"Rather."
The vast desert sky was turning ermine black. Rhonda Devon switched on a lamp behind her and the lemony glow highlighted her cheekbones. When she turned in profile there was no telltale glint from contact lenses in her wide-set eyes. The forest-green irises came from DNA, not optometry.
"So, Mrs. Devon," the P. I. said, thinking there'd been enough small talk. "How can I help you?"
"It's about my husband, Clive," Rhonda Devon said. "I'd like you to follow him."
That was a bad start. The P. I. never had any luck with people named Clive or Graham or Montgomery, and once had served at Hollywood detectives under a captain named Clive, hating his guts.
"Is it a woman problem?"
"Yes."
"Mrs. Devon, this is a no-fault divorce state. Most places are, except maybe for Monte Carlo. Prince Rainier and Princess Grace couldn't have afforded to get caught chippying, but it's different here. You don't need a private investigator."
"I'm not trying to catch him in a tryst. I don't care what he does."
"Any lawyer would tell you that in a divorce situation in California you don't have to-"
"I don't want a divorce. I just have to understand why."
"Why he's fooling around?"
"No . . . yes, that's part of it, but only a small part,"
"What's the big part?"
"I think he's preparing to have a child. And I can't understand why."
"You said you don't care if he-"
"I don't care if he has one mistress or ten! But he's having a child. I have to understand that."
"Okay, how do you know?"
"I found something quite by accident. Our business manager writes the important checks and handles our portfolio, but we have separate personal checking accounts. It caught my eye, the monthly statement in the pocket of his blazer. It fell out when I hung the jacket in the armoire. I just got a glimpse before he came into the room, but when I returned to the armoire later it was gone. It was a monthly billing from a place called the Beverly Hills Fertility Institute."
"Did you call them?"
"I had my doctor make a few calls. The sperm banks in Los Angeles are administered by a medical director who insists on absolute confidentiality. All they'd say is that the name Clive Devon is unknown to them."
"How old is your husband?"
"Sixty-three."
"And how old're you, if I may ask?"
"Forty-four. I've never had children, and as of last December I won't be having any. I went through the change rather early just like my mother and both my sisters. Clive's obviously planning to have a child by a surrogate! Perhaps he's planning to leave me!"
"Do you care?"
"Yes, very much."
"Maybe he's one of these movers and shakers that can't depart this earth without leaving his genetic code behind. Maybe he's donated his sperm to some study or experiment."
"He's a terribly shy man, an introvert really, with low self-esteem and very few friends. He's never done any moving and shaking. He's always lived on trusts. I can't imagine him having a need to leave part of himself behind. Clive being part of an experiment? That's preposterous."
"Did he make you sign a prenuptial?"
"No."
"Then you stand to inherit when he dies?"
"Oh, yes. We've been married for thirteen years. He can't legally leave all his money to a new wife and child."
"Well, did you ever want children?"
"No, nor did he. Neither of us had happy childhoods so we thought we'd keep our neuroses to ourselves and not pass them on."
"Mrs. Devon, why don't you just ask him why he made this little bank deposit that's driving you nutty?"
"Oh, I'd never pry. Nor would he if the roles were reversed. We're each very independent. We live apart a good deal of the time. I prefer our main house in Beverly Hills and only come here two weekends a month. He stays here all the time, even in summer. I seldom can get him to spend forty-eight hours at our other home."
"Do you and your husband still . . ."
"He had a cardiac bypass. Arterial insufficiency allows him to ejaculate, but he can't get an erection. We haven't had sex for about five years." Then she added, "At least together."
"Have you discussed this with anyone else? I mean, why he maybe wants a kid?"
"We have the same attorney in Los Angeles, a good friend. He hasn't a clue."
"Of course he wouldn't dream of just asking Mister Devon, either?"
"I would never permit it. We do have our private separate lives and we . . ."
"Respect one another."
"Completely."
"Where's your husband today?"