“That’s what Heather says, but to me a computer’s no encumbrance. The notion of traveling without one feels like leaving an arm or a leg at home. It’ll be interesting to see how I adapt.”
Talking about himself as a research subject. I thought of Patty’s detachment. The partitions we all build.
He said, “Meanwhile, give me those streets and I’ll play around.”
Two hours of my own computer games produced no citation or image of Patty Bigelow, no crimes at any of the four addresses.
I made a grilled cheese sandwich that I shared with Blanche. When I poured coffee, she opened her mouth and panted. A coffee-coated fingertip placed on her tongue caused her to back away, shake her head, and spit.
“Everyone’s a critic,” I said. “Next time I’ll brew espresso.”
I tried Robin’s cell, got her voice on message tape. After wondering some more about Patty’s housing choices, I tried Tanya.
“No malpractice,” she said. “Dr. Silverman’s sure?”
“He is.”
“Okay…have you been able to learn anything?”
“Detective Sturgis is going to do some introductory investigation.”
“That’s great,” she said. Flat voice.
“Everything okay, Tanya?”
“I’m a little tired.”
“When you have more energy, I’d like to talk to you again.”
“Sure,” she said. “Eventually.”
“I don’t mean therapy,” I said. “I’d like to find out more about all the places you and your mother lived. For background.”
“Oh,” she said. “Sure, I can do that. I’ve some straightening up to do, then it’s back to campus for study group. Summer school’s supposed to be more mellow but the profs don’t seem to realize that. And with the quarter system, you barely have time to buy books before midterms…could we do it late, say nine thirty? No forget that, I don’t want to impose.”
“It doesn’t need to be tonight, Tanya.”
“I hate having things pile up, Dr. Delaware. If you had time, so would I, but of course that’s not right. You need your evenings-”
“Nine thirty’s fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Could we make it nine forty-five, just to be safe? I could come back to your office or you could come to my house-maybe you’d like to see the home Mommy made.”
“I would.”
“Great!” she said. “I’ll make coffee.”
CHAPTER 8
At nine twenty, as I was crating Blanche, my private line rang.
A welcome voice said, “I love you.”
“Love you, too. Having fun?”
“I’m coming home a day early. The lectures were good but it’s starting to feel like school. I sold that F5 replica, some dot-com guy kept upping the ante.”
Robin had spent a year acquiring the aged fiddle-grain maple and red spruce billets for the elaborately carved mandolin, had worked on tapping and shaving and shaping for another twelve months, brought the finished product to Healdsburg for display only.
“Must’ve been a nice ante?” I said.
“Twenty-one thousand.”
“Whoa. Congratulations.”
“I hated to part with it, but a girl has her price. I guess…I figure to set out early Sunday morning, be back by evening. What’s your schedule like?”
“Flexible.”
“Has the little blonde moved in on my territory, yet?”
“The little blonde eats kibble and sleeps all day.”
“The quiet ones,” she said, “they always bear watching.”
I drove to Tanya’s house, thinking back to the first time I’d met her.
Skinny little blond girl wearing a dress, anklet socks, and shiny sandals. Back pressed to the wall of my waiting area, as if the carpet was bottomless water.
When I’d stepped out of the office, Patty had touched Tanya’s cheek gently. Tanya’s nod was grave, a movement so brief it bordered on tic. Fingers as delicate as fettuccini gripped her mother’s chunky hand. A shiny foot tapped. The other was planted on the imaginary shoreline.
I bent to child’s eye level. “Nice to meet you, Tanya.”
Murmured reply. All I could make out was “you.”
Patty said, “Tanya chose her outfit. She likes to dress up, has excellent taste.”
“Very pretty, Tanya.”
Tanya mouth-breathed; I smelled hamburger and onion.
I said, “Let’s go in there. Mom can come, too, if you’d like.”
Patty said, “Or I don’t have to.” She hugged the little girl and stepped away. Tanya didn’t move.
“I’ll be right here, honey. You’ll be okay, I super-promise.”
Tanya looked up at her. Took a deep breath. Gave another grim little nod and stepped forward.
She surveyed the props on the play table. Open-sided dollhouse, family-member figurines, pencils, crayons, markers, a stack of paper. Prolonged eye contact with the paper.
“Do you like to draw?”
Nod.
“If you feel like drawing now, that’s fine.”
She picked up a pencil and drew a slow, wispy circle. Sat back, frowned. “It’s bumpy.”
“Is bumpy okay?”
Pale green eyes studied me. She put the pencil down. “I came here to break my habits.”
“Mom told you that?”
“She said if I want to, I should tell you.”
“Which habits bother you the most, Tanya?”
“Mommy told you all of them.”
“She did. But I’d like to know what you think.”
Puzzled look.
“They’re your habits,” I said. “You’re in charge over them.”
“I don’t want to be in charge.”
“You’re ready to let go of the habits.”
Mumble.
“What’s that, Tanya?”
“They’re bad.”
“Bad like scary?”
Head shake. “They make me busy.”
The pencil was an inch from where it had lain originally and she rolled it back. Adjusted the tip, then the eraser.
