25

Milo was no longer at Records, and Sally Grayson's number was picked up by a male detective who hadn't seen her all morning and had no idea who Milo was. I left a message, and wondered why Joshua Rosenblatt had been so sure the police couldn't help.

My offer to go to New York had been impulsive- probably an escape reflex- but maybe something would come out of my talk with Shirley Rosenblatt.

I'd leave as soon as possible; Robin would have to move out now.

I looked out at the pool, still as a slab of turquoise. A few leaves floated on top.

Who cleaned it? How often?

I didn't know much about this place.

Didn't know when I'd be able to leave it.

I got up, ready to drive into Beverly Hills to find a fax service. Just as I put my wallet in my pants pocket, the phone rang and my service operator said, "A Mr. Bucklear wants to talk to you, doctor."

"Put him on."

Click.

"Doctor? Sherman Bucklear."

"Hello."

"Have you received my correspondence?"

"Yes, I have."

"I haven't received any reply, doctor."

"Didn't know there was anything to reply to."

"I have reason to believe you have knowledge of the whereabouts-"

"I don't."

"Can you prove that?"

"Do I have to?"

Pause. "Doctor, we can go about this civilly or things can get complicated."

"Complicate away, Sherman."

"Now, wait a sec-"

I hung up. It felt great to be petty. Before I could put down the phone, the service patched in again with a call from New York.

"Dr. Delaware? Josh Rosenblatt, again. My mother's willing to talk to you but I've got to warn you, she can't handle much- just a few minutes at a time. I haven't discussed any details with her. All she knows is you knew my father and think he was murdered. She may have nothing to tell you. You may end up wasting your time."

"I'll take the chance. When would you like me there?"

"What's today? Tuesday… Friday's bad and she needs her weekends for total bedrest- Thursday, I guess."

"If I can catch a flight tonight, how about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow… I guess so. But it'll have to be in the afternoon. Mornings she has her therapy, then she naps. Come to my office first-500 Fifth Avenue. Schechter, Mohl, and Trimmer. The thirty-third floor. Have you faxed me your credentials yet?"

"Just on my way out to do it."

"Good, because that'll be a prerequisite. Send me something with a picture, too. If everything checks out, I'll see you, say, two-thirty."

• • •

I found a quick-print place on CaÑon Drive and faxed my documents to New York. Returning home, I postponed telling Robin and called an airline, booking myself a ten p.m. flight out of LAX. I asked the ticket agent about hotels.

She said, "Midtown? I really don't know, sir, but you might try the Middleton. The executives from our company stay there, but it's expensive. Of course, everything in New York is unless you want a real dive."

I thanked her and phoned the hotel. A very bored-sounding man took my credit card number, then grudgingly agreed to give me a single room for two hundred and twenty dollars a night. When he quoted the price, he suppressed a yawn.

• • •

I told Robin about Rosenblatt first.

She shook her head, took hold of my hand.

"Four years ago," I said. "Another gap filled in."

"How'd he die?"

"The son didn't go into any details. But if the killer's being consistent, it was probably something to do with a car or a fall."

"All those people. My God." Pressing my hand up against her cheek, she closed her eyes. The smell of glue hung in the garage, along with coffee and dust and the sound of the dog's breathing.

I felt him nosing up against my leg. Looked down at his wide, flat face. He blinked a couple of times and licked my hand.

I told Robin of my plan to fly east and offered to have her come with me.

She said, "There'd be no point to it, would there?"

"It's not going to be a vacation, just more digging up people's misery. I'm starting to feel like a ghoul."

She looked off, at her tools and her molds.

"Only time I've been in New York was a family trip. We went all the way up to Niagara Falls, Mom and Dad squabbling the whole time."

"I haven't been there, myself, since grad school."

She nodded, touched my biceps, rubbed it. "You have to go- things are getting uglier and uglier here. When are you leaving?"

"I was thinking tonight."

"I'll take you to the airport. When will you be coming home, so I can pick you up?"

"Depends on what I find- probably within a day or two."

"Do you have a place to stay?"

"I found a hotel."

"A hotel," she said. "You, alone in some room…" She shook her head.

"Could you please stay with Milo and Rick while I'm gone? I know it's disruptive and unnecessary, but I'd have a lot more peace of mind."

She touched my face again. "You haven't had much of that lately, have you? Sure, why not."

• • •

I tried a couple more times to reach Milo without success. Wanting to get Robin settled as soon as possible, I phoned his house. Rick was there and I told him we'd be coming over.

"We'll take good care of her, Alex. I'm really sorry for all this crap you've been going through. I'm sure the big guy will get to the bottom of it."

"I'm sure he will, too. Will the dog be a problem?"

"No, I don't think so. Milo tells me he's pretty cute."

"Milo never expressed any affection for him in my presence."

"Does that surprise you?"

"No," I said.

He laughed.

"Are you badly allergic, Rick?"

"Don't know, never had a dog. But don't worry, I'll pick up some Seldane in the ER, or write myself a scrip. Speaking of which, I have to head over to Cedars pretty soon. When were you planning on coming?"

"This evening. Any idea when Milo'll be back?"

"Your guess is as good as mine… Tell you what, I'll leave a key in back of the house. There're two sago palms growing up against the rear wall- you haven't been here since we relandscaped, have you?"

"Just to pick up Milo."

"Came out great, our water consumption's way down… the sago palms- do you know what they are?"

"Squat things with leaves that look like fan blades?"

"Exactly. I'll leave the key under the branches of the smaller one- the one on the right. Milo would kill me if he knew." More laughter. "We have a new alarm code, too- he changes it every couple of months."

He rattled off five numbers. I copied them down and thanked him again.

"Pleasure," he said. "This should be fun, we've never had a pet."

• • •

I packed my carry-on and Robin packed hers. We took the dog for a walk around the property and played with him, and finally he got sleepy. We left him resting and drove into town for an early dinner, taking Robin's truck. Cholesterol palace on South Beverly Drive: thick steaks and home-fried potatoes served in lumberjack portions at prices no lumberjack could afford. The food looked great and smelled great, and my taste buds told me it probably tasted great, too. But somewhere along the line the circuitry between my tongue and my brain fizzed and I found myself chewing mechanically, forcing meat down a dry, tight throat.

• • •

At seven, we cleaned the house on Benedict, picked up the dog, locked up, and drove over to West Hollywood. The key was where Rick had said it would be, placed on the ground precisely at the middle of the palm's corrugated trunk. The rest of the yard was desert-pale and composed, drought-tolerant plants spread expertly around the tiny space. The walls were higher and topped with ragged stone.

Inside, the place was different, too: whitewashed hardwood floors, big leather chairs, glass tables, gray fabric walls. The guest room was pine. An old iron bed was freshly made and turned down. A single white rose rested on the pillow and a bar of Swiss chocolate was on a dish on the nightstand.