With the young man gone, Myron said, “He’s ambivalent about me, how could he not be? But I love him unconditionally. If I had to have only one kid, he’d be the one. Well behaved from day one-never had the imp in him. And, brilliant, I’m talking a whole different intellectual stratosphere. He’s only twenty-four and a year away from a Ph.D. in plasma physics. I can’t even comprehend what that is.”

Paternal pride gave way to tension that halved the width of his mouth. “Must be a generation-skipping thing. As Father frequently told me. He was a scientific type, too. Self-taught but a bushel-peck of patents to his name. Kyle thinks he’s anti-materialistic but he’ll be loaded, despite himself, probably some high-tech invention. One day you’ll open up Forbes there he’ll be, on the big-list. When that happens, I hope he likes me a little. Do either of you have kids?”

“No, sir,” said Milo.

“It’s educational. There’s a good chance that I’ve been a shitty father. Back then, of course, I thought I was a pretty good father.”

“Back when, sir?”

“When Kyle was young. I was never controlling or dominating but I do have a tendency to be impulsive and I suppose that could be…” Hoisting his drink, he emptied the glass, returned to the bar, poured a double. By the time he got back to the couch, half was gone.

“Your impulsiveness affected Kyle?”

“It’s complicated, Lieutenant.” Bedard’s eyes closed and his breathing slowed.

“How so?”

Bedard didn’t move. Milo’s head-cock told me to take over.

Mention of Peterson Whitbread had caused Bedard to seek the refuge of his house. Once inside, he’d wanted Kyle gone.

I said, “Impulsive as in taking Kyle along to see your mistress?”

Bedard’s eyes fluttered open. “Mistress.” The word amused him. “Mary was a nice stopover, nothing more.”

Milo said, “You have a lot of those?”

“What can I say, I love women. Adore each and every one of them.” Bedard drank and cracked ice with his teeth and used one hand to outline the guitar-contours of the female form. “I guess you could say I’m enamored of half the world-what’s that, three billion? Minus one-my ex-wife. Lord, can you imagine working your way through that mass of femininity? The concept’s staggering.”

Hoisting again, he said, “Here’s to the X chromosome.”

Milo said, “When did you start stopping over at Mary Whitbread’s?”

“Let’s see…way back-fifteen years or so.”

“Are you still doing it?”

“She’s over fifty. Far too mature for me.”

“She was a stopover but you sold her four buildings.”

“So I did.”

“Quid pro quo?”

Bedard laughed. “Mary paid fair market value. The fact that no agent’s commission was involved gave me a bit more flexibility and she didn’t need to wait for financing.”

“She paid cash?”

“A cashier’s check to be exact.”

“How much are we talking about?”

“Hmm,” said Bedard. “That long ago, I’d say…a million, million five.”

“Where’d she get that kind of money?”

“I have no idea. What has she done to get you so interested in her?”

“Who initiated the sale?” said Milo.

“All questions, no answers, eh? The decision was mutual. Mary was living in Carthay Circle, had sold some apartments in the Valley and was looking to trade up, possibly go the owner-occupied route. We’d owned the duplexes long enough to make a nice profit but as pure rentals, the returns weren’t optimal. I didn’t want to waste time on properties with less than a dozen units, so the timing was perfect.”

Rocking his glass, he stared at the wave motion. “It’s like playing Monopoly, one trades houses for hotels. There’s a school of thought that says hold, never sell, but I find that uncomfortably static.”

Another tightening of his lips.

I said, “Your father’s school of thought?”

Little eyeglass lenses flashed as he focused on me. “You’re playing psychologist with me. But yes, you’re correct. And no doubt Father would insist he was right. Those four buildings have got to be worth five, six mil. But I did fine on the ones I bought.”

Adolescent strain in his voice. Kyle had told me his father and grandfather loathed each other. Cashmere and silk were nice, but they made for poor bandages.

He said, “I’m still intrigued by all the interest in Mary. Is it because Patty Bigelow lived in one of the duplexes? There’s no mystery to that. I sent Patty to Mary after she had to leave here.”

“After your father died.”

“She was a terrific caretaker,” said Bedard, “but there was no reason for her to stay.”

“Let’s get back to Peterson Whitbread,” I said. “How did Kyle come to know him?”

“This is about Pete? What has he done?”

Milo said, “Did Kyle meet him during your stopovers?”

Bedard fondled his ascot. “I’m not obligated to talk to you.”

“Any reason you wouldn’t want to cooperate?”

“Jet lag, for one. Bedard orneriness for another.” Capped smile. “No, I’m easy. Or so I’ve been told.”

People like to talk about themselves. My profession banks on it. Sometimes, though, it’s a means of avoiding substance.

I said, “What was the problem between Kyle and Pete?”

“Who said there was any?”

“You keep shying away from talking about it.”

“Lord,” said Myron Bedard. “And to think I’ve supported your profession.”

Milo said, “Would it help if I asked the same question?”

“Ha…no, I’m not trying to be evasive. It’s just that bringing up those days reminds me of…it’s a rather jarring example of the impulsiveness I was talking about. Precisely why I didn’t want Kyle here.”

I said, “You took Kyle along when you saw Mary and he saw things he shouldn’t have.”

“At the very least he heard things. Mary could be…exuberant. Yes, I had poor judgment, but you need to understand, I was Kyle’s primary parent, if I wasn’t with him he didn’t get any attention at all. You’ve met my ex-wife. Can you imagine her nurturing anything? So yes, I let him tag along everywhere. Now I realize there were some…inappropriate instances.”

“How old was Kyle when he accompanied you to Mary’s?”

“I’d say…nine, ten, who remembers? I thought it would be fun because Pete was a bit older. Kyle’s an only child.”

Drinking some more. “To my mind, it was better than leaving Kyle alone in this godforsaken place.”

“Big house.”

“Big cold tomb,” said Bedard. “I hated growing up here. One day I’ll sell it. I’m keeping an eye on the market.”

I said, “How’d Kyle react to the visits?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said there were inappropriate instances.”

“I was talking generally. Hearing Mary and I…for the most part, Kyle seemed fine.”

“For the most part.”

“One time-the last time-he seemed kind of moody. All I could get out of him was that he didn’t like Pete, preferred not to go back. Those were probably his exact words-‘Dad, I’d prefer not to go back.’ He always talked like an adult, when he was really small, people would say, ‘Where’s the ventriloquist?’”

“Why didn’t he like Pete?”

“He didn’t elaborate.”

“You didn’t pursue it.”

“I didn’t see any reason to. Kyle made a request, I honored it.”

I didn’t answer.

Bedard said, “Please don’t tell me something disgusting went on. I refuse to believe Kyle wouldn’t have told me. Most kids don’t talk to their parents. But with Kyle and me it was different. There was absolutely no sign of anything like that.”

Milo said, “That’s not what we’re after but if you do suspect something, now would be a-”

“I don’t. And frankly I don’t see what any of this has to do with Patty Bigelow and her daughter. I’m still confused about why you asked Kyle about Patty in the first place and why he’s so concerned. Patty died of cancer, not under suspicious circumstances.”