A Cold Heart

“Last I heard she was in San Francisco with you.”

Pause. “You’d better be leveling with me.”

“I’m out to dinner, Tim. I’m going to hang up, now-”

“No!” he shouted. “Please.”

I took a deep breath.

He said, “I’m sorry, I assumed… it was logical.”

“What was?”

“Robin being with you. She left this morning… we had a fight. I figured she’d run back to you. I’m sorry… where is she?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you, Tim.”

“If you asked me what the fight was about, I couldn’t tell you. One minute we were getting along and the next… my fault, I was too damn busy, didn’t pay her enough attention, this lousy show-”

“I’m sure you’ll work it out, Tim.”

“You didn’t.”

I let that ride.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m being a total asshole, I’m really sorry. It’s just that she was so angry with me, I assumed she went back because… the truth is, she still feels for you, Alex. It’s something I’ve been dealing with. It’s not easy-”

“You have nothing to worry about,” I said. “I’m having dinner with another woman. Someone I’ve been seeing for a while-”

“The psychologist. Robin told me. She talks about you more than she realizes. Tries be casual about it… I’m willing to put up with it if it’s just a matter of time… I really love her, Alex.”

“She’s a great woman.”

“She is, she is… goddamn, if she’s not with you, where the hell is she? Her flight got in at five, I gave her an hour and a half to get home, called, got no answer. Called again, kept calling-”

“Try her friend Debby, in San Diego.”

“I did. She hasn’t heard from Robin, either.”

“She probably just needs time by herself,” I said, feeling my stomach knot.

“I know, I know… okay, I’ll keep trying. Listen, thanks, Alex. Sorry for being such a moron. I shouldn’t have presumed-”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said.

Easier said than done.

***

When I got back to the table, Allison said, “You look like you just handled a crisis.”

“I suppose I did.”

“Anything you’d care to talk about?”

My mind was racing and shutting her out seemed wrong. I recounted Tim’s call.

“Nice of you to calm him down,” she said.

“That’s me, Father Teresa.”

She sidled over, showed me the dessert menu.

“Whatever you’re in the mood for,” I said.

Allison said, “Too full for dessert?”

“No, I’m just not picky.”

“Okay, then… chocolate or nonchocolate?”

“Whatever.”

“You know,” she said, “I’m pretty full.”

“No, let’s go for it.”

She shook her head. “I changed my mind, it’s getting late.”

“I’ve spoiled it.”

“Not at all, baby.”

“Chocolate,” I said.

She patted her tummy. “I really am full, please call for the check. And then let’s drive to Venice.”

“What?”

“You’re worried,” she said. “I’m sure it’s nothing- she probably doesn’t want to take his call. But let’s make sure and set your mind at ease.”

I stared at her.

“It’s okay,” she said.

“Some date.”

“It’s been more than dating for a while.”

***

We left the hotel. Allison was smart and perceptive enough to know I’d been concerned, but I hadn’t told her the extent of it. The nagging, sickening, chain of thought set off by Tim’s call.

China and Baby Boy; two victims Robin had worked for.

The break-in; only cheapie electrics stolen. Except for Baby Boy’s acoustic.

Shull fancied himself a guitarist, the instruments were ideal trophies.

And Robin had just gotten some nice publicity: The Guitar Player profile. GP was a specialty magazine, but just the kind of thing Shull, with his self-image as a musician, an insider- an arbiter of art- might be likely to read.

I sped to Venice.

***

Allison switched on the radio, tuned the music low, pretended to listen. Leaving me to my thoughts.

Something Shull had said, when I’d interviewed him in his office came back to me: For some reason your name’s familiar.

Soon after, I’d asked Shull if he’d noticed any change in Kevin Drummond’s writing style.

How so?

He seems to have gone from simple and direct to wordy and pretentious.

I’d had no idea at the time, but that had been a direct assault upon Shull’s massive ego. And Shull didn’t respond well to deflation.

How had he taken it… calm, smiling, an aw-shucks smile-“Ouch. On the contrary, the little I saw of Kevin’s development seemed to indicate improvement.”

Then he’d dismissed me.

A pathologically jealous psychopath, and I’d slapped him across the face.

For some reason your name’s familiar.

From time to time I made the papers. Not in any big way, just a bit player in crime stories. Some psychopaths followed crime pieces. Had Shull? Was his memory good enough to pounce upon my name?

Then I got it: Baby Boy’s CD. A record Shull was likely to own- researching his quarry.

I pictured him listening to the disc repeatedly. Poring over the liner notes. Drinking in the details.

Milo, a casual listener, had come across Robin’s name- and mine- in the small-print credits. Shull would’ve been sure to see it.

Baby Boy thanking “the beautiful guitar lady” for keeping his instruments in fine shape.

Thanking “Dr. Alex Delaware for keeping the guitar lady happy.”