I took a seat in the corner, where I sorted through the magazines. I chose the current issue of Architectural Digest and entertained myself trying to imagine a color spread on my studio apartment, all eight hundred and fifty feet of it.

Fifteen minutes later, a woman with a puffy lip emerged, pausing at the desk while she wrote out a check for services. I waited until she'd left and then set the magazine aside and returned to the counter.

"Shall we try again?"

Mrs. Gary went into the examining room. I could hear the murmur of voices as she explained my request.

Dr. Spears came out to meet me, still wearing his white coat, wiping his hands on a paper towel he then tossed in the trash. He was gray-haired and blue-eyed and after we shook hands, mine were left smelling like soap. While he seemed to appreciate my problem, he wasn't much help.

Before I could even get through the details, he was shaking his head. "I couldn't do that without a name. Inactive charts are filed alphabetically. I've got hundreds of them. From what Mrs. Gary's said, the girl was a minor, which further complicates matters. I don't see how you'd find her."

"'She had tons of fillings, buckteeth, and a crooked eyetooth on the left," I said.

"Most of my patients have crooked teeth. I'd like to help, but what you're asking is impossible."

"That's too bad. I'd hoped for more, but I can see your point. What about the other dentists in the area back then? Can you tell me anything about Dr. Towne or Dr. Nettleton? I noticed both were in practice in the late sixties."

"Dr. Towne died two years ago, but his widow might be willing to help if his records are still in her possession. Dr. Nettleton's over ninety. He's reasonably sharp, but I doubt you'll get much." He turned to Mrs. Gary. "You know the family, don't you? Where's he living these days?"

"With his daughter. She goes to my church."

"Why don't you give Miss Millhone the information. Maybe he'll remember. It's worth a try, at any rate."

"Thanks. I'd appreciate that." Mrs. Gary checked her Rolodex and made a note of the daughter's name and address. From her expression, I was guessing I'd be lucky if Dr. Nettleton could remember how to tie his own shoes.