her later that evening, I placed the scrap in my pocket.
Carrying the gifts into the bedroom, I arranged them on the bed. After changing into jeans and a well-worn corduroy shirt, I went into the kitchen, put Joe Pass on the stereo, an apron around my waist, and set about preparing dinner: an appetiser of jumbo mushrooms stuffed with garlic and breadcrumbs; a salad of butter lettuce, pepper, and Chinese scallions; a carafe of tarragon vinaigrette; grilled fillets of Norwegian salmon topped with capers; fresh string beans lightly buttered; and a bottle of sauvignon blanc - a virgin white from the vineyard of a lady judge I'd once met. The Friisen Gladje would serve as dessert.
She walked through the door just as I was dressing the salad. I took her coat and portfolio, led her to the kitchen,
sat her at the table, and brought a basin and cup with which to wash her hands.
'Whew!' She grinned broadly. 'To what do I owe all this?'
Shushing her with a kiss, I uncorked and poured the wine and brought the mushrooms to the table, along with a log of sourdough.
'Alex, this is terrific!'
'Wolfgang Puck, eat your heart out.'
We ate slowly and tranquilly, with a minimum of conversation.
'Delicious,' she said, pushing her plate away.
'Ready for dessert?'
She groaned and patted her tummy.
'Can we wait awhile?'
'Sure. Go relax while I clean up.'
'Let me help you,' she said, standing. 'I need to move around.'
'All right, but first go in the bedroom and bring me a cooler shirt.'
'Sure, hon.'
She came back holding the lace blouse to her breast, smiling like a kid.
'Baby,' she said.
We moved toward each other, embraced, and never separated for the rest of the evening.
The next morning, after she'd gone to the shop, I hung up my jeans and the scrap with Jennifer's numbers fell out. After picking up the phone, I dialled the university extension. A slow-talking baritone informed me that I'd reached the psychobiology lab. In the background was a wash of voices.
'This is Dr. Delaware returning Jennifer Leavitt's call.'
'Who?'
'Dr. Delaware.'
'No, who're you calling?'
'Jennifer Leavitt.' I spelled it.
'Oh. Uh, one second.' He put down the phone and
shouted out her name, returned to the line even more lethargic than before. 'Uh, no, she's not here.'
'When do you expect her?'
'Don't know. Uh, we're right in the middle of something, so why don't you, uh, call later.'
'Can you leave a message for her?'
'Uh, well, I really don't-'
'Thanks.'
I hung up and dialled the Fairfax exchange. A cheerful-sounding woman answered.
'Mrs. Leavitt?'
'Yes?'
'This is Dr. Delaware. I used to work with Jennifer at Project 160-'
'Oh, yes, Doctor. Jennifer was quite anxious to talk with you. She said to tell you she'll be out for the day. She and Danny - that's her boyfriend - have gone to La Jolla. But she should be back this evening. Where can she reach you?'
I gave her my home number and thanked her.
'My pleasure, Doctor. Jennifer always had wonderful things to say about you. She was so young when she entered the project, and you really helped her adjust.'
'That's great to hear.'
'Now she's going to be a doctor herself. Isn't that wonderful?'
'You must be very proud.'
'Oh, we are, Doctor. We are.'
I did some housekeeping, fed the koi, practised karate katas, took a three-mile run and a long soak in the tub. The morning mail held the usual junk along with a subpoena to appear as an expert witness in a custody case I'd thought long resolved, but the date was a month away, so I filed it.
All the makings of a peaceful morning, but the fact that someone had outbid me for The Wretched Act kept slipping into my mind. Voids Will Be Voids was some surgeon's tax dodge, hardly meant to be a bustling enterprise, yet all of a sudden customers were vying for a particular sculpture. The more I thought about it, the less I liked it.
It was only twelve-thirty, several hours before the gallery opened, but I had time on my hands, so I drove back downtown in the hope of spotting Stripehead nearby. He was nowhere in sight, and the gallery was dark, so I went for lunch in Chinatown.
Belly full of dim sum, I returned at two. Voids was still closed, but I spotted my quarry picking through the rags on a rack in front of one of the clothing outlets. By the time I'd parked and walked up behind him, he'd selected a pair of mock tigerskin stretch pants, a polyethylene tank top, and an extra-large J.C. Penney white-button shirt.
'Hi,' I said softly.
He jumped and dropped the clothes on the sidewalk. I picked them up and brushed them off. The Korean who owned the outlet stared suspiciously from the doorway. Stripehead absorbed the suspicion and passed it along to me.
'Whaddya you want, man?'
'I want to do a little more business.'
'Business starts at four o'clock.' He pretended to inspect the tank top.
'I'm not interested in art. Just information.'
'Then call the freakin' information bureau.'
The Korean came out and stood beside us. 'Buy or look?' he demanded.
Before Stripehead could sneer a reply, I said:
'Buy. How much?'
The Korean quoted a figure. I offered him half as much, and we settled for two-thirds. Stripehead looked on incredulously, then held the clothes out to me.
'Keep 'em,' I said. 'Merry Christmas.'
He started walking toward the gallery, and I stayed with him.
'You Jewish or something?' he asked.
'No. Why?'
'You do business like a Chink or a Jew, and you're sure not no Chink.'
'You're welcome.'
'Huh?'
'Nevermind.'
We reached Voids. He stood with his back to the iron grating, clutching the clothes as if afraid that he who gaveth would suddenly taketh away.
'I want to know who bought The Wretched Act.'
'I told you, man. Some suit.'
'What was the man's name?'
'He din't give no name.'
'What about a receipt?'
