. “Well, I should hope to shout. It looks like some lunatic hacked your hair off with a pair of nail clippers!”
    I didn’t think the analogy was quite as funny as she did. “Maybe some other time,” I said. I decided to get down to business before she talked me into a haircut I would later regret. “I’m working for an attorney by the name of Lonnie Kingman.”
    â€œSure. I know Lonnie. His wife used to go to my church. What’s he got to do with it?”
    â€œMorley was doing some work for him and I’m taking over the case. I’d like to get into his office.”
    â€œPoor guy,” she said. “With his wife sick and all that. He moped around here for months, doing nothing as far as I could tell.”
    â€œI think he did a lot of work from his home,” I said. “Uh, can I get into his office through here? I saw the door back there. Does that connect to his