We talked for a bit about Mrs. Frizell, and some of Mrs. Hellstrom’s memories of her. “Of course, she was my mother’s generation, but Mr. Hellstrom grew up in this house and used to try to play with her son, but he—her son, I mean—wasn’t the kind of boy other kids really liked much. But when you think how strange she is, you can’t really wonder, can you? Although she’s always been a good neighbor, all that junk in her yard and those dogs notwithstanding.”

I didn’t get a clear picture of what Mrs. Frizell had ever done to merit the good neighbor sobriquet. Maybe it was just that she minded her own business. The conversation went from there to the selfishness of my generation, something I didn’t feel able to dispute, but how happy Mrs. Hellstrom was to find young people on the block who did embody the old neighborly values.

“Of course, I think it was wrong for those young people to put the dogs to sleep, but they did leap in to look after Hattie’s affairs. And it can’t be a lot of fun for them to take on a cranky old lady like her.”

“No, indeed,” I murmured. “I guess they’re kind of stymied, though, by the fact that they can’t find the title to Mrs. Frizell’s house.”

“Title to her house?” Mrs. Hellstrom asked sharply. “What do they want that for?”

I tried to look innocent, even naive. “I expect it’s for the hospital. They need to provide some kind of proof of her financial situation. They might even need to take out a mortgage, since it looks as though she’ll be laid up for quite a while.”

Mrs. Hellstrom shook her head helplessly. “What are we coming to as a country? Here’s an old lady who worked hard all her life and now maybe she has to give up her house just because of a little fall in her bathroom? It makes you scared to get old, it really does.”

I agreed. I’ll be forty in a year. It didn’t need Mr. Contreras to make me nervous about what happens to elderly, indigent private eyes.

“She didn’t give her private papers to you to look after, did she?”

“Oh, no. Hattie isn’t the kind to trust anyone with her valuables. The only thing of hers I have is her box of dog things—their pictures and pedigrees and stuff. I took it along when we found her that night, because I knew that was what she really cared about.”

“I wonder if I could take a look at it.” I tried to speak casually.