“Pretending that their children don’t exist?” Annabel said. “Yes, I know about that, too. But that wasn’t the kind of thing I meant.”
“What kind of thing did you mean?”
“It’s just that—if you had some information, about Kayla, that might be of some use to somebody, would you tell them?”
“What kind of information could you have about Kayla?”
Annabel really wanted to sit down. Now that she had started this, it didn’t seem like such a good idea.
“It’s just—something I came across. Something Kayla told me. And I keep thinking that Margaret Anson ought to know.”
Ruth Grandmere was no longer paying any attention to the computer console at all. She was turned around on her swivel chair, giving Annabel her full attention.
“If there’s something you know about Kayla Anson that has to do with her murder, you shouldn’t tell Margaret. You should tell the police. Or that detective, that Mr. Demarkian.”
“It’s not that kind of thing. At least, I don’t think it is.”
“What kind of thing is it?”
“It’s hard to explain. But Margaret is the one who ought to know. Because Margaret is the—what do you call it? The heir. Isn’t she?”
“I don’t know,” Ruth Grandmere said.
“I don’t see that the information has anything to do with her murder. I mean, it was months and months ago that we talked about it. But it was supposed to be—private, I guess. Nobody was supposed to know. So I thought that maybe Kayla hadn’t made a record of it, and Margaret Anson wouldn’t know.”
Annabel had been half-staring at the ceiling again while she said all this. When she turned her attention again to Ruth Grandmere, she saw that the older woman had become almost comically agitated. She was half-rising out of her seat. Her eyes had become very wide. Annabel stepped back, startled.
“Listen to me,” Ruth Grandmere said. “Make sense, for once in your life. Two people are already dead. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, I know, but the thing is—”
“The thing is nothing,” Ruth insisted. ‘Two people are dead, and they were both found in Margaret Anson’s garage. Both of them. If you don’t know what people around here have been saying about that, you haven’t been listening.
“I do know,” Annabel said. “But—”
“No buts. I’m not going to say that I think that Margaret Anson murdered her own daughter in her own garage, because I suppose you should treat people as innocent until proven guilty. But you must know as well as I do that Margaret is capable of it. If you’ve got some information, no matter how trivial you think it is, you should take it to the police.”
“Yes,” Annabel said. “Yes, I know.”
Ruth reached out and touched her shoulder. “I want you to promise me that you won’t go hauling off to Margaret’s house and laying this thing all out for her. You’ll talk to the police instead.”
“The police really aren’t going to be interested.”
“That’s fine. After the police say they aren’t interested, then you can go to Margaret Anson. But not before. For your own safety. Okay?”
“Okay,” Annabel said.
Ruth Grandmere relaxed back into her chair. “That’s all right then. As long as you’re going to be sensible.”
Annabel made polite little noises, but Ruth didn’t hear them. She was back at the computer console again, concentrating as hard as if she were taking an exam. Annabel backed quietly out of the office and into the hall.
Of course she knew the sensible thing to do was to tell the police anything that might be relevant—or even anything vaguely odd, in case it might be relevant. And what she knew was definitely odd. The problem was, it really didn’t concern anybody but Margaret Anson, which meant that it was Margaret Anson who ought to be told. She ought to be told soon, too, because the longer it went before something was done about it, the harder it would be to actually do anything.
Assuming, of course, that there was anything to be done. Assuming that Kayla hadn’t taken care of it herself months ago. She had said that she was going to take care of it.
Annabel let herself out of the administrative hall and into the main body of the club. Then, on an impulse, she walked out of the club’s front doors and into the parking lot. Even if Margaret had killed Kayla, it had nothing to do with her. This wasn’t the kind of information you murdered somebody for. This was the kind that made you end up giving them a reward.
Annabel got into her car and started it up. Her jacket was still in the club. She’d have to come back for it later.