Free T Is for Trespass by Sue Grafton Page B

in on him.’ I’m talking about professional nursing care.”
    “Why don’t you contact social services? There has to be an agency to handle things like this.”
    “You’re his niece.”
    “His great-niece. Maybe even great-great,” she said.
    “Uh-hun.”
    I let a silence fall into which she did not leap with joy, offering to fly out.
    She said, “Hello?”
    “I haven’t gone anywhere. I’m just waiting to hear what you’re going to do.”
    “Fine. I’ll be out, but I don’t appreciate your attitude.”
    She hung up resoundingly to illustrate her point.

8
    After dinner Friday night, I went with Henry to a Christmas-tree lot on Milagro to help him choose a tree—a decision he takes very seriously. Christmas was still two weeks away, but Henry’s like a little kid when it comes to the holidays. The lot itself was small, but he felt the trees were fresher and the selection better than at the other lots he’d tried. In the six-foot height he preferred, he had several choices: a balsam fir, a Fraser fir, a blue spruce, a Nordman, the Norway, or the noble spruce. He and the man who owned the lot got into a long discussion about the merits of each. The blue spruce, the noble, and the Norway had poor needle retention, and the Nordmans had spindly tips. He finally settled on a dark green balsam fir with a classic shape, soft needles, and the fragrance of a pine forest (or Pine-Sol, depending on your frame of reference). The tree branches were secured with heavy twine, and we hauled it to his station wagon, where we tied it across the top with an elaborate configuration of rope and bungee cords.
    We drove home along Cabana Boulevard, the darkened ocean to our left. Offshore the oil rigs twinkled like a regatta with the capacity for spills. It was close to eight by then and the restaurants and motels across from the beach were ablaze with lights. The glimpse we caught of State Street in passing showed a steady march of seasonal decorations as far as the eye could see.
    Henry parked in his driveway and we eased the tree out of its restraints. With him toting the trunk end and me struggling along at the midpoint, we wrestled the evergreen around to the street, up his short walk, and in the front door. Henry had rearranged the furniture to clear a place for the tree in one corner of the living room. Once we’d stabilized it in its stand, he tightened the T-bolts and added water to the reservoir below. He’d already pulled six boxes marked X-MAS from his attic and stacked them nearby. Five were filled with carefully wrapped ornaments, and the sixth box contained a formidable tangle of Christmas-tree lights.
    “When are you doing the lights and ornaments?”
    “Tomorrow afternoon. Charlotte has an open house from two until five and she’ll stop by when she’s done. You’re welcome to join us. I’m making eggnog to get us in the proper spirit.”
    “I don’t want to horn in on your date.”
    “Don’t be silly. William and Rosie are coming, too.”
    “Have they met her?”
    “William has and he gave her a thumbs-up. I’m curious about Rosie’s reaction. She’s a tough one.”
    “Why the opinion poll? You either like her or you don’t.”
    “I don’t know. Something about the woman bothers me.”
    “As in what?”
    “You don’t find her a bit single-minded?”
    “I’ve only talked to her once and I got the impression she was good at what she does.”
    “It feels more complicated. She’s smart and attractive, I’ll give you that, but all she talks about is sell, sell, sell. We took a walk after supper the other night and she calculated the value of every house on the block. She was ready to go door-to-door, drumming up sales, but I put my foot down. These are my neighbors. Most are retired and their homes are paid off. So she talks someone into selling, then what? They end up with a pile of cash but no place to live and no way to buy another home because the market’s so high.”
    “What was