"Anything, really. My theory is it began with him. When she was around twelve she began faking illness, probably to keep him out of her bed. She did it all kinds of ways--putting a finger down her throat and vomiting all over herself, soaking a thermometer in hot water, rubbing her skin with one of those sandpaper dish-sponges to bring up a rash, complaining of horrible cramps. She also lied about things that seemed pointless. Not eating the lunch he fixed but telling him it was delicious. Or just the opposite, finishing every bite but coming home and telling him she'd lost her lunch, was starved. I guess she was trying to feel in control. She'd pull sneaky pranks on him. Hiding his slippers, putting his reading glasses where he'd have trouble finding them. Once, I looked out my bedroom window in the middle of the night and saw her letting air out of one of his tires."

"How old was she?"

"A teenager... maybe fifteen."

"Did you let her know you'd seen her?"

"No way, I wanted her to like me."

"Did she lie to anyone but your father?"

"Sure," she said. "She cheated in school, stole old tests and sold them. I found out because a boy who'd bought one bragged about it to his friend. That night, I searched Elise's drawers, found a wadded-up bunch of money. I didn't count it but it looked like a lot. She never got caught, at graduation she won honors and commendations for character."

"Did your father ever figure out she was pranking him?"

"Not a chance. In his eyes, Elise could do no wrong. She was the clear favorite."

I said, "Too bad for her."

Sandra Stuehr turned to me. Her eyes were wet. "Good, bad, right, wrong. Sometimes it all gets scrambled. You're sure she didn't suffer?"

Further questioning produced nothing and we were preparing to go when a soft knock sounded on the front door.

Sandra Stuehr said, "It's open, honey, come on in."

The man who entered was midtwenties, good-looking, Asian, with expensively spiked hair. He wore a white silk Nat Nast bowling shirt with blue vertical stripes, cobalt linen slacks, brown hand-stitched deck shoes, and a rose-gold Rolex.

She got up, took his hand, kissed his lips lightly. "Perfect timing, we're finishing up."

Milo introduced himself.

"Will Kham."

Sandra Stuehr said, "Will Kham, M.D. Chief resident in rheumatology at Cottage Hospital."

Kham toed the floor. "It's okay, Sandy--"

"Will's been on call for three days, finally has a day off. I'm sure you guys won't mind if we get going."

Milo said, "Thanks for your time, Ms. Stuehr. If you think of anything else, please let us know."

"Of course," she said. To Kham: "They don't think she suffered, baby."

Kham said, "That's good."

As we closed the door, she was saying, "I'm thinking San Ysidro Inn, baby, that new chef they've got is fantastic."

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER
17