“Actually, I went out with him last night.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
“Gogi!”
“If you didn't sleep with him, you should. I take it you're looking forward to going out with him again.”
“Well…yes.”
“Sandra, if he's the nice young man you hope he is, he'll still be here when you get back. And he'll be understanding about your trip.”
Finally, I got Sandra to agree that she could use a little vacation. If I had been ten years younger I would have gone alone, but I needed Sandra to drive me around. Also, it doesn't hurt to have a good-looking young woman with you when you're trying to meet people, as we proved with Mark-spectacularly so, it would seem. I didn't think Winston would get in the way; he had magnetic powers too, especially where women were concerned; they always had to talk to him, wherever he went.
I still had a lot of frequent flyer miles. Milt and I had traveled extensively, right up to the end, which had come mercifully quickly for him. After an hour of negotiation on the phone I made us reservations for the following day. I packed and was ready to go in another hour.
I had promised to stop nosing around Silver Acres, but I hadn't said anything about California.
Landing at Lindbergh Field was like experiencing a thrill ride at the local amusement park. The plane swooped down among the high-rise buildings of downtown San Diego while I, sitting by the window, pushed them away as well as I could.
Winston had enjoyed the flight and made friends with the matronly lady across the aisle, so that when Sandra went to the restroom the lady appropriated him, taking him on her lap, and I was relieved of that responsibility. She talked to him in baby talk while he examined her teeth with his long fingers. That was all right with me; I knew I would have enough opportunities to watch him during the next few days.
We went through the routine of claiming our baggage and our rental car and then with Sandra driving we headed for a motel that was a member of a national low-cost chain. Milt and I hadn't accumulated our money by being spendthrifts. Besides, it had cable television and a telephone, in addition to the usual amenities. What more did we need?
I had had a long love affair with California, dating back many years, and it felt good to return to the land of palm trees and sandy beaches, without the humidity of Florida, which I can tolerate for a few days at the outside.
As soon as we got settled in a room with two beds and a crib that management produced, especially for Winston, Sandra announced that she had to call Mark. I must have raised my eyebrows because she said, defensively, “Well, he wants to be sure we got here safely.”
I refrained from pointing out that it would be more logical to call Albert with that news; I intended to do just that later. I gave her my telephone credit card and played with Winston while she talked. From the conversation that I overheard, it sounded as if she and Mark had become good friends.
After she hung up, Sandra said, “Mark has decided that he needs a vacation, too. He is coming to San Diego.”
“Oh, when?”
“He's made reservations to come tomorrow.”
“That will cost him a lot of money.”
“He got a deal through the Internet.”
CHAPTER 13
Everything takes longer and costs more with a baby, something I forget since I don't have daily contact with babies. The ideal parents would be King and Queen Midas, who have the golden touch and copious free time. Gone are the days when children began generating wealth at an early age because they were put to work. Nowadays that is child abuse. If babies weren't so cute and lovable people might stop having them altogether. In some countries they already have.
In the morning, after Sandra had diapered and clothed Winston and we all had eaten, we headed north a few miles to La Jolla and the campus of the University of California at San Diego. Having been there before, I rehearsed Sandra on the correct pronunciation of La Jolla-La Hoya-so that we wouldn't look too green.
Before we left North Carolina I had arranged for us to have lunch with Dr. Benny Tokamatsu, a colleague of Gerald's during his professorial days. I had extracted Dr. Tokamatsu's name from Gerald's folder during my foray into Carol Grant's office. Gerald had listed him as a reference.
The spacious UCSD campus is located above the Pacific Ocean, a paradise for surfers and other water lovers, including marine biologists. We arrived early for our appointment, got a parking permit and strolled along the walks shaded by cypress and eucalyptus trees and the rare Torrey pines, some with their branches jutting out at almost unsustainable angles.
Sandra carried Winston in a backpack; he alternately played with her hair and tried to move her head aside so he could see more. The day was warm, with the temperature moderated by a breeze blowing off the ocean. Even though it was summer there were many young people about, riding bikes, walking briskly or slowly, talking or sitting on the grass.
We found the economics building, and with the help of a friendly student we walked right to Dr. Tokamatsu's office. The door was open and he was inside, sitting in front of a computer and typing on the keyboard with machine-gun speed. He paused, noticed our presence in the doorway and gestured grandly for us to enter.
“Come in, come in,” he said, jumping up from his chair with great energy. “I'm Benny Tokamatsu.”
I introduced myself, Sandra and Winston. He shook hands with each of us, including Winston, who waved to him after shaking hands. He was no taller than I was and slightly built, maybe 50 years old, with still-dark hair and typical Japanese features, casually dressed in a colorful sport shirt. The fact that he spoke English without a trace of an accent led me to believe that he had been born in the U.S.
He escorted us to his car in a nearby parking lot. He didn't have a car seat for Winston, but our car was some distance away. With trepidation, Sandra agreed to sit in the back seat and hold Winston during the short drive to the restaurant, but she obviously felt guilty about it.
Once inside the nice Italian restaurant we were quickly seated, with a highchair for Winston. Sandra had also brought a bottle of formula, a jar of baby food and a change of diapers, so we were good for a couple of hours.
“When I got your phone call, Dr. Morgan, I was very excited, because I have not seen Gerald for five years,” Dr. Tokamatsu said as soon as we had ordered. “Of course we heard about his tragic death-it was in all the papers here-but I was unable to go to his funeral because of previous commitments. I was a student of his and I have tried to follow in his footsteps. I work in the same areas he did. I would like to know more of the details of how he died- and how he lived after he left here.”
“Please call me Lillian,” I said. I had never been a formal person, and since I'd retired I had felt that Dr. Morgan was somebody else. I told Dr. Tokamatsu the basic facts concerning Gerald's death, without mentioning the possibility of murder.
When I talked about the shellfish, Dr. Tokamatsu interrupted and said, “Yes, I knew about Gerald's allergy to shellfish. Sometimes he and his wife would eat at our house and he would remind us of it. He had a very precise mind. It is surprising to me that he did not determine exactly what was in the dish that killed him.”
“He tried. He asked one of the ladies who prepared it. Unfortunately, there was a mixup and she didn't know there was shellfish in it. It was a tragic accident.” I hoped Dr. Tokamatsu wouldn't press the point because I didn't want to upset him by going into any more detail than necessary, especially since he had been such a good friend of Gerald's.
I told him what I knew of Gerald's activities at Silver Acres, including bridge, and even mentioned his girlfriends.
