“What do you remember about that night?”
“Nothing, really. There was a party; it was loud and wild. Jo and I were stuck in our cabin, not allowed to come out. I do remember looking out through the curtains and seeing people laughing and screaming and dancing around. Some had paint on their faces. A bunch of rock bands were blasting.”
“Sounds like a love-in.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s what it was.”
“So you never saw anything resembling Lucy’s dream?”
“Three men carrying off a girl? No. Just couples slinking off together. I remember Jo telling me, “Guess what they’re doing?’ She was eleven, really into the facts of life.”
“Can you recall anything about Lucy and Puck’s nanny?”
“I’ve been trying to. Actually, she might not have been a nanny. Because I think she was wearing the same kind of uniform the waiters and waitresses were wearing—all white. So maybe she was just a waitress. To be honest, I don’t trust my memory on any of this. But if something really happened . . . Is there anything I can do to help Lucy with her sleepwalking?”
“Just keep her bedroom as safe as possible—no sharp objects, lock the windows. If she doesn’t object, have her lock the door before she goes to sleep.”
“Okay,” he said doubtfully.
“Is there a problem with that?”
“Not really. Just the thought of being locked in. I’m a little claustrophobic. Probably because they did it to us that summer: put us in a cabin and bolted the door from the outside. It was like being caged. We hated it.”
Robin came home at six, kissed me, and went into the shower. I sat on the floor tossing a ball to Spike, going along with his retriever fantasies, until the phone got me up.
Sherrell Best said, “Sorry to bother you again, Dr. Delaware, but is there anything new?”
“Nothing concrete yet, Reverend, I’m sorry.”
“Nothing concrete? Does that mean you’ve learned something?”
“I wish I could give you some real progress, but—”
“Could I please meet your patient? Maybe the two of us can put our heads together. I don’t want to cause any problems, but it might even help ease the burden.”
“Let me think about it, Reverend.”
“Thank you, Doctor. God bless.”
Robin and I took Spike for a chicken dinner and a drive. He wedged himself between her legs and the passenger door and stared out the window with a determined expression on his flat face.
Robin laughed. “He’s guarding us, Alex. Look how seriously he’s taking it. Thank you, Spikey, I feel so secure with you.”
“Joe Stud,” I said.
She put her hand on my knee. “I feel secure with you, too.”
“Yeah,” I said, “but he takes up less room and he doesn’t get emergency calls.”
The night sky turned violet. I’d driven north and, just like last week, ended up near Ventura. This time it was more than chance. Best’s call had gotten me thinking about Doris Reingold and the Sheas. The discrepancy in their lifestyles. I turned off the highway and entered the city limits. Robin looked at me but didn’t say anything.
We cruised the empty, quiet streets. The first thing open was a gas station. The Seville had a quarter tank left. I pulled in, filled up, washed the windows, then told Robin, “One sec,” and went to the pay phone. The directory was on its chain, but half the pages were gone. The R’s remained, though, and Reingold, D., was listed on Palomar Avenue.
The cashier told me that was ten blocks up.
When I got in the car, Robin said, “Home?”
“Please indulge me for a second. There’s something I want to check out.”
“Is it related to a patient?”
“Indirectly.”
“You’re going to drop in on someone?”
“No. I just want to see how someone lives. It won’t take long.”
“Okay,” she said, stretching.
“Yeah, I know I’m a real fun date.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “If you don’t behave yourself, he can drive me home.”
The address was a one-story bungalow court on a treeless street, three units on each side of a U. Security floodlights washed the stubble lawn. Some of the streetlights were out.