for years .... "
"Howard, Ukiah's no safer—"
"Don't tell me that! People are always trying to convince me of nonsense like that! Saying it's no safer in the country than it is in the city, no safer in Napa than it is in San Francisco. Saying you could get hit by a milk truck crossing the street. I'm no idiot; I know about probability. Can't you see I have to leave? Those psycho-killers—they're repeaters. And Lenny was a winemaker .... Maybe somebody's got a grudge against winemakers .... I'm
in danger!"
"The police aren't even sure the two deaths are related. I need you, Howard. At least give me two weeks notice."
"Two weeks! It's not good for my health, Mr. Spraggue. My heart's beating too fast. I can't seem to calm down. Not since the police—"
"Please."
"One week." Howard's voice was faint. "I'll try to give you one more week, if nothing happens. If anyone else dies, I'm leaving. My bags are packed."
"Thank you, Howard. I'll be back in Napa late tonight. We'll talk in the morning" He hung up while the receiver still yelped, closed his eyes and shook his head.
" Bad news?" Mary asked quietly.
"Can you make wine?"
" I only drink it."
"Bad news." Spraggue deserted the desk, recovered his brandy and took a healthy gulp.
" Do you know who killed Lenny Brent?" Mary asked.
Spraggue sat on the couch and stifled a yawn, then ticked off the response on his fingers.
" Kate Holloway. Because Lenny didn't please her in bed. Number two: Alicia Brent. Because Lenny wouldn't buy braces for his kids' teeth. Number three: Grady Fairfield. Lenny wouldn't vacate her apartment. Number four: Phil Leider. Lenny ditched Leider for Holloway Hills. Number five: George Martinson. Lenny despised reviewers and they despised him. Number six: Mrs. George Martinson. She hates Lenny's guts and I'm not sure why. Number seven: Howard Ruberman. To get his job back. Number eight—"
"Lenny had swarms of enemies."
" It might be easier to figure out who didn't have a reason to kill him."
" Then it seems to me," Mary said, "that we are concentrating on the wrong aspect of the case. We ought to be delving into the other man's background, the first victim's. Perhaps he was less unpopular than Lenny. Possibly there might be only a single intersecting point in the graph of those who despised Lenny and those who hated our mystery man."
" No identification." Spraggue said. "No ID: no suspects. We can't know who hated him until we know who he was."
"Exactly," Mary said with some satisfaction.
"Pierce, fetch this young man more brandy. I have always maintained that fine spirits stimulate the thinking process."
" Sleep helps, too," Spraggue said.
"Nonsense. People spend entirely too much of their lives unconscious. Four hours of sleep per night has always been enough for me."
"But you," Spraggue said, grinning, "are unusual."
" Very true, dear boy. Now, Pierce, sit down and I pour yourself a glass. And let's consider how to identify a headless corpse."
13
" Kate wants you."
"Huh?"
"It's Bradley, from the sheriff's office. Did I wake you? I'm sorry—"
"Hold it. Hold it. What time is it?" Spraggue sat up and wondered how the phone had gotten into his hand.
" Almost ten. I thought you'd . . ."
Ten . . . ten o'clock Monday morning. Spraggue breathed in deeply and shook his head from side to side, hoping the sudden movement would clear it.
" Okay," he said. "Start over."
" Miss Holloway's been asking—demanding, really—to see you since yesterday. Enright's planning to ignore the request, but he's not here right now."
"How long will he be gone?"
"Wish I knew. Couple hours, I think."
"I'll be there. Thanks." Spraggue hung up the phone and looked around.
Sun poured in through Kate's bedroom window. Had he left the curtains open by design, hoping the light would wake him? Doubtful; last night he'd been too tired for conscious thought. And his subconscious had led him straight to Kate's bed, not to the guest room. Spraggue raised one
"Howard, Ukiah's no safer—"
"Don't tell me that! People are always trying to convince me of nonsense like that! Saying it's no safer in the country than it is in the city, no safer in Napa than it is in San Francisco. Saying you could get hit by a milk truck crossing the street. I'm no idiot; I know about probability. Can't you see I have to leave? Those psycho-killers—they're repeaters. And Lenny was a winemaker .... Maybe somebody's got a grudge against winemakers .... I'm
in danger!"
"The police aren't even sure the two deaths are related. I need you, Howard. At least give me two weeks notice."
"Two weeks! It's not good for my health, Mr. Spraggue. My heart's beating too fast. I can't seem to calm down. Not since the police—"
"Please."
"One week." Howard's voice was faint. "I'll try to give you one more week, if nothing happens. If anyone else dies, I'm leaving. My bags are packed."
"Thank you, Howard. I'll be back in Napa late tonight. We'll talk in the morning" He hung up while the receiver still yelped, closed his eyes and shook his head.
" Bad news?" Mary asked quietly.
"Can you make wine?"
" I only drink it."
"Bad news." Spraggue deserted the desk, recovered his brandy and took a healthy gulp.
" Do you know who killed Lenny Brent?" Mary asked.
Spraggue sat on the couch and stifled a yawn, then ticked off the response on his fingers.
" Kate Holloway. Because Lenny didn't please her in bed. Number two: Alicia Brent. Because Lenny wouldn't buy braces for his kids' teeth. Number three: Grady Fairfield. Lenny wouldn't vacate her apartment. Number four: Phil Leider. Lenny ditched Leider for Holloway Hills. Number five: George Martinson. Lenny despised reviewers and they despised him. Number six: Mrs. George Martinson. She hates Lenny's guts and I'm not sure why. Number seven: Howard Ruberman. To get his job back. Number eight—"
"Lenny had swarms of enemies."
" It might be easier to figure out who didn't have a reason to kill him."
" Then it seems to me," Mary said, "that we are concentrating on the wrong aspect of the case. We ought to be delving into the other man's background, the first victim's. Perhaps he was less unpopular than Lenny. Possibly there might be only a single intersecting point in the graph of those who despised Lenny and those who hated our mystery man."
" No identification." Spraggue said. "No ID: no suspects. We can't know who hated him until we know who he was."
"Exactly," Mary said with some satisfaction.
"Pierce, fetch this young man more brandy. I have always maintained that fine spirits stimulate the thinking process."
" Sleep helps, too," Spraggue said.
"Nonsense. People spend entirely too much of their lives unconscious. Four hours of sleep per night has always been enough for me."
"But you," Spraggue said, grinning, "are unusual."
" Very true, dear boy. Now, Pierce, sit down and I pour yourself a glass. And let's consider how to identify a headless corpse."
13
" Kate wants you."
"Huh?"
"It's Bradley, from the sheriff's office. Did I wake you? I'm sorry—"
"Hold it. Hold it. What time is it?" Spraggue sat up and wondered how the phone had gotten into his hand.
" Almost ten. I thought you'd . . ."
Ten . . . ten o'clock Monday morning. Spraggue breathed in deeply and shook his head from side to side, hoping the sudden movement would clear it.
" Okay," he said. "Start over."
" Miss Holloway's been asking—demanding, really—to see you since yesterday. Enright's planning to ignore the request, but he's not here right now."
"How long will he be gone?"
"Wish I knew. Couple hours, I think."
"I'll be there. Thanks." Spraggue hung up the phone and looked around.
Sun poured in through Kate's bedroom window. Had he left the curtains open by design, hoping the light would wake him? Doubtful; last night he'd been too tired for conscious thought. And his subconscious had led him straight to Kate's bed, not to the guest room. Spraggue raised one
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