Mrs. Hellstrom found a lamp inside the living room door. In its feeble glow I finally saw a wall switch for the hall. It had been a long time since Mrs. Frizell had felt the impulse to clean anything. Dust had disintegrated into a thick coat of dirt; our damp shoes turned it to mud. Even through the stench and the chaos, though, it was clear that the only place the dogs had been relieving themselves was by the door. She looked after them even if she didn’t care about herself.

I followed the Lab up the stairs, playing the flashlight on the threadbare carpet, choking and sneezing on the dust I kicked up. The dog led me to the bathroom. Mrs. Frizell was lying on the floor, naked except for a towel clutched to her side.

I turned on the switch but the light was burned out. I called the news down to Carol and knelt down to find Mrs. Frizell’s pulse. The Lab, energetically licking her face, growled at me but didn’t try to bite me. Just as Carol and Mrs. Hellstrom joined me I felt a faint flutter.

“Bruce,” I heard Mrs. Frizell say faintly as I backed away. “Bruce, don’t leave me.”

“No, honey,” Mrs. Hellstrom said. “He won’t leave you. You’re gonna be okay now—you just took a bad fall.”

“Can you get me a better light, Vic?” Carol said sharply. “And call 911. She’s going to need a hospital.”

I shoved my way past the other dogs crowding into the doorway and found the old woman’s bedroom. As I went in I tripped and fell over the piles of bedding on the floor. I supposed they were for the dogs, although I had assumed they would sleep in bed with her. I unscrewed the twenty-watt bulb from the naked gooseneck lamp by the bed and took it back to the bathroom.

“Blankets, Vic, and get that ambulance,” Carol said sharply, not looking up.

“Mrs. Hellstrom? Can you bring some blankets while I hunt for a telephone?”

Mrs. Hellstrom was glad to be useful, but clucked again in dismay when she saw the blankets. “These are so dirty, maybe I ought to go home and get something clean.”

“I think it’s just important to get her warm. She can’t get much dirtier than she already is, lying on that floor all day.”

Downstairs I found Mr. Contreras trying to clean up the worst of the mess by the front door. “You found her, doll? She alive?”

I gave him a brief report while I hunted around for a phone. I finally found an old-fashioned black model buried under a stack of newspapers in the living room. The dial was stiff but the phone was still connected. So she was at least in touch with reality enough to pay her bills.