Other Resort Cities by Tod Goldberg Page B

simple survival instinct, though I suspect I’d have a difficult time killing a wild boar or skinning a cougar if it came down to it. Working for Carolyn, I learned a great deal about medicine, or at least which drugs people really wanted, which ones made people happy, which ones made people angry, which ones made people irrational and suspicious of the black helicopters. So that when a patient would call and Carolyn was busy, I’d occasionally dispense my own diagnoses and even call in prescriptions, though the majority of my business was handled outside of the office, certainly. I would have been an excellent doctor, and I am sure many people believed I was one.
    Del, of course, always knew the truth. He always knows. So when he shows up at my front door the day after my full page want ad runs in the Los Angeles Times , Chicago Tribune , and USA Today , I fire up the espresso machine to show him how much I know.
    “What can I get for you?” I ask.
    “I’m not here for coffee, Jason,” he says.
    “No charge,” I say.
    “Fine,” Del says. He looks up at the menu, and I can tell he is impressed. Unlike most Starbucks, I have all the seasonal drinks available year-round. “Just give me a latte.”
    “Nonfat? Whole milk? Soy? Eggnog?”
    “Jason, look, it doesn’t matter.”
    “It does to me,” I say.
    “Fine. Nonfat.”

    “Great,” I say. “Can I get you a pastry or something? I even have the classic coffee cake. No one has that. I challenge you to find it anywhere else.”
    “Yes, fine, that would be fine.”
    “Great,” I say. “Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll call your name when your drink is ready.”
    “Jason,” Del says, “have you heard from your wife?”
    “Take a seat, sir ,” I say, “and I will call you when your drink is ready. Please, help yourself to a New York Times . They are complimentary.”
    Del ignores the newspaper but takes a seat on the blue crushed velvet sofa and stares out the window to the street. From the way the shadows bounce on the walls I can tell that there is some activity outside, but since it is just after 1:00 PM, it may well be that man and his enormous poodle. Or maybe that woman with the sunburst has come over to have a cup of coffee. Maybe Joanne and the kids have returned. I would welcome that, truly, because the house has started to sag at the corners again. The casita in the back is nearly gone entirely.
    “Venti latte on the bar for Del!” I call out. Del stands up carefully, and I note that the tilting of the house is really becoming pronounced. I’m amazed Del can actually walk without pitching downhill toward me, but he makes it to the counter without any problem.
    “I want you to listen to me,” Del says.
    “You have a great day,” I respond, sliding Del his cup.
    “Joanne’s mother has gone to the police. They want to come in and take a look around. No one is saying you’ve done anything, Jason, okay? They just want to look around. Will you let them do that?”

    “Zack is missing,” I say. “So is the girl with the sunburst.”
    “Skylar,” Del says.
    “Yes,” I say, “that was her name. She came around quite a bit, and then when Zack left, well, I guess it became uncomfortable for her. She liked Joanne’s roses. I saw her outside smelling them one morning.”
    “Jason,” he says, “we’ve been through this before. I want to help you, but you have to let me. The police just want to talk to you. That’s all.”
    “You have helped me,” I say. “I couldn’t have accomplished everything here without your help. Have you taken photos for your portfolio? I can’t imagine that I’m the only person in America who wants a Starbucks in their house. I saw on MTV that Tommy Lee has a very small one, but he also has a stripper pole, which I think is excessive. It’s about comfort and customer service, and you’ve really accomplished that. I just can’t get any decent help.”
    Del rubs at his eyes with the palms of his