T Is for Trespass by Sue Grafton Read Free Book Online

house.”
    “Henry’s offered me a tour. I hope you don’t mind if we take a minute for that.”
    “Go right ahead. I’ll be fine.”
    The two left the kitchen, moving through the dining room to the living room. I could track their progress as he showed her through the place, the conversation becoming largely inaudible when they reached the bedroom he used as a den. He had two other bedrooms, one facing the street, the other looking out onto his garden in the rear. There were two full baths and a half-bath off the entrance. I could tell she was being complimentary, exclaiming in a way that probably had some dollar signs attached.
    When they returned to the kitchen, the subject segued from real estate to housing starts and economic trends. She could talk downturns, yields on government bonds, and consumer confidence with the best of them. I was a teeny tiny bit intimidated by her confidence, but that was my problem, not his.
    We finished our drinks, and Henry put the empty glasses in the sink while Charlotte excused herself and retreated to the nearest bathroom. He said, “What do you think?”
    “I like her. She’s smart.”
    “Good. She seems nice and she’s well informed—qualities I appreciate.”
    “Me, too,” I said.
    When Charlotte returned, her lipstick had been brightened and she had a fresh dusting of blusher on her cheeks. She gathered her handbag and the two of us preceded Henry out the door, allowing him a moment to lock up.
    “Could we take a quick look at the studio? Henry told me he designed the space and I’d love to see what he did.”
    I made a face. “I should probably tidy up first. I’m a neatnik by nature, but I’ve been gone all day.” In truth, I didn’t want her casing the joint, calculating how much the studio would add to the asking price if she persuaded him to sell.
    “How long have you been renting?”
    “Seven years. I love the location and Henry’s the perfect landlord. The beach is half a block that way and my office downtown is only ten minutes from here.”
    “But if you owned your own home, think of the equity you’d have built up by now.”
    “I understand the advantages, but my income is up and down and I don’t want to be saddled with a mortgage. I’m happy to let Henry worry about taxes and upkeep.”
    Charlotte gave me a look—too polite to express her skepticism at my shortsightedness.
    As I left them, she and Henry had taken up their conversation. She was talking about rental properties, using the equity from his place as leverage for a triplex she’d just listed in Olvidado, where housing wasn’t so expensive. She said the units needed work, but if he made the necessary improvements and then flipped the place, he’d net a tidy profit, which he could then reinvest. I tried not to shriek in alarm, but I sincerely hoped she wasn’t going to talk him into something absurd.
    Maybe I didn’t like her quite as much as I thought.

6
    Under ordinary circumstances, I’d have walked the half block to Rosie’s Tavern to eat supper that night. She’s Hungarian and cooks accordingly, leaning heavily on sour cream, dumplings, strudels, creamed soups, cheesy noodles, cabbage-related side dishes, plus your choice of beef or pork cubes cooked for hours and served with tangy horseradish sauce. I was hoping she’d know whether Gus Vronsky had relatives in the area and if so, how to make contact. Given my newfound goal of better balanced meals and more wholesome nutrition, I decided to postpone the conversation until after I’d eaten supper.
    My evening meal consisted of a peanut-butter-and-pickle sandwich on whole wheat bread with a handful of corn chips, which I’m almost certain could be considered a grain. I grant you peanut butter is nearly 100 percent fat, but it’s still a good source of protein. Further, there was bound to be a culture somewhere that classified a bread-and-butter pickle as a vegetable. For dessert, I treated myself to a handful of grapes.