I asked if she knew which hospital Mrs. Frizell was in.
“They took her to Cook County, dear, on account of her not having any insurance—she’d never even signed up for Medicare—it really makes you think, doesn’t it? I don’t know what we’ll do when my man retires. He was thinking of doing it next year. He’ll be fifty-eight, and enough’s enough after a while, but when you see what happens to old people—but anyway, maybe I’ll try to get over to see her tomorrow. You’d think that son of hers—but of course, he didn’t have too easy a time, growing up in that house. Couldn’t wait to leave, and small wonder, when you see how she is. His daddy couldn’t take it, either: scooted a month before he was born.”
I took the keys from her before she could elaborate on the eccentricities that drove both Mr. Frizell and his son from Harriet Frizell’s side. Maybe she wouldn’t have been so suspicious and inward-turned if her husband had stayed around. And maybe not.
The dogs greeted me with a combination of suspicion and delight. They rushed up to me when I opened the door, then backed down the hall toward the kitchen, growling and making menacing forays. Since the Lab was the ringleader, I concentrated my attention on him, squatting down to let him sniff my hand and remember that we’d met before.
“Only not in nylons and pumps. What a lunatic I am,” I addressed the company. “To offer to look after you in the first place and then to do so in my work clothes.”
They wagged their tails in agreement. I debated going home to change into my jeans and worn-out Nikes, but I didn’t want to have to come back to this squalor tonight. The afternoon sun picked out stains on the wallpaper that hadn’t been visible in the dim hall light last night. From the look and the smell, water had been leaking from the roof through the walls. The sun also made the grime covering the floors—and every other surface—more noticeable.
I leashed up the Lab and led the quintet up Racine toward Belmont. He strained against his collar, but I held him in a firm grip: I wasn’t going to spend the night hunting for him around the neighborhood. The other four didn’t need to be chained—they followed in their ringleader’s steps.
When Peppy is in her normal state we do a five-mile run to the harbor together. I didn’t feel like investing so much energy in Mrs. Frizell’s outfit; I gave them a circuit of the block, saw that they had food and water, and locked them in. They howled dismally when I left. I felt a little guilty, but I didn’t want them on my hands past this weekend. When I got back from Pittsburgh I’d see what shape Mrs. Frizell was in and try to make some arrangements for their care until she was fit again. I’d call her enthusiastic son, Byron, to see what kind of financial guardianship he was working out for her, and if we could get some money for a dog-walking service.
Back at my own place I sank thankfully into my spick-and-span bathtub. I wondered if Mrs. Frizell’s horrific example would make me change my habits.
“No,” Lotty said, when I shared the thought with her later on the phone. “Perhaps for one week you can be immaculate, but then the mess will start to accrete again… Carol says she came over to discuss her plans with you last night. Are you going to join Max in snarling at me?”
“Nooo,” I said slowly. “But I’m not going to try arguing with her, either. Maybe you and I are too allergic to family ties, the ties that bind and gag, to see what positive things she gets out of, well, tying herself to her relations.”
“Why don’t you concentrate on catching criminals, Vic, and leave deep insights to the psychiatrists,” Lotty snapped.
We hung up on that brittle note. It sent me to Pittsburgh in a low frame of mind, but I conscientiously devoted two days to Daraugh. His man Moss had been born and raised in one of Pittsburgh’s tonier suburbs. His life had followed the usual round of Little League, summer camp, high school sports, drugs, arrests, college drop outs, and finally a steady job at a chemical company. That he had been a stockroom boy instead of a division manager shouldn’t have embarrassed him: he’d worked hard for five years and his boss had been sorry to see him leave.
I wrote my report for Daraugh on the plane home. All I had to do was spend an hour in the morning typing it and sixteen hundred dollars was mine. I went from the airport to dancing at the Cotton Club to celebrate my safe return, my virtuous work habits, and my fee.
I took my time getting up on Friday, going for a slow run over to Belmont Harbor and stopping at the Dort-munder Restaurant on my way back for breakfast. Around eleven I packed up my report to take down to the Pulteney to type. I stopped on my way out to let Mr. Contreras know I was home.