Sue Grafton Novel Collection

by Sue Grafton

  As I passed, I saw the Dumpster was half full. Solana was evidently making progress in her junk-elimination project. I knocked on Gus’s door, my arms crossed tightly as I huddled with the cold. I shifted from foot to foot in a vain attempt to warm myself. I was curious to meet Solana Rojas, whose work history I’d researched three weeks previously.

  Through the glass pane in Gus’s front door, I watched her approach. She flipped on the porch light and peered out, calling through the glass. “Yes?”

  “Are you Solana?”

  “Yes.” She wore glasses with black frames. Her dark hair was the uniform brown of a home-dye job. If she’d had it done in a salon, some “artiste” would have added a few phony-looking highlights. I knew from the application she was sixty-four, but she looked younger than I’d imagined.

  I smiled and raised my voice, hooking a thumb in the direction of Henry’s place. “I’m Kinsey Millhone. I live next door. I thought I’d stop by to see how Gus is doing.”

  She opened the door and a slat of warm air escaped. “The name again is what?”

  “Millhone. I’m Kinsey.”

  “Nice meeting you, Ms. Millhone. Please, come in. Mr. Vronsky will be happy for the company. He’s been a little down in the dumps.” She stepped back, allowing me to enter.

  She was trim but carried a bulkiness in the belly that spoke of childbearing once upon a time. Young moms often lose the baby weight quickly, but it returns in middle age to form a permanent mocking pouch. Moving past her, I automatically gauged her height, which was five foot two or so to my five foot six. She wore a serviceable-looking pastel green tunic with matching pants—not quite a uniform, but wrinkle-free separates bought for comfort and washability. Stains from a patient’s blood or other body fluids would be easy to remove.

  I was struck by the sight of the living room. Gone were the chipped veneer tables with their tacky little knickknacks. The stretchy dark brown slipcovers had been removed from the couch and three chairs. The original upholstery material turned out to be a pleasant mix of florals in tones of cream, pink, coral, and green, probably selected by the late Mrs. Vronsky. The limp drapes had come down, leaving the windows looking bare and clean. No dust, no clutter. The mouse-back carpeting was still in place, but a bouquet of dark pink roses now sat on the coffee table, and it took me a moment to realize they were fake. Even the smells in the house had changed from decades-old nicotine to a cleaning product that was probably called “Spring Rain” or “Wild Flowers.”

  “Wow. This is great. The place has never looked this good.”

  She seemed pleased. “There’s still work to do, but at least this part of the house is improved. Mr. Vronsky’s reading in his room, if you’ll come with me.”

  I followed Solana down the hallway. Her crepe-soled shoes made no sound, and the effect was odd, almost as if she were a hovercraft floating before me. When we reached Gus’s bedroom, she peered in at him and then glanced back at me and put a finger to her lips. “He’s fallen asleep,” she whispered.

  I looked past her and saw Gus propped up in bed, supported by a pile of pillows. A book was open across his chest. His mouth was agape and his eyelids were as transparent as a baby bird’s. The room was tidy and his sheets looked new. A blanket was neatly folded at the foot of his bed. His hearing aids had been removed and placed close at hand on his bed table. In a low tone, I said, “I hate to bother him. Why don’t I come back in the morning?”

  “It’s entirely up to you. I can wake him if you like.”

  “Don’t do that. There’s no hurry,” I said. “I leave for work at eight thirty. If he’s up, I can visit with him then.”

  “He’s up at six o’clock. Early to bed and early to rise.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  She pointed. “We should talk in the kitchen.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  She retraced her steps and turned left into the kitchen. I trailed behind, trying to tread as quietly as she did. The kitchen, like the living room and bedroom, had undergone a transformation. The same appliances were in place, yellowed with age, but now a brand-new microwave sat on the counter, which was otherwise bare. Everything was clean, and it looked like the kitchen curtains had been laundered, ironed, and rehung.

