Read Online I is for Innocent by Sue Grafton - Free Book Online Page B

He was husband number three and she didn’t want to get ripped off. Look at it from her perspective. You marry some guy, you don’t think he’s going to
kill
you. If you really thought that, you wouldn’t marry him in the first place.” Her eyes strayed to her watch. “Jesus, it’s nearly one. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Have you had lunch?”
    â€œYou go ahead,” I said. “I shouldn’t be too much longer. I’ll grab a bite on the way back to the office.”
    â€œIt’s no problem. Please join me. I’m just making sandwiches. I’d like the company.”
    The invitation seemed genuine and I smiled in response. “All right. That’d be nice.”

 
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5
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    S he moved into the tiny kitchen area and began to take items from the tiny fridge.
    â€œCan I do anything to help?”
    â€œNo, thanks. There isn’t really room enough for two of us to work. Guys love it, unless it turns out they have a passion for cooking. Then they take over here and I sit out there where you are.”
    I half turned on the stool, checking out the room behind me. “Great house,” I remarked.
    She flushed with pleasure. “You like it? Isabelle designed it . . . the start of her career.”
    â€œShe was an architect? I didn’t know that.”
    â€œWell, she wasn’t really, but she passed for one in some respects. Look around if you like. It’s only three hundred square feet.”
    â€œIs that all? It seems bigger.” I stepped out onto the front porch, curious to see how the general layout related to the interior. Since the windows were cranked open, Icould talk to her easily as I rounded the structure. The cottage felt as if it had been miniaturized, scaled down from human-size dimensions to a little playhouse for grown-ups. Every comfort seemed attended to, without flourish or wasted space. There was even a small chimney. I stuck my head in the window so I could peer at the compact fireplace. Many interior surfaces, including the hearth, sills, and countertops, were covered with hand-painted blue-and-white tiles in a flower motif. “This is wonderful.”
    Simone flashed me a smile.
    I withdrew from the window and circled the perimeter. Herbs had been planted in every sunny spot. I could smell rosemary and thyme when the breeze whiffled through. The house was situated on an apron of grass that spread out in a half-moon. Below, the hillside fell away steeply into a tangle of live oak and chaparral. The view was to the mountains across the town of Santa Teresa. I reentered the only door, which opened into the kitchen. “You’ll have to see my place sometime. It has a similar feel to it. A perfect little hideaway.”
    I continued my survey while she cut several slices from a loaf of wheat bread. The place was so small I could tour without moving far. The furnishings were antique: a crude pine table, two cane-bottom chairs, a corner cabinet with wavy, blue-tinted glass panes, a brass bed with a patchwork quilt, white on white. The bathroom was small, the only portion of the house that was fully enclosed. The rest was essentially one large room, with areas defined according to function. Everything was open, airy, tidy, full of light. Every detail was perfect, like a series of illustrations for a glossy household magazine. There were views fromthe front and side windows, but none from the back, where the slope rose again sharply to the main house above.
    I pulled a stool up to the counter and watched her make sandwiches. She’d assembled plates, cutlery, and blue-and-white cloth napkins, which she passed to me. I set two places at the table. “If she wasn’t an architect, how’d she do this?”
    â€œShe was like an unpaid apprentice to a local architect. Don’t ask me how she managed it or why he agreed. She sort of went in when it suited her and did what