worried I'd learn something- maybe even bring back the school roster. So they were forced to break sequence- Coburg beat me up there and killed Katarina before me. And tossed the house. Any idea why Coburg called himself Silk and Merino?'
'I asked the asshole. He didn't answer, just smiled that creepy smile. I started to walk out and then he said, 'Look it up.' So I did. In the dictionary. 'Coburg' is an old English word for imitation silk or wool… Enough of this, my head's splitting… How are you and Robin doing?'
'We've been able to go back to the house.'
'Anything left?'
'Mostly ashes.'
He shook his head. 'I'm sorry, Alex.'
I said, 'We'll survive- we're surviving. And living in the shop's not bad- the smallness is actually kind of comforting.'
'Insurance company jerking you around?'
'As predicted.'
'Let me know if I can do anything.'
'I will.'
'And when you're ready for a contractor, I've got a possible for you- ex-cop, does nice work relatively cheap.'
'Thanks,' I said. 'Thanks for everything- and sorry about the rental house. I'm sure your banker didn't expect bullet holes in his walls. Tell him to send me the bill.'
'Don't worry about it. It's the most exciting thing's ever happened to him.'
I smiled. He looked away.
'Shootout at the Beverly Hills corral,' he said. 'I should have been there.'
'How could you have known?'
'Knowing's my job.'
'You offered to drive us home, I turned you down.'
'I shouldn't have listened to you.'
'Come on, Milo. You did everything you could. To paraphrase a friend of mine: 'Don't flog yourself.' '
He frowned, tilted his glass, poured ice down his gullet, and crunched. 'How's Rov- Spike?'
'A few surface cuts. The vet said bulldogs have high pain thresholds. A throwback to when they were used for baiting.'
'Right through the glass.' He shook his head. 'Little maniac must have taken a running start and gone ballistic. Talk about devotion.'
'You see it from time to time,' I said. Then I ordered him another Coke.
34
I drove back to Venice. The shop was empty and Robin had left a note on her workbench:
11:45 a.m. Had to run to the lumberyard. Back at 2. Pls. call Mrs. Braithwaite. Says she's Spike's owner.
Pacific Palisades exchange. I phoned it before the disappointment could sink in.
A middle-aged female voice said, 'Hello?'
'Mrs. Braithwaite? Dr. Delaware returning your call.'
'Oh, doctor! Thank you for calling, and thank you for caring for our little Barry! Is he all right?'
'Perfect. He's a great dog,' I said.
'Yes, he is. We were so worried, starting to give up hope.'
'Well, he's in the pink.'
'That's wonderful!'
'I guess you'd like to come by to get him. He should be back by two.'
Hesitation. 'Oh, certainly. Two it is.'
• • •
I busied myself with the phone. Calling Shirley Rosenblatt and having a half-hour talk with her. Calling Bert Harrison, then the insurance company, where I dealt with some truly vile individuals.
I thought about the Wallace girls for a while, then remembered another little girl, the one who'd lost her boxer- Karen Alnord. I had no record of her number. All my papers were gone. Where had she lived- Reseda. On Cohasset.
I got the number from information. A woman answered and I asked for Karen.
'She's at school.' Brilliant, Delaware. 'Who's this?'
I gave her my name. 'She called me about her boxer. I was just wondering if you found him.'
'Yes, we have,' she said edgily.
'Great. Thanks.'
'For what?'
'Good news.'
• • •
Mrs. Braithwaite showed up at one forty-five. She was short, thin, and sixtyish, with an upswept, tightly waved, tapioca-colored hairdo, sun wrinkles, and narrow brown eyes behind pearloid-framed glasses. Her maroon I. Magnin suit would have fetched top dollar at a vintage boutique, and her pearls were real. She carried a bag that matched the suit and wore a bejeweled American flag lapel pin.
She looked around the shop, confused.
'Robin's place of business,' I said. 'We're in between houses- planning some construction.'
'Well, good luck on that. I've been through it, and one meets such an unsavory element.'
'Can I offer you something to drink?'
'No, thank you.'
I pulled up a chair for her. She remained standing and opened her handbag. Taking out a check, she tried to give it to me.
Ten dollars.
'No, no,' I said.
'Oh, doctor, I insist.'
'It's not necessary.'
'But the expenses- I know how Barry eats.'
'He's earned his way.' I smiled. 'Charming fellow.'
'Yes, isn't he?' she said, but with a curious lack of passion. 'Are you sure I can't reimburse you?'
'Give it to charity.'
She thought. 'All right, that's a good idea. Planned Parenthood always needs help.'
She sat down. I repeated my drink offer and she said, 'It's really not necessary, but iced tea would be fine if you have it.'
As I fixed the drink, she inspected the shop some more.
When I gave her the glass, she thanked me again and sipped daintily.
'Does your wife fix violins?'
'A few. Mostly guitars and mandolins. She fixes and makes them.'
'My father played the violin- quite well, actually. We went to the Bowl every summer to hear Jascha Heifetz play. Back when you could still enjoy a civilized drive through Hollywood. He taught at USC- Heifetz did, not Father. Though Father was an alumnus. So is my son. He's in marketing.'
I smiled.
'May I ask what kind of doctor you are?'
'Psychologist.'
Sip. 'And where did you find Barry?'
'He showed up at my house.'