  In a belated answer to my query, she said, “He has good days and bad. At his age, they don’t bounce back so quick. He’s made progress, but it’s two steps forward, three steps back.”

  “I gathered as much. I know his niece is concerned about his mental state.”

  The animation dropped like a veil falling away from her face. “You talked to her?”

  “She called me yesterday. She said when they talked on the phone he seemed confused. She asked if I’d noticed any change in him. I haven’t seen him for weeks so I really couldn’t say, but I told her I’d stop in.”

  “His memory isn’t what it was. I explained that to her. If she has questions about his care she should address them to me.” Her tone was slightly testy and the color had risen in her cheeks.

  “She isn’t worried about his care. She was wondering if I’d picked up on anything myself. She said you suspected dementia…”

  “I never said any such thing.”

  “You didn’t? Maybe I’m mistaken, but I thought she said you’d mentioned early signs of dementia.”

  “She misunderstood. I said dementia was one of several possibilities. It could be hypothyroidism or a vitamin B deficiency, both reversible with proper treatment. I wouldn’t presume to make a diagnosis. It’s not my place.”

  “She didn’t say you’d made any kind of claim. She was just alerting me to the situation.”

  “‘Situation.’” She was looking at me intently, and I could see she’d somehow taken offense.

  “Sorry. I guess I’m not expressing myself well. She said he sounded confused on the phone and thought it might have been his medication or something like that. She said she called you right afterward and the two of you discussed it.”

  “And now she’s sent you to double-check.”

  “On him, not on you.”

  She broke off eye contact, her manner prickly and stiff. “It’s unfortunate she felt the need to have a conversation with you behind my back. Apparently, she wasn’t satisfied with my account.”

  “Honestly, she didn’t call to talk about you. She asked if I’d noticed any change in him.”

  Now her eyes bored into me, hot and dark. “So now you’re the doctor? Perhaps you’d like to see my notes. I keep a record of everything, which is what I was taught. Medications, blood pressure, his bowel movements. I’d be happy to send her a copy if she doubts my qualifications or my dedication to her uncle’s care.”

  I didn’t actually squint at her, but I felt myself focus on the skewed exchange. Was she nuts? I couldn’t seem to extract myself from the misinterpretation. I was afraid if I uttered two more sentences, she’d quit the job in a huff and Melanie would be up a tree. It was like being in the presence of a snake, first hissing its presence and then coiled in readiness. I didn’t dare turn my back or take my eyes off her. I stood very still. I let go of my fight-or-flight defense and decided to play dead. If you run from a bear, it gives chase. That’s the nature of the beast. Likewise a snake. If I moved, she might strike.

  I held her gaze. In that flicker of a moment, I could see her catch herself. Some kind of barrier had come down and I’d seen an aspect of her I wasn’t meant to see, a flash of fury that she’d covered up again. It was like watching someone in the throes of a seizure—for three seconds she was gone and then back again. I didn’t want her to realize the extent to which she’d revealed herself. I moved on, as though nothing had occurred. I said, “Oh. Before I forget, I wanted to ask if the furnace is working okay.”

  Her focus cleared. “What?”

  “Gus had a problem with the furnace last year. As cold as it’s been, I wanted to make sure you were warm enough. You haven’t had a problem?”

  “It’s fine.”


  “Well, if it starts acting up, feel free to give a yell. Henry has the name of the heating company that worked on it.”

  “Thank you. Of course.”

  “I better scoot. I haven’t had dinner yet and it’s getting late.”

  I moved toward the door and I could feel her following at my heels. I glanced back and smiled. “I’ll pop over in the morning on my way to work.”

  I didn’t wait for a reply. I gave a casual wave and let myself out the front door. As I trotted down the porch steps, I sensed her standing at the door behind me, watching through the glass. I resisted the urge to check. I took a left on the walk and the minute I was out of her sights, I allowed myself one of those shudders that shakes you from head to toe. I unlocked my apartment and spent a few minutes turning on all the lights to dispel the shadows in the room.

