"How could I do that? There's nothing going on."

Tuesday morning, I saw them off at 8:00, giving a final wave as turned out of the parking lot. I went back to my room, feeling, depression mixed with relief at being on my own again. I usually experienced a similar reaction after Robert Dietz had been with n finally hit the road. It's hard to be the one left behind. If I were I'd clean house, but in the confines of the motel, I couldn't even do that. I gathered my wee pile of laundry, rooted in the bottom of r for loose change, and walked to the Laundromat half a block There's no activity more profoundly boring than sitting in a Laundromat, waiting for the washer and dryer to click through their from beginning to end. If you dared leave your clothes, thinking return later when the load was done, someone would steal them out of the machines and leave them in a heap. I sat and did surveillance on my own underwear. It beat doing a records search, but not by much.

Chapter 24

Chapter 24

I hadn't been back from the Laundromat for more than ten minutes when I heard a knock on my door. I peered through the fisheye and saw Felicia Clifton standing outside, staring off across the parking lot. I opened the door. The face she turned to me was pale and undefined, free of makeup. Her eyes, without the black liner and false lashes, were actually prettier, though not nearly as large or as vivid. She wore jeans, a sweatshirt, and running shoes without socks, as though she'd dressed in haste. Her red hair was pulled back in a jumbled ponytail.

"This is a pleasant surprise. Come in."

She stepped in, reaching out a hand to steady herself. At first I thought she was drunk, but I realized within seconds, she was shaken and upset. "Felicia, what's wrong? Is it Pudgie?"

She nodded mutely. I moved her to one side and closed the door after, saying, "Hey, you're safe. You're fine. Take your time.

She sank onto the desk chair, putting her head between her knees as though on the verge of passing out.

So far, I didn't like the way the conversation was shaping up. I went J into the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth. I rung it out with cold water and carried back to her. She took it and pressed it to her face. She made a sound that was half-sigh and half-moan.

I sat down at the foot of the king-size bed, almost knee to knee with her. "Is he all right?" From the way she was behaving, I suspected he was dead, but I was unwilling to voice that possibility until she did.

"They called at seven. They think it's him. They need someone to look, but I can't."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. They told me to come in."