Read Online Zigzag by Bill Pronzini - Free Book Online

him? Why had he been so sure he could lay hands on enough money to buy himself a farm? Where had he expected to get it and by what means, and did it have anything to do with Mears?
    His little tête-à-tête with the unknown blonde in the Bighorn Tavern bothered me, too. Out of character again, unless she was somehow tied into his money plans. I’d told Pete Retzyck about it and asked if Fentress had said anything to him about her. No, and Retzyck didn’t know any woman who answered her description. He’d also seconded Joe Buckner’s declaration that Fentress never cheated on his wife—“Ray kept his dick where it belonged,” was the way Retzyck put it. So unless somebody else I talked to knew who she was, I had no way of finding out.
    Dead ends looming all along the line.

 
    9
    Kennedy Landscape Designs was a substantial operation that occupied an entire block, had an employee roll of more than two dozen, and serviced other nearby Peninsula communities in addition to Millbrae—San Bruno, Burlingame, San Mateo. Tamara had told me this, and a sign at the entrance corroborated it. The sign also said that it was Diamond Certified, whatever that meant, and listed its specialties: Japanese gardens, ponds and waterfalls, brick and flagstone patios and retaining walls, irrigation systems, sprinkler installation and repair, complete tree service.
    It was a little before noon on Monday when I got there. I’d called ahead for an appointment with the owner, Philip Kennedy, and a good thing I had, because he was busy when I walked into the cottage-style office building and I had to wait ten minutes past the scheduled time before he was free to see me. His office might as well have been a greenhouse, as full as it was of potted ferns and schefflera and a colorful array of flowering plants I didn’t recognize. Kennedy was a plump, energetic little man in his sixties; if he’d had a white beard and worn a tall red cap, given the business he was in, he’d have resembled a garden gnome.
    He said, “Sorry to keep you waiting, it’s been a busy morning,” and pumped my hand and invited me to sit down.
    I parked my hinder in a rattan chair next to a plant that had curved, fingerlike leaves—not too close, on the off-chance it was carnivorous. Instead of occupying the chair behind his desk, Kennedy sat close by in a chair similar to the one I was in. So his broad desk wouldn’t be between us, I thought. The companionable type, a contributing factor, no doubt, to the success of his business.
    â€œRay Fentress. Such a sad case. First that trouble with the police that sent him to prison, and now…” Kennedy sighed and wagged his head. “I feel sorry for his wife.”
    â€œSo do I. That’s why I’m trying to help her.”
    â€œIn what way, if you don’t mind my asking? There’s no question about what happened at the Russian River, is there?”
    â€œThere might be, but I’m not investigating the homicides. Couldn’t if I wanted to.” I told him what Doreen Fentress had hired me to do.
    â€œClosure,” he said, nodding.
    â€œOne way or another.”
    â€œYou don’t sound optimistic.”
    â€œFrankly, I’m not.”
    â€œSad,” Kennedy said again. He scooted his chair over to the desk, scribbled on a pad of paper. “Making a note to send her flowers,” he said when he turned back to me.
    Good for him. Kindhearted as well as sociable.
    I asked, “Did Fentress happen to get in touch with you after he was released?”
    â€œNo, he didn’t. I didn’t even know he’d been released.”
    â€œNo contact at all since his arrest, then.”
    â€œNone.”
    â€œHe was employed here seven years, is that right?”
    â€œSounds right. I’d have to look at the records to be sure.”
    â€œWas he part of a regular crew?”
    Kennedy wagged his head again.