the gain into blue-chip securities and taxfree bonds.
Avoiding the speculative stuff, because he knew I'd never be rich from practicing psychology and couldn't afford to lose big.
The income from those investments was still coming in, slow and steady, augmenting what I brought in doing forensic consults.
I'd never be able to buy French Impressionist paintings, but if I kept my life-style reasonable, I probably wouldn't have to work when I didn't want to.
Lou, on the other hand, was a very wealthy man, even after losing most of his assets and nearly all of his clients. He split his time now between a boat in the South Pacific and an estate in the Willamette Valley.
I called Oregon and spoke to his wife. She sounded serene, as always, and I wondered if it was strength of character or a good facade. We made small talk for a while and then she told me Lou was up in Washington State, hiking near Mount Rainier with their son, and wasn't expected until tomorrow night or Monday morning. I gave her my want-list. It didn't mean much to her, but I knew she and Lou never talked money.
Wishing her well and thanking her, I hung up.
Then I drank another cup of coffee and waited for Robin to come home and help me forget the day.
She was carrying two suitcases and looking cheerful. A third valise was down in her new truck. I brought it up and watched her unpack and hang her clothes. Filling the space in the closet that I'd left empty for more than two years.
Sitting down on the bed, she smiled. There.
We necked for a while, watched the fish, went out and had rack of lamb at a sedate place in Brentwood where we were the youngest patrons.
After returning home, we spent the rest of the evening listening to music, reading, and playing gin. It felt romantic, a little geriatric, and very satisf'ing. The next morning, we went walking in the glen, pretending we were birdwatchers and making up names for the winged things we saw.
Sunday lunch was hamburgers and iced tea up on the terrace.
After we did the dishes she got involved in the Sunday crossword puzzle, biting her pencil and frowning a lot. I stretched out on a lounge chair, feigning relaxation. Shortly after 2:00 P.M. she put the puzzle down, saying, 'Forget it. Too many French words.'
She lay down beside me. We absorbed sun, until I noticed her starting to fidget.
I leaned over and kissed her forehead.
'Ummm... anything I can do for you?' she said.
'No, thanks.'
'Sure?'
'Uh-huh.'
She tried to sleep, grew more restless.
I said, 'I'd like to get over to the hospital some time today.'
'Oh, sure... As long as you're going out, I might as well get over to the shop, take care of a few odds and ends.'
Cassie's room was empty, the bed stripped, the drapes drawn. Vacuum tracks striped the carpet. The bathroom was bare and disinfected; a paper runner was wrapped around the toilet.
As I stepped out of the room a voice said, 'Hold it.'
I came face to face with a security guard. Wet-sanded triangular face, grim lips, and black-framed glasses. Same hero I'd met the first day, enforcing the badge law.
He blocked the doorway. Looked ready to charge San Juan Hill.
I said, 'Excuse me.'
