Double

He went back to the car and got a paper bag, then took out a chain and set about fastening it with the padlock. When he was done, he turned to me. “Are you here about Elaine?”

“You’ve heard she’s dead, then.”

“It was on the news.” He said it flatly, as if he were talking about a baseball score he’d heard. “But why are you coming to me about it?”

I hadn’t said Elaine was the reason I was here; why did he assume it? “Look, can we go inside and talk?”

He looked uncertain. “You haven’t told me your name.”

“Sharon McCone. I’m a friend of Elaine’s from San Francisco.”

He nodded. “Rich Woodall. But you must know that, since you came all the way out here.”

“Yes.”

“Well,” he said reluctantly. “I guess we might as well go inside.” Giving the padlock a final tug, he turned and led me down the driveway. After turning off his car’s headlights, he unlocked a side door to the house, reached inside, flicked on a light switch, and motioned me to enter.

I stepped into a large kitchen and dining area. At the far end was a round oak table in front of a two-sided brick fireplace that also opened into a formal living room. Woodall motioned at the table and went into the kitchen.

“I feel like having a glass of wine,” he said. “Will you join me?” His manner had changed subtly, and his voice modulated to a sort of soft slyness. As he spoke, he adjusted the hang of his well-tailored sport coat.

Much as it put me off, I decided to play along with his unpleasantly seductive manner. “Sure,” I said, smiling. “Thank you.”

He went to a cupboard, took out stemware, and busied himself with a corkscrew. “Red okay?”

“Perfect. Tell me, what are you doing with all those animals? Are they pets?”

“Not exactly. I’m a zoologist — in public relations with the zoo. Unfortunately, the job’s strictly administrative and doesn’t allow me much opportunity to keep my hand in at my specialty, so I’ve set up my own little zoo here at home.”

“But you’re aware it’s illegal — keeping those kinds of animals in your yard.”

He came toward me, carrying the glasses of wine. His odd eyes appraised me, and when he spoke it was teasingly. “Oh, come on, you wouldn’t tell on me, would you?”

I took the glass he extended. “I don’t know.”

“The poor animals aren’t hurting anybody.”

“They could.”

Abruptly, his manner changed again. “Well, don’t worry about it, dearheart. The animals are well looked after — and even without the gate locked, those cages are plenty sturdy. Besides, it isn’t illegal — this is an unincorporated area.”

“Oh. Don’t your neighbors object, though?”

“The nearest house is half a mile away. The people around here like their privacy.” He sat next to me, uncomfortably close, and raised his glass in a brief toast. The wine was good — rich and full-flavored — and when I held it to the light, it seemed to burn with secret fires, like Rich Woodall’s eyes.

I decided not to let Woodall know I had heard about the scene in the Cantina Sin Nombre yesterday. I said, “Did you talk to Elaine after I left the bar?”

For a moment he looked blank.

“I mean yesterday afternoon, when you saw us together.”

“Oh. Oh, no.”

His first mistake. “I’m surprised. The two of you were pretty close, weren’t you?”

“Elaine and me?” His eyes moved from side to side, calculatingly. “Not really.”

“Oh, I thought...”

“What did you think?”

“For some reason, I had the impression you were seeing one another.”

“How did you get that?”

I frowned. “Why, now that you mention it, I don’t know.”

“Did she say something about me?”

“I honestly don’t remember where I got the idea.”

He watched me for a moment, then said, “Actually, Elaine and I have had dinner a few times. She’s a member of our Adopt-an-Animal Program.”

“Your what?”

“It’s a P.R. and fund-raising device the zoo has. People are encouraged to make donations, and in return they become the adoptive parents of one of the animals.”

“Which one was Elaine mother to?”

“A gorilla. Named Fred.”

“Good Lord.” But it didn’t sound right. As I recalled, Elaine didn’t like animals, wouldn’t even have a cat in the house. “What does an adoptive parent do?”

“Some of them visit the animals regularly. Show them off to their friends.”

“I can just see Elaine telling her friends, ‘There’s my son the gorilla.’”

He smiled — in a restrained way, as befitted a person talking about a dead friend. “I don’t think she was that big on parenthood. But she was a strong supporter of the zoo. And, of course, it made a good tax deduction.”

I’d have to check with Elaine’s accountant, if I could locate him. “Of course, now the gorilla is motherless.”

Woodall’s face became somber. I had the feeling that he always tried to come across with the appropriate response, in spite of what he really felt about a given situation. “Her death is a shame. A real tragedy. Elaine was a lovely woman.”

And that, I thought, was why you roughed her up in the bar yesterday. “So you only knew her through the zoo.”

“Yes.” He got up and went to fetch the wine bottle.

“Do you know any of her other friends?” I asked.

“Sorry, I don’t.”