Mystery

didn’t hear from Milo the following day and my call to Gretchen asking how Chad was doing went unanswered.

Robin and I went out to dinner at an Italian place she’d heard about. Little Santa Monica Boulevard on the western edge of the Beverly Hills business district. Family-run, the wife cooking, the husband hosting, two teenage girls serving. Homemade everything, good wine.

Garlic breath for both of us, which is as good a definition of diplomacy as any.

When we got home and took Blanche out of her crate, she licked my hand with special enthusiasm. Did the same for Robin and belched. Now we had a consensus.

The doorbell rang.

Blanche raced to the front of the house and sat there, tail-stub wagging.

Robin said, “Someone she’s eager to see.”

A voice on the other side bellowed, “Must be my looks.”

She let Milo in. “Hope I’m not interrupting, kids.”

A cheek peck caused him to grimace. “Spaghetti con olio y mucho garlicko.”

“Master detective. I’ll go use mouthwash.”

“I was just thinking we could all go out. Alas.”

“We’re happy to feed you.”

He threw up his hands. “The sacrifices I make for friendship.”

As we walked to the kitchen, Robin said, “How’s Rick?”

“Meaning how come I’m dining solo?”

“No, darling. Meaning how’s Rick.”

“Busy,” he said. “On call and probably honing his scalpel as we speak. I’m busy, too, only difference is he’s going to actually accomplish something.” He stopped. “But don’t let me destroy your happy, wholesome domestic ambience. In fact, I should probably take leave before my mope-virus infects anyone.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Robin. “What can I get you? Hopefully something with garlic so we can all be social.”

Three hastily snarfed mixed-meat sandwiches and an equal number of cold Grolsches later, he let out his belt a couple of notches and beamed up at her. “You’re a ministering angel—who needs Prozac?”

“Bad day, Big Guy?”

“Nothing day.”

I said, “No go on Dr. Isabel?”

“If she was any sweeter, I’d need insulin. She sat down with me for over half an hour, took a careful medical history, looked at my hide and pretended it wasn’t so bad, then spelled out the pros and cons of dermal abrasion and a whole bunch of alternative treatments. By the end I was feeling so guilty about scamming her, I nearly signed up.”

Robin said, “We’re talking about one of the daughters-in-law?”

“Yup. The other one wasn’t as friendly, but considering the way we barged in on her and dredged up unpleasant memories, she was damn near saintly. Bottom line: They both come across as honest and solid and utterly un-criminal and there’s nothing in their backgrounds to suggest anything nasty.”

“How come you looked at them rather than their husbands?”

“Because someone used the first daughter-in-law’s name to check into rehab, meaning another female.”

“Dr. Isabel,” she said. “What’s the other one’s name?”

“Connie Longellos.”

Robin said, “Connie can be a man’s name. Connie Mack used to manage the Yankees.”

“How do you know stuff like that?”

“Daddy’s girl.” She dropped her eyes, the way she does when remembering her father.

“I’m impressed,” he said. “Unfortunately, the landlord said it was a woman.”

Robin said, “Did I just complicate your life, Big Guy?”

I said, “Actually.”

They turned to me.

“The landlord may have assumed it was a woman from the name on the reference. He never spoke to anyone.”

“Indeed,” said Milo. He winced. “Maybe you prevented some serious tunnel vision. I’d thank you for thinking outside the box but anyone who blabs about outside the box has obviously never been there.”

Robin patted his hand. “Would you like some dessert?”