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"Thanks," I said I shifted the cat offhands with hi cat hair off ht and I should have headed ho wired The episode at Moza’s and the sudden appearance of Bobby’s address book were acting on me like a stimulant I wanted to talk to Sufi Maybe I’d stop by her place If she was up, we could have a little chat She’d tried once to steer ation and I wondered nohat that was about

Chapter 19

I pulled into the shadows across the street frohland Road in the heart of Santa Teresa For the most part, the houses I had passed were two-story frae lots complete with junipers and oaks Many lawns sported the ubiquitous California crop of alar of silent surveillance and ar tree branches overhead, the property stretching back in a tangle of shrubs and surrounded by a picket fence ide pales The house was done in a dark shingle siding, possibly a h it was hard to tell which at this hour of the night The side porch was narrow and deeply recessed with no exterior light visible A dark green Mercedes was parked in the drive to the left

It was a quiet neighborhood The sidewalks were deserted and there was no traffic I got out of my car and crossed to the front of the house Up close, I could see that the place wasconverted now to bed-and-breakfast establishments with odd names: The Gull and Satchel, The Blue Tern, The Quackery They’re all over town these days: renovated Victorian ht, you can sleep in a bed with a fake brass fra, with a freshly baked croissant that will drop pastry flakes in your lap like dandruff

Frole-fale woe, she’d reached that point where the absence of a utters in need of repair A single woe would haul out a crescent wrench or shinny up the down spout, feeling that odd joyousness that comes with self-sufficiency Sufi had let her property decline to a state of lingering disrepair and it ical nurses lass-enclosed porch, the s flickering with the blue/gray reflections of a television set I fu concrete steps and tapped on the door After a h the curtain

"Hi, it’s lass, peering around, apparently checking to see whether I was accos

She opened the door in her robe and slippers, clutching the lapels together at her throat, one ar her waist "Ohhere at this hour? Is so?"

"Not at all Sorry to alarhborhood and I needed to talk to you Can I come in?"

"I was on my way to bed"

"We can talk out here on the porch, then"

She gaveback reluctantly so I could enter She was half a head shorter than I and her blond hair was so thin, I could see stretches of scalp underneath I hadn’t pegged her as the type who’d lounge around in a slinky peach satin wrapper andmules with dandelion fuzz across the instep This was hotsy-totsy stuff I wanted to say, "Hubba-hubba" but I was afraid she’d take offense

Once inside, I took a quick mental picture and stored it away for future assessanized, and probably unclean judging from the used dishes piled here and there, the dead flowers in a vase, and the wastebasket spilling trash out onto the floor The water in the bottom of the vase was cloudy with bacteria and probably ses of some disease There was a crumpled cellophane packet on the ar Ding Dongs A Reader’s Digest condensed book was open facedown on the ottoman The place s in a box on top of the television set The heat froano andwith the odor of hot cardboard God, I thought, when did I last eat?

"You live alone?" I asked

She looked atthe joint "What of it?"