“There are no shortcuts. Life is tedious and brutish . . . it can’t hurt to look into those SROs. Something I can do without attracting attention. But don’t expect anything. And don’t get yourself in trouble thinking you can fight my battles.”

“Trouble, as in?”

“As in anything.”

Robin had left a message on my machine, sounding hurried and detached. The tour had moved on to Vancouver and she was staying at the Pacific Lodge Hotel. I called the number and connected to her room. A happy male voice answered.

“Sheridan,” I said.

“Yes?”

“It’s Alex Delaware.”

“Oh. Hi. I’ll go get Robin.”

“Where is she?”

“In the bathroom.”

“How’s my dog?”

“Uh . . . great—”

“The reason I’m asking is because you seemed pretty in tune with him. Showing up prepared with a Milk-Bone. Very intuitive.”

“He—I like dogs.”

“Do you?” I said.

“Well, yeah.”

“Well, good for you.”

Silence. “Let me tell Robin you’re on the phone.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said, but he’d put down the receiver, and I was talking to dead air.

She came on the line a few moments later. “Alex?”

“Hi,” I said.

“What’s wrong?”

“With what?”

“Sheridan said you sounded upset.”

“Sheridan would know,” I said. “Being a sensitive guy and all that.”

Silence. “What’s going on, Alex?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” she said. “Every time I call you’re more . . .”

“Insensitive?” I said. “As opposed to you-know-who?”

Longer silence. “You can’t be serious.”

“About what?”

“About him.” She laughed.

“Glad to amuse you.”

“Alex,” she said, “if you only knew—I can’t believe this. What’s gotten into you?”

“Tough times bring out the best in me.”

“Why in the world would you even think that?” She laughed again, and that was probably what set me off.

“The guy shows up with a damned dog biscuit,” I said. “Let me tell you, hon, men are pigs. Altruism like that always comes with strings—”

“You are being totally ridiculous—”

“Am I? Each time I call your room, he’s right there—”

“Alex, this is absurd!”

“Okay, then. Sorry.” But there was nothing remorseful in my tone, and she knew it.

“What’s gotten into you, Alex?”

I thought about that. Then a rush of anger clogged my throat, and out it came: “I suppose I can be forgiven a bit of absurdity. The last time you left me didn’t turn out so great.”

Silence.

“Oh . . . Alex.” Her voice broke on my name.

My jaw locked.

She said, “I can’t do this.”

Then she hung up.

I sat there, perversely satisfied, with a dead brain and a mouth full of bile. Then that sinking feeling set in: Idiot idiot! I redialed her room. No answer. Tried the hotel operator again, was informed that Ms. Castagna had gone out.