  In the morning before I took off for work, I made a second trip next door, determined to talk to Gus. I thought it was odd that I’d found him asleep so early in the evening, but maybe that’s what old men did. I’d played and replayed Solana’s reaction to my question about Gus’s mental state. I hadn’t imagined the flash of paranoia, but I didn’t know where it came from or what it meant. In the meantime, I’d told Melanie I’d check on him and I wasn’t going to let the woman scare me away. I knew she didn’t start work until midafternoon, and I was just as happy at the notion of avoiding her.

  I climbed the porch steps and knocked on the door. There was no immediate response so I cupped my hands against the glass and peered inside. There were no lamps turned on in the living room, but it looked like the kitchen light was on. I rapped on the glass and waited, but there was no sign of anyone. I’d borrowed the key Gus had given Henry, but I didn’t think I should take the liberty of letting myself in.

  I went around to the back door with its glass upper section. A note had been taped to the inside:

  Meals on Wheels Volunteer. Door is unlocked. Please let yourself in. Mr. Vronsky is hard of hearing and may not respond to your knock.

  I tried the knob and sure enough, the door was unlocked. I opened it wide enough to stick my head in. “Mr. Vronsky?”

  I glanced at the kitchen counters and the stove top. There was no sign he’d eaten breakfast. I could see a box of dry cereal set out beside a bowl and a spoon. No dishes in the sink. “Mr. Vronsky? Are you here?”

  I heard a muffled thumping in the hallway.

  “Hell and damnation! Would you quit all that hollering? I’m doing the best I can.”

  Within seconds, the querulous Gus Vronsky appeared in the doorway, holding on to a walker for support as he shuffled into the room. He was still in his robe, bent nearly double by his osteoporosis, which left him staring at the floor.

  “I hope I didn’t wake you. I wasn’t sure you heard me.”

  He tilted his head and peered up at me sideways. His hearing aids were in place, but the left one was askew. “With all the racket you made? I went to the front door, but there was nobody on the porch. I thought it was a prank. Kids making trouble. We used to do that when I was young. Knock on the door and run. I was on my way back to bed when I heard the ruckus in here. What in tarnation do you want?”

  “I’m Kinsey. Henry’s tenant…”

  “I know who you are! I’m not an imbecile. I can tell you right now I don’t know who’s president so don’t think you can trip me up on that one. Harry Truman was the last decent man in office and he dropped those bombs. Put an end to World War Two, I can tell you that straight off.”

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay. Do you need anything?”

  “Need anything? I need my hearing back. I need my health. I need relief from this pain. I fell and put my shoulder out of commission…”

  “I know. I was with Henry when he found you that day. I stopped by last night and you were sound asleep.”

  “That’s the only privacy I have left. Now there’s this woman comes in, pestering the life out of me. You may know her. Solana something. Says she’s a nurse, but not much of one in my opinion. Not that that counts for much these days. I don’t know where she’s gone off to. She was here earlier.”

  “I thought she came on at three o’clock.”

  “What time is it now?”

  “Eight thirty-five.”

  “A.M. or P.M.?”

  “Morning. If it were eight thirty-five P.M., it would be dark out.”

  “Then I don’t know who it was. I heard someone fumbling around and assumed it was her. Door’s unlocked, it could have been anyone. I’m lucky I wasn’t murdered in my bed.” His gaze shifted. “Who’s that?”

  He was looking past me at the kitchen door and I jumped when I saw someone standing on the porch. She was a heavyset woman in a mink coat, holding up a brown grocery bag. She motioned at the knob. I crossed and opened the back door for her.

  “Thank you, dear. I have my hands full this morning and didn’t want to have to set this on the porch. How are you?”

  “Fine.” I told her who I was and she did the same, introducing herself as Mrs. Dell, the Meals on Wheels volunteer.

  “How are you doing, Mr. Vronsky?” She set her package on the kitchen table, talking to Gus as she unloaded the bag. “It’s awfully cold outside. Nice that you have neighbors concerned about you. Have you been doing well?”

