“A hotel,” she said. “You, alone in some room . . .” She shook her head.

“Could you please stay with Milo and Rick while I'm gone? I know it's disruptive and unnecessary, but I'd have a lot more peace of mind.”

She touched my face again. “You haven't had much of that lately, have you? Sure, why not.”

I tried a couple more times to reach Milo without success. Wanting to get Robin settled as soon as possible, I phoned his house. Rick was there and I told him we'd be coming over.

“We'll take good care of her, Alex. I'm really sorry for all this crap you've been going through. I'm sure the big guy will get to the bottom of it.”

“I'm sure he will, too. Will the dog be a problem?”

“No, I don't think so. Milo tells me he's pretty cute.”

“Milo never expressed any affection for him in my presence.”

“Does that surprise you?”

“No,” I said.

He laughed.

“Are you badly allergic, Rick?”

“Don't know, never had a dog. But don't worry, I'll pick up some Seldane in the ER, or write myself a scrip. Speaking of which, I have to head over to Cedars pretty soon. When were you planning on coming?”

“This evening. Any idea when Milo'll be back?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. . . . Tell you what, I'll leave a key in back of the house. There're two sago palms growing up against the rear wall—you haven't been here since we relandscaped, have you?”

“Just to pick up Milo.”

“Came out great, our water consumption's way down . . . the sago palms—do you know what they are?”

“Squat things with leaves that look like fan blades?”

“Exactly. I'll leave the key under the branches of the smaller one—the one on the right. Milo would kill me if he knew.” More laughter. “We have a new alarm code, too—he changes it every couple of months.”

He rattled off five numbers. I copied them down and thanked him again.

“Pleasure,” he said. “This should be fun, we've never had a pet.”

I packed my carry-on and Robin packed hers. We took the dog for a walk around the property and played with him, and finally he got sleepy. We left him resting and drove into town for an early dinner, taking Robin's truck. Cholesterol palace on South Beverly Drive: thick steaks and home-fried potatoes served in lumberjack portions at prices no lumberjack could afford. The food looked great and smelled great, and my taste buds told me it probably tasted great, too. But somewhere along the line the circuitry between my tongue and my brain fizzed and I found myself chewing mechanically, forcing meat down a dry, tight
throat.