“So who loaned it to him?” Travis asked.

Mr. Brennan colored slightly, then said, “I did.”

Travis grinned. “Why, Mr. Brennan, it seems I’m much more indebted to you than I imagined.”

“Oh, no, Travis. Not at all. The reverse is true. Given access to information, your father was the shrewdest investor I ever met. He was very generous to me over the years. I have no hesitation in telling you he was my favorite client.”

“He made his money in the stock market?” I asked.

“Eventually, yes-that and other investments. At first, though, he concentrated a tremendous amount of effort in his own business. He did very well with it, took the profits in hand and promptly doubled them. I was very impressed, until I saw that he was just getting warmed up.”

“Mr. Brennan,” I said, “during the time of the initial investigation of Gwendolyn’s murder, Robert said he had contacted her to obtain money. He said she had agreed to give him a check. I know she loaned him money on previous occasions, but was that still going on by the time she died?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he said. “As little as she liked business, Gwendolyn was aware by that time that the DeMont fortune had in truth become the Spanning fortune, with, as I say, only the lands themselves untouched. The fields on the farm were planted because Arthur paid to have them planted. He never refused her anything she wished to purchase for herself, but he was so angry with the DeMonts for taking advantage of her, he did forbid any further expenditure on them.”

They talked a little longer, Mr. Brennan apologizing for not having any of the papers he wanted to go over with Travis. “They are in my office. Can you come by there tomorrow?”

We agreed to stop by. I excused myself to go outside while they worked on the will. “It’s chilly out there,” Brennan said. “Wouldn’t you rather wait in my library, or some other room?”

“Irene loves fresh mountain air,” Travis said.

“This may take awhile,” Brennan said. “Would you like directions to the town?”

“No, Travis is right. The outdoors will be entertaining enough.”

“Then let me lend you a sweater,” he said.

I was grateful for the sweater, but more grateful for the fresh air, the time to think. I found Mary’s temporary address and phone number in my jeans pocket, and thought of calling her. I couldn’t get a strong-enough signal, though, and gave up. Tired, I went to lie down in the van, thinking of Brennan’s offer of directions before I dozed off.

I awoke to see three strangers entering the house.

I made a mad dash for the front door, coming in on their heels, but not tackling anyone when I saw that I was the most threatening individual present.

“Don’t worry,” Travis said, knowing exactly what had caused me to rush inside. “These are Mr. Brennan’s neighbors. One is a notary. The other two will witness the will.”

They stared at my bruised face, then turned to Travis, and asked him how he hurt his hand.

Mr. Brennan had already made photocopies of the unsigned will. He gave one of these to Travis, saying, “Perhaps I should keep the only signed copy in my safe for tonight. I can give it to you in Las Piernas if you want to keep it in your own safe-deposit box.”

That was agreeable to Travis.

He offered to have us stay overnight, but Travis declined the offer. “We need to get back to Las Piernas,” he said.

I thanked him and returned the sweater. He seemed reluctant to see Travis leave. “I hope you know you should call on me any time-and you need not have the excuse of business. I always enjoy seeing you.”

I was searching the pockets of the jeans I had worn the day before when Travis came back to the van. I had just found what I was looking for when he said, “I didn’t think you’d want to stay up here tonight.”

“You’re right. Thanks. I do want to go back downhill, but not because of my phobias.”

“You’re over your mountain phobia already?”

“Sorry, no-progress made, but no cure.” I started the van, and pulled away. “That wasn’t what I meant. I had a chance to do some thinking while I was outside, and now I’d like to get back to talk something over with Rachel.”

“What?”

“First, take a look at this.”

He turned the passenger reading lamp on and said, “This was what you got out of your jeans pocket?”

“Yes,” I said. “Thank God I haven’t had a chance to wash them.”

32

“What is it?”

“The little slip of paper Deeny gave me when we were at the trailer park. An address on Reagan Street in Los Alamitos. A house owned by Gerald. I’ll bet he doesn’t know Deeny gave this to us.”

“And I’ll bet he wouldn’t be happy to know she did,” he said. “I had forgotten all about this. We made her think we needed to see Gerald on some important business matter, and she gave us this address.” He stared at it for a moment, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Oh, probably nothing,” he said.

“Go ahead,” I said, “maybe you’re thinking the same thing I did. That it was an odd way to tell us where he was. You’re wondering if Deeny can read.”

“I couldn’t possibly tell that from one scrap of paper,” he said.

“No one is asking you to make a professional assessment here,” I said, concentrating on the road again. “I just wondered about it. When someone gives you an address, they usually write down both the house number and the name of the street. She did something unusual. Maybe because she didn’t know how to write it.”

“Or maybe for some other reason,” Travis said.

I thought back to our visit to their home. “There was a book inside the trailer,” I said, “but maybe Gerald was reading it.”

“Or maybe no one was,” he said. “My dad used to do that. Put a bookmark in a book and carry it around with him. Part of the ongoing fake-out.” He handed the paper back to me and added, “My dad used to do this, too. Just write the numbers. Pretend he was in a big hurry, couldn’t write out the rest.”

“Whether she can read or not, I’m betting there’s an El Camino stashed there.”

“A what?”

I told him what I had seen when I studied the photos.

“And if it’s at this address?”

“We’ll consult Rachel on that. The police can probably tell if anyone has hauled explosives in that car.”

He started looking through the photos again.

“One other thing,” I said, “I can understand why your uncle didn’t ask about my face being bruised. Unfortunately, not everyone will ask a woman where she got her bruises-they may be thinking, ”Leave that husband before he kills you, honey,“ but not many people will comment aloud. Brennan and his neighbors didn’t ask, several other people didn’t ask. But you-have we met up with anyone who didn’t ask or comment about your hand?”

He thought for a moment, then said, “Just Gerald.”

“Right. And since the prenuptial agreement only covered a fortune that no longer exists, who stands in line to inherit if you and your mother are out of the way?”

“Before this new will, Gerald.”

“If he has worked long enough in construction,” I said, “he probably knows where he can get access to explosives.”

After taking some time to think about all of this, he asked, “What should we do?”

“First, call Rachel. Talk to her about all of this, and tell her we’re on our way to her place.”

“I don’t think this is such a hot idea,” I said.

“Let’s just see if we can find that car,” Rachel said. “We don’t need to touch it-but if it’s there, we call the police, tell them to bring dogs trained in locating explosives. You can bet they’ll be traces of it in the El Camino.”

“I don’t know-” I said, feeling more cautious than usual.

“You have some dark clothes in that trunk of yours?” she asked Travis, ignoring me.

“Yes,” he answered, excited by the prospect of taking some action. “I might even have a dark T-shirt that will fit Irene.”