"Just fine, honey. My God, what time is it?" She groped and muttered. "Yeah, Fritz. Can't imagine what happened to him."

I was sorry to awaken her, but it was the only way I could be sure to catch her sober. I said, "How was the hospital? Did they give him anything?"

"Oh yeah, something. He put up a fuss, good heavens. Don't know what it was he drank after that funeral. Like D-Kon, they said. Does the same thing, or whatever."

"Does what same thing?" She yawned. "Causes internal bleeding or such like that. But don't worry, he's not bleeding anymore. That stuff hit his ulcer and made him hurt, but he's fine now. You're bigger than any old rodent, I told him. It won't kill you. Goldy, let me call you right back. I need to go make some coffee."

I hung up, ground espresso beans, and filled the cappuccino maker. Vonette's tone was strange. Maybe she was just tired. The machine steamed and gasped. When I was sipping the result, she called back. I said, "Is he still sick? Is he upset?"

"Aw," she said with a yawn, "he'll stay home today, watch the game, you know, maybe rest for a couple more days. They wanted him to take it easy for a week and I laughed. Lord, I laughed. You know how important that practice is to him, I told those guys down at Lutheran. No way he's going to stay in bed for a week. Doctors can be stubborn, I said."

"Arch was saying something about how you all had known Laura."

"Little Arch," she said. I could feel her smile come over the phone. "I told Fritz to be sure and speak to him but I don't think he did. And then all hell broke loose."

"Did you and Fritz know Laura Smiley for a long time?"

A pause. She said, "A long time ago, we knew her."

"How?"

"Oh," she said, "she kind of worked for us one time. She was a... teacher and then a... a... what do they call it these days? Like a nanny one time. When we went on a vacation."

"When was that?"

There was a longer silence. "You know, Goldy," Vonette said, suddenly perplexed, "I don't want to talk any more right now. I do feel one powerful headache coming on."

This was bad news. The effects of chronic headaches on Vonette had led her past aspirin through Darvon, Valium, Librium, and whatever was the latest miracle cure. She occasionally had such pain, she had told me, that Fritz gave her shots of Demerol. This was in addition to the substantial amounts of alcohol she put away on a daily basis. Why she had not died from these combinations long ago was beyond me; I figured she possessed an incredible tolerance for drugs. I heard her gulp something down, and I knew our conversation about Laura was finished, at least for the moment.