only little girl, so it’s mine now. It took time for the estate to clear, there was so much paperwork. That’s the reason I couldn’t go with you to San Francisco- I had to clear everything up. Anyway, now I have a house and some money- there’s a trust fund, administered back East. That’s how I got the Alfa. I know it’s a little showy, but I thought it was cute. What do you think?”
“It’s adorable.”
She went on for a while, talking about the car, the places we could go in it.
But all I could think about was: a house. We could live here together. I was earning good money now, could pay the utilities- pay all the expenses.
“You’ve got a lot more room now,” I said, nibbling her ear. “Enough for two.”
“Oh, yes. After the dorm room, I’m looking forward to being able to stretch. And you can visit me up here, any time you want. We’ll have fun, Alex.”
“… good-sized, especially by today’s standards.”
Mickey Mehrabian was hitting her stride.
“Tremendous decorator potential, fabulous flow, and the price includes all the furnishings. Some of these pieces are really deco classics- you could keep them or sell them. Everything’s tiptop. The place is really a gem, Doctor.”
We toured the kitchen and walked through the short foyer that led to the bedrooms. The first door was closed. She passed it by. I opened it and went in.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “This was the master bedroom.”
The shampoo/disinfectant smell was stronger here, mixed with other industrial scents: the ammonia of glass cleaner, the malathion bite of insecticide, lye soap. A toxic cocktail. The drapes had been removed; only a tangle of cords and pulleys remained. All the furniture was gone. The carpet had been pulled up, revealing hardwood flooring marred by tacks. The two high windows revealed a view of tree-tops and power lines. But no breeze, no dilution of the chemical bath.
No apple drawings.
I heard a buzz. She heard it too. Both of us looked around for the source, found it immediately:
A swarm of gnats circling the center of the room, an animate cloud, its borders shifting amoebically.
Despite the attempts to wash away the aura of death, the insects knew- had sensed with their primitive little gnat brains- exactly what had taken place in this room. On that spot.
I remembered something Milo had told me.
Mickey Mehrabian saw the look on my face and mistook it for squeamishness.
“The open windows, this time of year,” she said. “No problem taking care of it. There’s a motivated seller, extremely flexible. I’m sure you’ll have no problem including any repairs or adjustments as contingencies during escrow, Doctor.”
“Why is he or she selling?”
The wide smile reappeared. “No he or she- an
“Speculators?”
The smile froze. “That’s a naughty word, Doctor. Investors.”
“Who lives here now?”
“No one. The tenant moved out recently.”
“And took the bed.”
“Yes. Only the bedroom furniture belonged to her- I
We left the death room. She asked, “Do you live alone, Dr. Delaware?”
I had to think before answering. “Yes.”
“Then you can use one of the bedrooms for a study, or even to see your patients.”
I wondered about the people she treated. The impact her death could be having on them.
Then I realized there was someone else in her life. Someone upon whom the impact would be tremendous.
My mind went into overdrive. I wanted to be out of there.
But I let Mickey show me around, allowed her patter to pass through me for a while before consulting my watch and saying, “Oops, I’ve got to get going.”
“Do you think you’ll be putting in an offer, Doctor?”
“I need time to think about it. Thanks for showing it to me.”
“If it’s a view site you’re after, I’ve got some other listings I could show you.”
I tapped the watch. “Love to, but can’t right now.”
“Why don’t we make an appointment for another day?”
“Not even time for that,” I said. “I’ll call you when I’m free.”
“Fine,” she said, coolly.
We left the house and she locked up. We walked silently to separate Cadillacs. Before she could open the door of her Fleetwood, a hint of movement caught our attention. The rustle of foliage- burrowing animals?
A man shot out of the greenery and began running away.
“Excuse
The runner looked back, stared at us, stumbled, fell, and picked himself up again.
Young. Disheveled hair. Wild-eyed. Mouth open as if in a silent scream. Terrified, or mad, or both.
“That gate,” said Mickey. “It needs to be fixed. Better security- no problem.”
I was looking at the runner, called: “Hold on!”
“What is it? Do you know him?”
He picked up speed, disappeared around the curve in the driveway. I heard an engine start, began running myself, to the bottom of the drive. Got there just as an old green pickup pulled away from the curb. Gears grinding, swerving erratically, going too fast, weaving. Some letters were painted in white on the door, but I couldn’t make them out.
I ran back to my car, got in.
“Who is that?” said Mickey. “Do you know him?”
“Not yet.”
9
I managed to catch up to him, flashed my brights and honked. He ignored me, was all over the road, weaving, speeding. Then more gear-grinding as he tried to shift. The truck got stuck in neutral, slowed to a coast, the engine racing as he fed gas without disengaging the clutch. He hit the brakes suddenly, came to a full stop. I stayed back, could see him through the truck’s rear window, struggling, tugging.
