“I think it’s just important to get her warm. She can’t get much dirtier than she already is, lying on that floor all day.”
Downstairs I found Mr. Contreras trying to clean up the worst of the mess by the front door. “You found her, doll? She alive?”
I gave him a brief report while I hunted around for a phone. I finally found an old-fashioned black model buried under a stack of newspapers in the living room. The dial was stiff but the phone was still connected. So she was at least in touch with reality enough to pay her bills.
I called the emergency number and explained the problem, then went to the kitchen to find something to use as a cleanser. It seemed important that Todd Pichea and Vinnie not know the dogs had been defecating in the house. Although anyone who thought about it would know they’d have to. Even the best-trained dogs can’t hold on to themselves for twenty-four hours.
I took the dogs’ water dish and a bottle of Joy so old the detergent had hardened in it. I dug a spoonful of soap out, mixed it with water, and started scrubbing with some kitchen towels I found in the back of a cupboard. The kitchen was as bad as the front hallway, so I emptied the dogs’ food dish and dug some soap into it for Mr. Contreras. By the time the paramedics arrived, escorted by a couple of blue-and-whites, we’d cleaned up the worst of the mess. The stretcher bearers wrinkled their noses against the clouds of dust as they climbed the stairs, but at least they wouldn’t be able to report a heap of dog shit to the city.
“You her daughter?” one of the cops asked as the medics brought Mrs. Frizell down.
“No. We’re all neighbors,” I said. “We just got concerned because we hadn’t seen her for a few days.”
“She got any kids?”
“Just one son. He lives in San Francisco, but he comes to see her every now and then. He grew up here but I don’t really know him; I never can remember his first name.” That was Mrs. Hellstrom.
One of the medics leaned over the stretcher. “Can you tell us your son’s name, honey? Or his phone number?”
Mrs. Frizell’s eyes were open, but they were unfocused. “Bruce. Don’t let them take Bruce away from me.”
Mrs. Hellstrom knelt clumsily next to her. “I’ll look after Bruce for you, honey, but what’s your son’s phone number?”
“Bruce,” the old woman called hoarsely. “Bruce.” The paramedics picked her up and took her out the front door. I could see Vinnie and the Picheas still waiting by the gate.
“Bruce isn’t her son?” I asked.
“No, honey,” Mrs. Hellstrom said. “That’s the big dog, the black one.”
“Can you take care of the dogs while she’s in the hospital? Or at least until we can get her son out here?”
Mrs. Hellstrom looked unhappy. “I don’t want to. But I guess I can feed them and let them out as long as they stay over here.”
The police stayed a bit longer, asking how we discovered Mrs. Frizell, what our relationship to her was, and so on. They didn’t pay attention to Todd’s annoyed squawks about my breaking and entering. “At least she found the old lady, son. You think she should have been left to die?” an officer who looked close to retirement said.
When they realized Carol was a nurse, they took her to one side for a more detailed set of questions.
“Do you know what’s wrong with her?” I asked Carol when the cops finally left.
“I think she broke something, probably her hip, getting out of the tub. She’s badly dehydrated, so her mind’s wandering a bit. I couldn’t get a clear picture of when she might have fallen. She might have been lying there a couple of days. We’re lucky we came down, Vic; I don’t think she’d‘ve made it through the night.”
“So it’s a good thing I decided to get involved,” Todd put in.
“Involved?” Mr. Contreras huffed. “Involved? Who found her? Who got the medics? You just stood out there keeping your wing tips clean.”
That wasn’t a fair comment: Pichea was wearing topsiders.
“Look, here, old man,” he began, leaning toward Mr. Contreras.
“Don’t try to argue with them, Todd. They’re not the kind who can understand you.” Mrs. Pichea linked her arm through her husband’s and looked around the dirty hall, her nose wrinkling in contempt.
Mrs. Hellstrom touched my arm. “You gonna try.to find her son, honey? Because I should be going home. I want to change these clothes, anyway.”
“Oh, there’s a son?” Pichea said. “Maybe it’s time he came home and took charge of his mother.”
“And maybe she wants to live her own life,” I snapped. “Why don’t you go to bed now, Pichea? You’ve done your good deed for the day.”
“Nope. I want to talk to the son, get him to understand that his mother’s gotten way out of hand.”
The dogs, who’d been barking at the ambulance, came roaring back into the house and started jumping up on us. Pichea stuck out one of his topsiders to kick the earmuff. As the little dog went yelping down the hall I cupped Pichea on the shin.