A car horn honked. The light had turned green but I’d sat there—obliviousness was contagious.
I shot forward, warning myself not to get caught up in it. Not good for the soul, all this hypothesizing. Besides, Milo had other suspects.
Roy Haiselden. Donny Mate. Richard Doss.
None of the above? None of my business. Time to concentrate on what the state said I was qualified to do.
Stacy was easy to spot. Little white Mustang coupe facing the water, one of the few cars stationed in the city lot that paralleled the beach. Low tide, miles of beige kissing Wedgwood-blue water, all of it topped by the same clear sky as inland. The ocean was pretty but roiling. As I hooked across the highway and pulled onto the asphalt beside her, I saw the man with the metal detector, a hundred feet past Stacy’s car, knees bent, hunched over a find.
Stacy’s windows were closed. As I got out of the Seville, the driver’s panel rolled down. She glanced at me, both hands on the steering wheel. Her face was thinner than six months ago. Deepened hollows around the cheeks, darkened flesh beneath the eyes, a few more pimples. No makeup. Her black hair was tied back in a ponytail, bound by a red rubber band.
“Didn’t know doctors still did house calls.” Weak smile. “Beach calls. I must have sounded pretty screwed up for you to drive all the way here. I’m sorry.”
The man with the metal detector straightened, turned and faced us. As if he could hear our conversation. But of course he couldn’t. Too far away and the ocean was roaring.
Before I could answer, Stacy said, “Why’d you come, Dr. Delaware? Especially after I snotted off to you like that.”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“You thought I’d do something stupid?”
“No,” I said. “You sounded worried about Eric.
You’re by yourself. If there’s some way I can help, I want to.”
Her eyes faced forward and her hands whitened around the wheel. “That’s . . . very sweet, but I’m fine…. No, I’m not. I’m screwed up, aren’t I? Even our dog was screwed up.”
“Helen.”
She nodded. “Two legs that couldn’t move, and Eric pulled her around. That’s why you drove all the way— you think I’m cracking up.”
“No,” I said. “I think you’ve got good insights.”
She whipped around, stared at me. Laughed. “Maybe I should be a psychologist, then. Like Becky—not that she’d ever get to be one. Talk is, she’s barely passing. That’s got to be making Dr. Manitow and the judge real happy….”
“You sound angry at them,” I said.
“I do? No, not at all. I’m a little resentful of Becky, turning into a total snob, never even saying hello. Maybe she’s getting back at me for Eric. He and Allison Manitow were dating and Eric dumped her… but that was a long time ago…. Why am I talking about this?”
“Maybe it’s on your mind.”
“No it’s not. Helen is. After I told you about her on the phone, I started thinking about her.” Laughter. “She had to be the dumbest mutt ever put on this earth, Dr. Delaware. Thirteen years old and she was never completely housebroken. When you gave her a command, she just sat there and stared at you with her tongue hanging out. Eric called her the Ultimate Canine Moron Alien from the Vortex of Idiocy. She used to jump on him and paw him and lick him and he’d say, Get a brain, bitch. But he ended up feeding her, walking her, cleaning up her poop. ‘Cause Dad was too busy and Mom was too passive. . . . That stupid little wagon he rigged up, it kept her alive. My father wanted to put her to sleep, but Eric wouldn’t hear of it. Eventually, even with the wagon, she started failing. Toward the end, he was carrying her outside to poop, cursing the whole time. Then one night, he took her with him on one of his overnights. She looked awful—rotting gums, her hair was falling out in clumps. Even so, when Eric wheeled her out she looked thrilled—like, Oh boy, another adventure. They were out all night. The next morning Eric came home by himself.”