Wolf in the Shadows by Marcia Muller Read Free Book Online Page A

Hy’s accountant, Barry Ashford, but again got no answer. Then I continued back to
     the city.
    It was nearly eleven when I arrived at my brown-shingled earthquake cottage near the Glen Park district. I hadn’t left the
     porch light on this morning because I didn’t expect to return after dark, and on the steps I stumbled over something. An indignant
     yowl arose. “Sorry, Ralphie,” I said and opened the door for my tabby cat. He streaked inside, still scolding.
    A sheet of paper had been slipped under the door—an estimate from a contractor for reshingling the cottage’s facade. Nearly
     two weeks ago it had been sprayed with some ugly graffiti—a consequence of my involvement in the case that the All Souls
     partners now labeled Jack Stuart’s personal crusade— and I was eager to have the work done. As I went down the hall to my
     informal sitting room I glanced over the figures. They looked reasonable; I’d give the contractor the go-ahead.
    The light was blinking on my answering machine. Ignoring Ralph’s loud pleas for food—augmented now by those of his calico
     sister, Alice—I played the tape. Ron Chan: Hy had called a La Jolla number first, then one here in the city. Both belonged
     to Renshaw and Kessell International. Chan also gave the addresses. No additional calls had been billed to the credit card
     to date.
    Renshaw and Kessell International. RKI. It sounded vaguely familiar.
    I picked up the receiver and called the San Francisco number. A recorded voice said, “You have reached the offices of Renshaw
     and Kessell International. Our hours are from nine to five, Monday through Friday. If this is an emergency call, please enter
     your security code and press one. Stay on the line. A representative will be with you.”
    Emergency? Security code? I listened to the taped message replay, then hung up. Who were these people? None of the references
     I had here in my home office would tell, unless I wanted to stay up all night reading the Yellow Pages. I’d have to wait until
     morning when I visited their offices on Green Street.
    But damn, the name sounded familiar! Why?

Four
    Tuesday, June 8
    When I woke at ten after seven the next morning, my subconscious had dredged up what Renshaw and Kessell International was—and
     the knowledge made me damned uneasy. Confused, too. I couldn’t see why Hy would be mixed up with them, unless … But if that
     was true, it would mean I’d severely misjudged him. It would mean that I, who thought I instinctively understood him, had
     rejected what casual acquaintances had assumed all along.
    It was too early to confirm anything. For a while I lay under my quilts, hemmed in by the cats. Then I threw off the quilts—and
     the cats—showered, dressed in jeans and a sweater, and took a brisk walk down Church Street to a corner store where I bought
     a copy of this morning’s
Chronicle
and a whole-wheat bagel.
    Mr. Abdur, the store’s owner, smiled and told me the fog had put roses on my cheeks. He was young—well, about my age—and
     one of the new breed of neighborhood grocer who had come to realize that pleasantries, rather than surliness, would bring
     the customer back. Since taking a vigorous walk to buy the paper was part of an ambitious new morning routine I was trying—without
     great success—to adopt, I was pleased to have located a shopkeeper who wouldn’t snarl at me and spoil my day.
    When I got home, it was still too early to call anyone to confirm what I’d remembered about Renshaw and Kessell, so I toasted
     the bagel and had it with the first of my customary three cups of coffee. I supposed I should eliminate caffeine if I planned
     to lead a virtuous life from now on, but I knew I wasn’t going to give it up—just as I suspected that my good intentions
     would soon go the way of most New Year’s resolutions. That was okay, though; my vices are so few—caffeine, white wine, chocolate,
     and an addiction to late-night grade-B