A key turning in the front door solved the problem for me. I folded the letter from the bank into my back pocket a second before Chrissie and Todd bounced in. They looked radiant with health, Chrissie in a mattress-ticking romper suit, Todd in tan shorts and a Polo T-shirt. I didn’t even want to imagine how I appeared—the smell coming from my armpits was discomforting enough.

“What are you doing here, Warshawski?”

“Cleaning the Augean stables, Todd. You can call me Hercules. Although I think he had help. In a way I’ve outperformed him.”

“Don’t try to turn this into a joke, because it isn’t funny. When Mrs. Hellstrom told us you were in here looking at financial records, my first impulse was to call the cops. I could have you arrested, you know. This place is private property.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “But not, I think, belonging to you. Unless you’ve used your guardianship powers to sign over the title?”

It dawned on me suddenly that that was the one valuable document Mrs. Frizell had. Maybe it was at the bottom of one of the drawers. Or maybe Todd and Chrissie had already absconded with it. I didn’t feel up to burglarizing their house to see, at least not tonight.

“Why don’t you just get out of here,” Todd snapped. “Since we found the old lady you’ve been determined to undermine my care of her, even calling her son—”

“What care?” I interrupted. “The first thing you two beacons of light did was kill her dogs, the only thing in the world Mrs. Frizell loved. Everything you’ve done since last Friday may be legal, but I wouldn’t touch it with a barge pole. You stink, Pichea, worse than any heap of dogshit Mrs. Frizell may have left lying around.”

“That’s enough!” he shouted. “You think your moral superiority gives you the right to break the law? I have papers that prove my right to control who enters this place, and any judge in the city will agree.”

I laughed. “You have papers? You sound like a pedigreed dog. Speaking of documents, though, where’s Mrs. Frizell’s title? And where’s her passbook at U.S. Met?”

“How do you know—” Chrissie began, but Todd cut her off.

“You have two minutes to leave, Warshawski. Two minutes before I call the cops.”

“So you do have her bank book,” I said, trying to infuse my voice with a wealth of meaning. Privately wondering what possible difference it could make, I sauntered out the front door.

25

Sticking to the Ribs

Mr. Contreras had evidently been on the lookout for me: he was outside his apartment by the time I had the lobby door open.

“Where you been, doll? You look like the short end of a mud-wrestling match.”