reluctant to part with it. “It’s my favorite,” she said, “and I’m not sure I still have the negative. I’d like it back when you find David.”
“Of course.”
“You’ll start looking for him right away?”
I said we would, and that we’d let her know as soon as we found out anything she should know.
“Thank you. I hope…” She stopped, nibbled her lower lip, and substituted a wan smile for what she’d been about to say. Scared, all right, and trying not to show it. Her bearing remained regal, the wan smile fixed, as I showed her out.
When I came back, Tamara said, “No nonsense and a lot of cool. I like her and I feel sorry for her.”
“Same here.”
“Just the opposite of Virden. I wonder what she sees in him.”
“Something you and I don’t, evidently.”
“Gonna get hurt, whether we find him or not. Women ought to have better sense than to fall in love with guys like him.”
“Love doesn’t work that way, kiddo.”
“Not telling me anything I don’t know. Look at my track record with men.”
“You’ll meet the right one someday. And you’ll know it when you do.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “So how come every wrong dude I ever hooked up with seemed like Mr. Right at the time?”
12
The Room for Rent sign was absent from the fence in front of the McManus house. No surprise there; it didn’t take long to find single tenants with modest needs in neighborhoods like Dogpatch that had easy public-transit access to downtown. The driveway was empty today, but the house wasn’t.
Déjà vu when I thumbed the doorbell: the Hound of the Baskervilles started his furious barking, a woman’s commanding voice said, “Quiet, Thor!” to shut him up, and Jane Carson opened up wearing her toothy smile. One good look at me and the smile turned upside down.
“Oh,” she said, “it’s you again.”
“Me again. I’d like to speak to Ms. McManus.”
“She’s not home.”
“When do you expect her back?”
“No specific time. She has a busy schedule.”
“Me, too. Busy, busy.”
As before, the dog sat on his haunches behind and to one side of the woman, watching me with his yellow eyes. Maybe he sensed her chilly attitude or maybe he just didn’t like me any more than I liked him; the eyes looked hot and his fangs were visible in what I took to be a silent growl.
“What did you wish to see R.L. about?”
I held up Virden’s photo. Carson looked at it, but only for a couple of seconds. “This man.”
“I’ve never seen him before. Who is he?”
“David Virden, Ms. McManus’s ex-husband. The man who came to see her Tuesday afternoon.”
“I don’t know anything about that. I was away Tuesday afternoon.”
“And she didn’t mention his visit?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Say anything about him after I was here on Monday?”
“No.”
“Tell me, Ms. Carson, just what is it you do here? Employee, tenant, companion?”
“I don’t see where that’s any of your business.”
“Simple question.”
“All right, then, I’ll give you a simple answer. I work with the dogs.”
“Been with Canine Customers long?”
“Not long, no.” Very cold and crisp now. Thor’s ears pricked up; a little more of his fangs showed. “Is there anything else?”
I got out one of my business cards, jotted a “please contact me ASAP” note on the back, and handed it to Carson—doing it all slowly with one eye on Thor. He sat still, but the yellow eyes followed every move I made. “Make sure she gets this, please. I’ll expect to—”
That was as far as I got, because she shut the door in my face.
* * *
I made a fifteen-minute driving canvass over a radius of several blocks. There was no sign of Virden’s black Porsche Cayman—or any other model or color Porsche. Finding him or his vehicle wasn’t going to be that easy.
McManus’s immediate neighbors were the next order of business. I didn’t make any effort to conceal my continued presence in the
“Of course.”
“You’ll start looking for him right away?”
I said we would, and that we’d let her know as soon as we found out anything she should know.
“Thank you. I hope…” She stopped, nibbled her lower lip, and substituted a wan smile for what she’d been about to say. Scared, all right, and trying not to show it. Her bearing remained regal, the wan smile fixed, as I showed her out.
When I came back, Tamara said, “No nonsense and a lot of cool. I like her and I feel sorry for her.”
“Same here.”
“Just the opposite of Virden. I wonder what she sees in him.”
“Something you and I don’t, evidently.”
“Gonna get hurt, whether we find him or not. Women ought to have better sense than to fall in love with guys like him.”
“Love doesn’t work that way, kiddo.”
“Not telling me anything I don’t know. Look at my track record with men.”
“You’ll meet the right one someday. And you’ll know it when you do.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “So how come every wrong dude I ever hooked up with seemed like Mr. Right at the time?”
12
The Room for Rent sign was absent from the fence in front of the McManus house. No surprise there; it didn’t take long to find single tenants with modest needs in neighborhoods like Dogpatch that had easy public-transit access to downtown. The driveway was empty today, but the house wasn’t.
Déjà vu when I thumbed the doorbell: the Hound of the Baskervilles started his furious barking, a woman’s commanding voice said, “Quiet, Thor!” to shut him up, and Jane Carson opened up wearing her toothy smile. One good look at me and the smile turned upside down.
“Oh,” she said, “it’s you again.”
“Me again. I’d like to speak to Ms. McManus.”
“She’s not home.”
“When do you expect her back?”
“No specific time. She has a busy schedule.”
“Me, too. Busy, busy.”
As before, the dog sat on his haunches behind and to one side of the woman, watching me with his yellow eyes. Maybe he sensed her chilly attitude or maybe he just didn’t like me any more than I liked him; the eyes looked hot and his fangs were visible in what I took to be a silent growl.
“What did you wish to see R.L. about?”
I held up Virden’s photo. Carson looked at it, but only for a couple of seconds. “This man.”
“I’ve never seen him before. Who is he?”
“David Virden, Ms. McManus’s ex-husband. The man who came to see her Tuesday afternoon.”
“I don’t know anything about that. I was away Tuesday afternoon.”
“And she didn’t mention his visit?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Say anything about him after I was here on Monday?”
“No.”
“Tell me, Ms. Carson, just what is it you do here? Employee, tenant, companion?”
“I don’t see where that’s any of your business.”
“Simple question.”
“All right, then, I’ll give you a simple answer. I work with the dogs.”
“Been with Canine Customers long?”
“Not long, no.” Very cold and crisp now. Thor’s ears pricked up; a little more of his fangs showed. “Is there anything else?”
I got out one of my business cards, jotted a “please contact me ASAP” note on the back, and handed it to Carson—doing it all slowly with one eye on Thor. He sat still, but the yellow eyes followed every move I made. “Make sure she gets this, please. I’ll expect to—”
That was as far as I got, because she shut the door in my face.
* * *
I made a fifteen-minute driving canvass over a radius of several blocks. There was no sign of Virden’s black Porsche Cayman—or any other model or color Porsche. Finding him or his vehicle wasn’t going to be that easy.
McManus’s immediate neighbors were the next order of business. I didn’t make any effort to conceal my continued presence in the
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