Free Wolf in the Shadows by Marcia Muller Page B

futae
and the horse you rode in on.”
    Stung by his uncharacteristic grouchiness, I said, “The same to you,” and went upstairs.
    Now, what was that about? I wondered as I dumped my bag and jacket on my chaise longue. He’d been perfectly cheerful when
     I left the night before. Maybe the stress and uncertainty of this reorganization was taking its toll on him, too.
    For about half an hour I took care of my messages and dictated a couple of reports. Then I called Hy’s accountant, Barry Ashford.
     Ashford said he had a standing arrangement with Hy to take care of his bills when he went out of town for extended periods.
     “Goes back to the days right after Julie died when he was getting busted for doing stupid things at environmental protests,”
     he said. “I should’ve explained that to Kate; obviously she’s made this out to be a bigger deal than it is.”
    “Did Hy say how long he’d be away?”
    “No, but he told me he’d probably be back before anything needed to be paid. In case he wasn’t, though, he wanted to alert
     me.”
    It sounded as if he’d been keeping an open mind about Renshaw’s offer. If things looked good in La Jolla, he’d stay longer;
     if not, he’d simply return home. “Did Hy mention why he was going away?”
    “Hy? Are you kidding?”
    I thanked Ashford and hung up, glad I hadn’t talked with him yesterday. The accountant’s casual attitude toward Hy’s unexplained
     absence might have lulled me into a false sense of security, convinced me there was no need to continue looking.
    Next I called Kate Malloy. She said she’d been out to Hy’s ranch and spoken with the hands. “Not much there. Hy didn’t tell
     them anything, and the reason he paid them for two months is that one man needed an advance because his wife’s having a baby.
     Hy just figured it was easier to pay them all the same amount.”
    “What about American Express? Were you able to find anything out?”
    “Yes. He used the card twice after he rented the car in Oakland: for a ticket to San Diego on USAir on Saturday night, and
     at the Bali Kai Motor Inn there. No additional charges since Sunday, but they may just be slow coming in.”
    It fit neatly with the story Renshaw had told me. “Thanks, Kate,” I said. “I’ve got a line on Hy, and I’m going to San Diego
     tonight. I’ll check in when I know something.” Then I ended the call before she could press me for details.
    I swiveled around and slumped in my chair, staring unseeingly out the window. In addition to supporting Renshaw’s story, the
     facts also supported what I instinctively knew. If Hy had already been in collusion with Timothy Mourning’s kidnappers when
     he left Tufa Lake, he would have made provisions for a lengthy absence, probably liquidated his assets. But Hy’s departure,
     prompted by a call from me that precipitated our trip to the Great Whites, had been strictly spur-of-the-moment.
    And afterward, when Renshaw contended he’d gone over to the kidnappers’ side? Well, I still had no proof he hadn’t except
     my faith that he was incapable of such an act. And that was solid enough proof for me.
    I thought for a while more before I buzzed Rae’s office and asked her to come upstairs. She didn’t look much more convivial
     than Ted, and she’d continued to allow her appearance to go to hell. Her hair stuck out in greasy little curlicues, her sweater
     had holes in it, and her jeans were ripped at the knees. She saw me glance at them and thrust out her jaw as if to say, “You
     want to make something of it?”
    “Have a seat,” I told her. “I need to ask a favor,”
    “I heard about your promotion.” She looked at my chaise longue and apparently decided that moving the jacket, briefcase, purse,
     camera bag, stack of files, and bag of Hershey’s Kisses was too much trouble. Flopping on the floor in front of it, she added,
     “Congratulations.”
    “Thanks—I think.”
    “Your rose came. Since you