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It was Wednesday, the second week in April, and Santa Teresa was reen of winter, with its surfeit of ainvillea, had erupted anew in a splashy show of crocuses, hyacinths, and flowering plurant Violets dotted the grass I was tired of spending rant deeds and tax liens for clients ere, doubtless, happily pursuing tennis, golf, and other idle amusements

I suppose I was suffering fro fever, which consisted of feeling bored, restless, and disconnected froe My name is Kinsey Millhone I’m a private detective in Santa Teresa, California, ninety-fivethirty-seven on May 5, which was co to eneral malaise I lead a stripped-down existence untroubled by bairn, pets, or living household plants

On February 15, twoseparatedon lower State Street, and though he’d offered to take me with him, I felt it was time to be out on my own

That was my first mistake

My second was an unfortunate encounter with two land-lords in a deal that went sour and left me out in the cold

My third office-related error was the one I now faced In desperation, I’d rented space in a nondescript cottage on Caballeria Lane, where a row of identical stucco bungaloere lined up at the curb like the Three Little Pigs The block— short, narrow, and lined with cars—ran between Santa Teresa Street and Arbor, a block north of Via Madrina, in the heart of don While the price was right and the location was excellent—in easy walking distance of the courthouse, the police station, and the public library—the office itself fell woefully short of ideal

The interior consisted of two roonated asas a combination library-and-reception area In addition, there was a galley-style kitchen, where I kept a serator, my coffeepot, and my Sparkletts water dispenser There was also a s toilet and sink The whole of it sht wee creatures scuttled around the baseboards after all the lights were turned off By way of co’s owner had offered unlimited cans of an off-brand paint, and I’d spent the better part of a week rolling coats of white latex over the forans at work He’d also agreed to have the rugs cleaned, not that anyone could tell The beige high-loall-to-wall nylon carpeting waswear and seeed my desk, my swivel chair, my file cabinets, sofa, and assorted artificial plants Nothing dispelled the general air of weariness that infected the place I had plenty of s (twenty-five thousand bucks if it’s anybody’s business) so, in theory, I could have held out for s On the other hand, at three fifty a month, the space was affordable and satisfied one of my basic principles in life, which is: Never, never, never to live beyond my means I don’t want to be compelled to take on work to meet my overhead The office is meant to serve me, not the other way around

Since the bungalows on either side ofisolated, which le status in a world of es, I’d been unattached for most of my natural life This had never bothered me More often than not, I rejoiced in my freedom, my mobility, and my solitude Lately, circumstances had conspired to unsettle my habitual content

Earlier that week, I’d encountered my friend Vera with her husband, (Dr) Neil Hess I was sneaking in a late-afternoon jog on the bike path at the beach when I’d spotted the ahead of me Vera was a former employee of California Fidelity Insurance, for which I’d also worked She’dhilance they were smitten with each other, and despite protests to the contrary, I’d persuaded her that he was her perfect match, which had turned out to be true The two of thehteen-olden retriever pup, frolicking and prancing, tugging at his leash Vera—ain, apparently inby her swollen state We paused to chat and I realized that in the three and a half years since I’d last seen her, ed a whit Same apartment, same car, same work, sa no place The revelation generated a prolonged pang of regret