I said, “I’ll stay here as long as you want me to.”
“No, no. You can go right now. I’ll be fine. Go talk to her.”
I got back on the phone. “I’ll be there within the half hour, Dr. Cunningham-Gabney.”
“Ursula. Please. At times like this a hyphen’s a damned nuisance. Do you know how to get here?”
“Melissa will tell me.”
“I’m sure she will.”
Before I left, I called Milo’s home and got Rick’s voice on a machine. Both Melissa and Ramp sagged when I told them he wasn’t in, making me realize how much stake they were putting in his powers of detection. Wondering if I was doing him a favor by drawing him into the
As I got ready to leave, the doorbell chimed. Melissa jumped up and ran out of the room. Ramp followed her, walking with long, tennis-bred strides.
I brought up the rear, to the entry hall. Melissa opened the doors and let in a black-haired boy of around twenty. He took a step toward Melissa, looked as if he wanted to hug her. Saw Ramp and stopped himself.
He was on the small side- five seven, slim build, olive skin, full bowed lips, brooding brown eyes under heavy brows. His hair was black and curly, worn short on top and sides, longer in back. He had on a short red busboy’s jacket, black slacks, white shirt, and black bow tie. A set of car keys jangled in one hand. He looked around nervously. “Anything?”
Melissa said, “Nothing.”
He moved closer to her.
Ramp said, “Hello, Noel.”
The boy looked up. “Everything’s okay, Mr. Ramp. Jorge’s handling the cars. There aren’t that many tonight. It’s kind of slow.”
Melissa touched the boy’s sleeve and said, “Let’s get out of here.”
Ramp said, “Where are you going?”
Melissa said, “Out. To look for her.”
Ramp said, “Do you really think-”
“Yes, I do. C’mon, Noel.” Tugging at the red fabric.
The boy looked at Ramp.
Ramp turned to me. I played sphinx. Ramp said, “Okay, Noel, consider yourself off for the rest of the night. But be careful-”
Before he finished the sentence the two of them were out the door. It slammed shut and echoed.
Ramp stared at it for a few moments, then turned to me, weary. “Would you care for a drink, Doctor?”
“No, thanks. I’m expected at the Gabney Clinic.”
“Yes, of course.”
He walked me to the door. “Have kids of your own, Doctor?”
“No.”
That seemed to disappoint him.
I said, “It can be tough.”
He said, “She’s really bright- sometimes I think that makes it rougher, for all of us, her included. Gina told me you treated her years ago, when she was just a little kid.”
“Seven through nine.”
“Seven through nine,” he said. “Two years. So you’ve spent more time with her than I have. Probably know her a hell of a lot better than I do.”
“It was a long time ago,” I said. “I saw a different side of her.”
He smoothed his mustache and played with his collar. “She’s never accepted me- probably never will. Right?”
“Things can change,” I said.
“Can they?”
He opened the door on Disney lights and cool breeze. I realized I hadn’t gotten directions to the clinic from Melissa and told him so.
He said, “No problem. I know the way by heart. Gone there plenty. When Gina needed me to.”
14
On the way to Pasadena I found myself peering up driveways, checking foliage, scanning the streets for a misplaced shadow, a flash of chrome. The crumpled outline of a woman down.
Irrational. Because the pros had been there already: I spotted three San Labrador police cruisers within a ten- block radius, one of which tailed me for half a block before resuming its prowl.
Irrational because the streets were naked- a stray tricycle could be spotted a block away.
A neighborhood that kept its secrets off the street.
Where had Gina Ramp taken hers?
Or had they been taken from her?
Despite my words of encouragement to Melissa, I hadn’t convinced myself the whole thing was an impromptu vacation from phobia.
From what I’d seen, Gina had been vulnerable. Fragile. Just arguing with her daughter had set off an attack.
How could she possibly handle the real world- whatever that meant.
So I kept searching as I drove. Spitting in the face of reason and feeling a little better for it.
The Gabney Clinic occupied a generous corner lot in a good residential neighborhood that had begun yielding reluctantly to apartments and shops. The building had once been a house. A big two-storied, shingle-sided, brown craftsman-style bungalow set back behind a flat, wide lawn. Three giant pines shadowed the grass. A front porch spanned the width of the structure, darkened by massive eaves. Shake roof, lots of wood-relief, stingy windows in oversized casements. Ungainly and dimly lit- some architectural hack’s sendup of Greene and Greene. No sign advertising what went on inside.
A low wall- rock chips in cement- fronted the property. A gateless gap in the center provided access to a cement walkway. On the left, a wood-plank gate had been propped open, exposing a long, narrow driveway. A white Saab Turbo 9000 was parked at the mouth of the drive, blocking further motor access. I left the Seville parked on the street- Pasadena was more tolerant than San Labrador- and made my way up the walk.
A white porcelain sign the size and shape of an hour cigar was nailed to the front door; GABNEY was painted on it in black block letters. The knocker was a snarling lion chewing on a brass ring, top-lit by a yellow bug bulb. I lifted it and let it fall. The door vibrated- C-sharp, I was pretty sure.
A second porch light went on. A moment later the door opened. Ursula Cunningham-Gabney stood in the doorway wearing a burgundy-colored scallop-necked knit dress that ended two inches above her knees and accentuated her height. Vertical ribs ran through the fabric, accentuating further. High-heeled pumps were the topper.
The perm she’d worn in the newspaper photo had been replaced by a glossy fudge-colored wedge. John Lennon eyeglasses hung from a chain around her neck, competing for chest-space with a string of pearls. The chest itself was convex and concave exactly where it should have been. Her waist was small, her legs sleek and very, very long. Her face was squarish, finely molded, much prettier than in the picture. Younger, too. She didn’t appear to be much older than thirty. Smooth neck, tight jawline, big hazel eyes, clean features that didn’t need camouflage. But she
