M Is for Malice by Sue Grafton Read Free Book Online Page A

off he went."
    "When was the last time you saw him?"
    "When I was home for Mother's funeral in January. When I came home again for spring break, he'd been gone maybe three days. I figured the whole thing would blow over, but it never did. By the time I graduated and came home in June, the subject was never mentioned. It's not like we were forbidden to refer to him. We just didn't, I guess out of consideration for Dad."
    "You never heard from Guy at all? Not a call or a postcard in all these years?"
    Jack shook his head.
    "Didn't that bother you?"
    "Of course. I adored him. I saw him as a rebel, a true individual. I hated school and I was miserable. I did poorly in most classes. All I wanted was to play golf and I didn't see why I had to have a college education. I would have gone off with Guy in a heartbeat if he'd told me what was going on. What can I tell you? He never called. He never wrote. He never gave any indication he gave a shit about me. Such is life."
    "And nobody outside the family ever reported running into him?"
    "Like at a convention or something? You're really scraping the bottom of the barrel on that one."
    "You think you'd have heard something."
    "Why? I mean, what's the big deal? People probably pull this shit all the time. Go off, and nobody ever hears from them again. There's no law says you have to stay in touch with people just because you're related."
    "Well, true," I said, thinking of my own avoidance of relatives. "Do you know of anyone else who might help? Did he have a girlfriend?"
    Jack smiled mockingly. "Guy was the kind of fellow mothers warn their little girls about."
    "Donovan told me women found him attractive, but I don't get it. What was the appeal?"
    "They weren't women. They were girls. Melodrama is seductive when you're seventeen."
    I thought about it briefly, but this seemed like another. dead end. "Well. If you have any ideas, could you get in touch?" I took a card from my handbag and passed it over to him.
    Jack glanced at my name. "How's the last name pronounced?"
    "Mill-hone," I said. "Accent on the first syllable. The last rhymes with bone."
    He nodded. "Fair enough. You won't hear from me, of course, but at least you can say you tried." He smiled. "I'm sure Don was way too cool to mention this," he said mildly, "but we're all hoping you won't find him. That way we can file a petition asking the court to declare him dead and his share can be divided among the three of us."
    "That's what 'diligent search' is all about, isn't it? Tell Donovan I'll call him in a day or two," I said.
    I walked back across the grass toward the house. What a bunch, I thought. Behind me, I could hear the whistle of Jack's swing and the sound of the clubhead on impact. I could have knocked at the front door again and asked the housekeeper if Donovan's wife, Christie, was at home. As an old college chum of Tasha's, she might at least be gracious. On the other hand, she wasn't married to Donovan at the point when Guy departed, and I couldn't believe she'd have anything of substance to contribute. So where did that leave me?
    I got in my car and started the engine, shifting into first. I eased down the long drive toward the street beyond. At the front gate, I paused, shifting into neutral and letting the car idle while I considered the possibilities. As nearly as I could tell, Guy Malek hadn't been a property owner in Santa Teresa County, so there wasn't any point in checking the tax rolls or real property records. From what his brothers had indicated, he'd never even rented his own apartment, which meant I couldn't consult with a past landlord, or query the water, gas, electric, or phone companies for a forwarding address. Most of those records aren't kept for eighteen years anyway. What else? At the time he'd left Santa Teresa, he had no job and no significant employment history, so there wasn't any point in checking with the local labor unions or with Social Security. He didn't vote, own a car or a gun,