laughed. "This is kind of exciting. Like the movies. Did you see Dick Tracy?"
"It's Holmes. Tracy Holmes. Like I said, it's simply a routine check for an insurance company."
"Was it a home invasion? I haven't seen any police cars out here."
"No, it's nothing like that."
"Oh, just a burglary?"
Pierce knew it was important to feed her some information to encourage her to reciprocate. "She's a key witness in a case going to trial, and—"
"Murder?" the woman's eyes widened.
"No, no. It was just a car accident. The insurer wants to know who's going to be on the witness stand to testify against his client."
She gave him a disappointed look. "Oh, what do you want to know?"
"Whatever you can tell me about her, Mrs. John—Fanny."
"Well, she's an odd one."
Pierce nodded. Look who's talking, he thought.
"Know what she does for a living? She's one of those bone diggers."
"An archaeologist," he said evenly.
"Divorced, too. Think she kicked him out. Such a shame. You know, when I was young, it was terrible to have your husband leave you. Now, it's a goddamn ritual. But you know, I still see him poking around the place once in a while. Makes you wonder."
"Notice any other visitors, a boyfriend maybe?"
"There's one." She cackled, reached for his forearm and squeezed it, and gave him a conspiratorial look. "This old fart's gotta be in his seventies, a white-haired man. Long white hair. More my type than hers. Wonder where she dug him up." She laughed again and slapped him on the arm. "Get it? Dug him up?"
Pierce smiled. "Yeah. Maybe it's her father."
"Nope, not her father. A while back, she stopped over here and asked if I'd keep an eye on her place while she was visiting her father. Said he lives somewhere overseas and she hadn't seen him in a while. Think she said her mother is dead. Suppose she doesn't see much of her, either." She cackled.
"So when did you last see the white-haired man?"
"Oh, not long ago. Yesterday, the day before. Can't remember now. These pills the doctor gives me for my nerves get me all confused." She tilted her head, listening. "Wait a minute." She walked over to the window. "That's her now. I always recognize the sound of her car." Pierce joined her at the window and watched as a slender woman stepped from the white Cabriolet and headed toward the house. It was dark and she was far away, but he knew it was Monica. Elise Simms.
"You've been very helpful. I want to thank you for your time. I hope I didn't keep you from your movie."
"No, not at all, Mr. Holmes. I'm just going to rent one from the video store tonight. You're welcome to join me if you'd like. I make great buttered popcorn."
He couldn't help smiling. "I bet you do. Maybe some other time."
"By the way, Holmes, you ever seen The Seven Percent Solution?"
Time to retire Tracy Holmes, he thought. He wished her good night and headed across the street, preparing to confront Simms. He glanced down the quiet street, preoccupied with his thoughts.
He didn't notice a dark blue Mercedes parked on the street, and even if he had, he wouldn't have been able to see the man behind the dark-tinted window.
Chapter 8
T he chain lock stretched as far as it would go and an eye appeared at the narrow opening. "Yes?"
"Evening, Dr. Simms. It's Nick Pierce. I'd like to talk to you."
The door slammed shut in his face. Damn, so much for the direct approach, he thought. He was about to knock again when he heard the metallic jangle of the chain being removed. The door swung open, and the woman he'd known as Monica stared at him.
She looked the same, he thought, lean, sleek, short hair the color of bitter chocolate, high cheekbones. And yet, there were small things about her that were different, nuances in her expression, in the way she stood, as though her physical appearance had been altered to refit the persona of Elise Simms.
If she was surprised, she didn't show it. "Hello, Nick." She paused. "I'm impressed."
"Why?"
"You found me before I