Devil’s Waltz. By: Jonathan Kellerman

“Bye, Dr. Delaware,” said Cindy.

“Bye,” said Chip. “Thanks for everything.”

I looked over his shoulder at Cassie. Waved at her. She raised a hand

and curled her fingers. The topknot was in disarray again. I wanted

to swoop her up and take her home with me.

“Bye, sweetie.”

“Bah.”

I had to get away from the hospital.

Feeling like a teething puppy with nothing to chomp, I turned out of

the lot and drove up Hillhurst, heading for a restaurant at the top of

the street that I’d learned about from Milo but never went to alone.

Continental food of the old school, autographed photos of

nearcelebrities, dark panel walls saturated with nicotine bitters,

waiters without SAG cards.

A sign in the lobby said the restaurant wouldn’t be serving for another half hour but the cocktail lounge was accepting sandwich orders.

A middle-aged, tuxedoed woman with improbable red hair worked behind

the bar. A few serious drinkers sat at the padded horseshoe chewing

ice cubes, snuffling salted freebies, and devoting what little

attention they had left to an auto-chase scene on the tube.

The TV was mounted on a ceiling bracket. It reminded me of the one I’d

just seen in Cassie’s room.

The hospital. . . dominating my thoughts the way it had years ago. I

loosened my tie, sat down, and ordered a club sandwich and beer. When

the bartender turned to prepare it, I went to the pay phone at the back

of the lounge and called Parker Center.

“Records,” said Milo.

“Doctor Sturgis?”

“Well, if it isn’t Doctor Hard-to-Get. Yeah, I figured easiest way to

get some action in that place was use the title.”

“If only it were so,’ I said. “Sorry for the delay getting back to you

but I was tied up with Vicki Bottomley, then Cassie and her parents.”

Anything new?”

“Not much, except the Joneses seemed a little cool.”

“Maybe you’re threatening them. Getting too close.”

“Can’t see why. As for Vicki, she and I had a little psychodrama-I was

trying to clear the air, leaned on her a bit. She accused me of

suspecting her of harming Cassie. So I asked her if she was, and she went nuclear. Ended up giving me a sanitized version of her son’s

story and adding something I hadn’t known: Reggie gave her a book as a

Mother’s Day gift. True-crime thing about some nurse in New Jersey who

murdered babies.”

“Some gift. Think she was trying to tell you something?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I should tell Stephanie to pull her off the case

and see what happens. If Stephanie can be trusted. Meanwhile, this Dawn Herbert thing. On top of being murdered, she was a bit of a

kleptomaniac.”

I gave him my blackmail theory. “What do you think?”

“Uh-huh . . . well,” he said, clearing his throat, “that’s certainly a

good question, sir, but that information’s not currently available on

our present data base.”

“Bad time to talk?”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” A moment later, he lowered his voice:

“Brass coming through on tour, some kind of police-biggie convention

this weekend. I’m off in five minutes. How about late lunch, early

dinner-let’s say half an hour?”

“Started without you,” I said.

“What a pal. Where are you?”

I told him.

Still talking quietly, he said, “Good. Order me a pea soup with a ham

bone and the breast of chicken with the cornbread stuffing, extra

stuffing.”

They’re only making sandwiches right now.”

“By the time I get there, they’ll

be serving real food. Tell ’em it’s for me. Remember the order?”

Soup, bone, chicken, extra stuffing.”‘

“They ever remake The

Thirty-nine Steps, you can play Mr. Memory. Have em time the order so

nothing’s cold. Also a dark draft. The Irish.”

I

returned to the bar, relayed Milo’s order to the bartender, and told her to delay my sandwich until he arrived. She nodded, called the

kitchen, then served my beer with a dish of almonds. I asked her if

she had a newspaper.

“Sorry,” she said, glancing toward the barflies. “No one around here

reads. Try the machines out front.

I went back to Hillhurst and caught a faceful of sunglare. Four

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