“No thank you.”

Dorothy Rubin nodded to the girl, who then returned to her desk in the reception room. Hook moved on into the small office and sat down in a chair facing Mrs. Rubin’s desk, which was cluttered with a number of open catalog-type volumes titled Standard Rate and Data. Behind her, burlap window drapes were drawn against the sun. A number of handsome Navaho blankets hung on the walls, above long glass shelves crowded with potted cacti and other desert flora.

“I’m here to see Douglas,” he said. “When will they be finished?”

“I have no idea.”

Hook lit a cigarette, dropped the dead match into an ashtray on her desk.

“Liz has been with me since last night,” he said. “She told me.”

“Told you what?”

“The truth.”

“Did she, now? And of course you recognized it as truth the moment you heard it.”

“I did.”

“Good for you.”

“You want to hear it?”

“Not particularly.”

Hook gazed at her until she looked away. She angrily stubbed out her cigarette and immediately set about lighting another.

“I’ll wait for Douglas, then,” he said.

She blew out a pall of smoke. “All right, try me. What is this great new truth you’ve discovered?”

“My son didn’t kill himself. Douglas and Parnelli threw him off the cliff.”

Dorothy Rubin pillaged her face for a smile, a sneer, but there was nothing, just the pale shocked look of someone who had been slapped hard.

“Liz told you that?”

“Liz told me that.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“We can ask her. She’s down in the car now. You want me to have her come up?”

“No. Why bother? Maybe she did say it. It doesn’t matter. These days she’s liable to say anything, she’s so spaced out all the time. If it isn’t booze or sex, it’s drugs. The girl’s psycho.”

Hook asked Mrs. Rubin if that was what she would tell the police and she dragged deeply on her cigarette, took her time exhaling, all the while fixing him with the look of a dubious loan officer. “There’ll be no police,” she said finally. “I’d say your coming here proves that, wouldn’t you? I mean if Liz was willing to tell the police this fantastic story of hers, that’s where you’d be, right? Swearing out a complaint or whatever it is one does. But you’re not there, are you? You’re here. And I think your time is about up.”

“She’ll tell them,” Hook said. “You all will.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion, I’m sure. But as I said, your time is up. I have work to do.”

“I’ll wait for Douglas.”

“I’m afraid not. You’re leaving now, Mr. Hook. If you don’t, I’ll call the police.”

“Go ahead.”

She reached for the phone but did not pick it up, just left her hand lying on it as if she were testing its surface temperature. Then she withdrew her hand and Hook could see the control running out of her.

“You son of a bitch,” she said. “You fucking maniac.”