  Gus didn’t bother to reply and she didn’t seem to expect an answer. He made an irritated gesture, waving her away, and moved his walker toward a chair.

  Mrs. Dell tucked boxes in the refrigerator. She moved to the microwave oven and put three cartons inside, then punched in some numbers. “This is chicken casserole, a single serving. You can have this with the vegetables packed in the two smaller containers. All you do is push the Start button. I’ve already set the time. But you be careful when you take it out. I don’t want you burning yourself like you did before.” She was speaking louder than normal, but I wasn’t convinced he’d heard her.

  He stared at the floor. “I don’t want beets.” He said it as though she’d accused him of something and he was setting the record straight.

  “No beets. I told Mrs. Carrigan you didn’t care for them so she sent you green beans instead. Is that all right? You said green beans were your favorite.”

  “I like green beans, but not hard. Crisp is no good. I don’t like it when they taste raw.”

  “These should be fine. And there’s a half a sweet potato. I put your brown-bag supper in the fridge. Mrs. Rojas said she’d remind you when it’s time to eat.”

  “I can remember to eat! How idiotic do you think I am? What’s in the bag?”

  “A tuna salad sandwich, coleslaw, an apple, and some cookies. Oatmeal-raisin. Did you remember to take your pills?”

  He looked at her blankly. “What say?”

  “Did you take your pills this morning?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “Well, good. Then I’ll be on my way. Enjoy your meal. Nice meeting you, dear.” She folded the brown paper bag and tucked it under one arm before she let herself out.

  “Meddlesome,” he remarked, but I didn’t think he meant it. He just liked to complain. For once, I was reassured by the crabbiness of his response.

  16

  My visit with Gus lasted fifteen minutes more, at which point his energies seemed to flag and mine did as well. That much high-decibel small talk with a cranky old man was about my max. I said, “I have to go now, but I don’t want to leave you in here. Would you like to go into the living room?”

  “Might as well, but you bring that bag lunch in and set it on the couch. I get hungry, I can’t be running back and forth.”

  “I thought you were having the chicken casserole.”

  “I can’t reach that contraption. How am I supposed to manage when it’s up on the counter in the back? I’d have to have arms another three feet long.”

  “You want me to move the microwave closer?”

  “I never said that. I like to eat my lunch at lunchtime and my dinner
when it’s dark.”

  I helped him get up out of his kitchen chair and steadied him on his feet. He reached for his walker and shifted his weight from my supporting hands to the aluminum frame. I kept pace beside him as he crept into the living room. I couldn’t help but marvel at the inconsistencies of the aging process. The difference between Gus and Henry and his siblings was marked, even though they were all roughly the same age. The journey from the kitchen to the living room had left Gus exhausted. Henry wasn’t running marathons, but he was a strong and active man. Gus had lost muscle mass. Holding his arm lightly, I felt bony structure with scarcely any meat. Even his skin seemed fragile.

  When he was settled on the couch, I returned to the kitchen and retrieved his lunch from the refrigerator. “You want this on the table?”

  He looked at me peevishly. “I don’t care what you do. Put it anywhere you like.”

  I placed the bag on the couch in easy reach. I was hoping he wouldn’t topple sideways and crush the damn thing.

  He asked me to find his favorite television show, episodes of I Love Lucy on an off-channel that probably ran them twenty-four hours a day. The set itself was old and the channel in question had a certain snowy cast to it that I found bothersome. When I mentioned it to Gus, he said that’s what his eyesight was like before cataract surgery six years earlier. I fixed him a cup of tea and then made a quick check of the bathroom, where his container of pills was sitting on the rim of the sink. The plastic storage case was the size of a pencil box and had a series of compartments, each marked with a capital letter for each day of the week. Wednesday was empty so it looked like he’d been right about taking his pills. Home again, I left the key to Gus’s house under Henry’s doormat and headed off to work.