P is for Peril

"Well," she said, lowering her eyes. I watched her gaze dance across the floor. "I suspect his relationship with Crystal is not the union of souls he'd like others to believe. Some months ago, he'd heard she was screwing around on him. Better to disappear than admit he'd been cuckolded."

"Did he have any idea who it was?"

"No, but he was looking into it. After he disappeared, my friend Dana finally confided that she'd known the whole time. The fellow is Crystal's personal trainer. His name is Glint Augustine."

I heard a little ding-dong going off in my head. I was sure I'd heard the name before, possibly in the gym where I work out.

"You believe he left because of that?"

"Yes. We had a conversation-a long talk-on September 10. This was two days before he vanished. He was dreadfully unhappy."

"He said that?"

Her hesitation was distinct as she debated with herself. "Not in so many words, but you don't go through forty years of marriage without learning to read between the lines."

"What occasioned the conversation?"

"He came over to the house."

"You were seeing him," I stated.

"Well, yes. At his request," she said, her tone faintly defensive. "Dow adores this place, just as he adores the house in Horton Ravine. He was always interested in my design work, even before our relationship underwent the shift. Lately, he'd been stopping by in the evenings to have a drink with me. That night, he was exhausted. His face was gray with worry, and when I asked what was wrong, he said the pressures at the office were driving him insane. And Crystal was no help. She's extremely narcissistic, as you'll discover when you meet her, which I assume you will."

"Were you surprised he'd confide in you after everything he'd put you through?"

"Who else does he have? Anyway, he didn't really talk about her, but I could see the tension in his eyes. He'd aged a good ten years in a matter of months."

"You're saying he had problems at home as well as problems at work?"

"That's right. He didn't talk specifics, but he mentioned in passing that he needed to get away. That's the first thing I thought of when I heard he was gone."

"Couldn't that have been wishful thinking?"

"I suppose it could," she said. "I mean, he didn't pull out airline tickets, but he did seem desperate."

"Do you remember a reference to any place in particular?"

She tilted her head. "I've racked my brain, but I really can't remember. It was an offhand remark and I didn't think much about it until this came up."

"I assume you told the police."

Again, she hesitated. "Not at first. I thought his absence was voluntary and he'd come home when he was ready. I didn't want him to be embarrassed. Leave it to Crystal to turn this ordeal into a media circus."

I could feel myself bristle. "Mrs. Purcell, he's a prominent physician, well known and loved in this community. His disappearance is bound to attract media attention. If you thought he'd gone AWOL, why didn't you speak up?"

"I felt he was entitled to his privacy," she said, her cheeks coloring slightly.

"What about all the time and money being spent on the investigation? Weren't you at all concerned about that?"

"Of course. That's why I spoke to the police," she said. "After six weeks, I began to worry. I guess I was expecting a call or a note, some indication he was all right, wherever he was. Now that nine weeks have passed, I thought it was time to take matters into my own hands."

"What made you think he'd be in touch with you instead of her?"

"Because Crystal's the one he's been trying to escape."

"And now you're worried something's happened to him."

"I suppose so. That's why I decided to meet with the detective last week. Odessa was polite. He took notes. But I got the impression he didn't take me seriously. He said he'd get back to me, but that's the last I've heard. The police must be working dozens of other cases, which means they don't have the time or resources to devote to Dow. I said as much to Dana and she agrees. That's why she recommended you."

"I don't know what to say. Even if we come to some agreement, I can t spend twenty-four hours a day on this any more than the police can. I have other clients, too."

I didn't say you'd have to be exclusive."

"Even so, I'm just one person. You'd be better off with a big Los Angeles agency, one with lots of operatives who can fan out across the country and do this properly. You might end up having to search for him overseas."

She cut me off with a wave of her hand. "I don't want a big L.A. agency. I want someone local who's willing to report directly to me."

"But all I'd be doing is repeating what the police have already done."

"You might have ideas they haven't thought of yet. After all, you tracked down Wendell Jaffe years after everyone assumed he was dead."

"I did track him down, but I didn't start from scratch. Someone spotted him in Mexico and that's why the case finally broke." Her expression became withdrawn. "You won't help."

"I'm not saying that. I'm talking about reality, which doesn't look that good."

"But what if there's an angle the police have overlooked?"

"What if there's not?"

"Then at least I'd be satisfied with the job they've done." I was silent for a beat, staring at the floor. Inside, a little voice was yelling, "No, no, no!" while my mouth said, "I'll do what I can, but I make no promises."

"Good. That's wonderful. We'll talk on Tuesday. Just keep track of the time you put in and you can give me an invoice as soon as I get back." She glanced at her watch and then rose to her feet. I stood when she did. "I'll need a retainer."

"A 'retainer'?" She made a show of startlement, but I wondered if she was repeating the words for effect. Surely she didn't do business without a written agreement and earnest money changing hands. "How much did you have in mind?"

"I charge fifty an hour or a flat four hundred a day, plus expenses, so fifteen hundred dollars should cover it for now. If you give me Melanie's address, I'll overnight you a contract for your signature." In truth, I could have brought one with me, but I hadn't been sure we'd end up coming to an agreement.

She blinked as though baffled. "I'm sorry. I didn't picture anything so formal. Is this standard procedure in your line of work?"

"Actually, it is," I said. I noticed she didn't call it a "profession," which meant she probably lumped me in with retail clerks, short-order cooks, and Roto-Rooter men.

"What if you fail to find him?"

"That's exactly the point. If I come up empty-handed, you might decide I wasn't worth the hourly wage. Once I take a case, I persevere. I'll follow the trail right out to the bitter end."

"I should hope so," she said. She thought about it briefly, and then she crossed to an ebony-inlaid console. She removed her checkbook, returned to her chair, and sat down. "And I'm to make the check out to…?"

"Millhone Investigations."

I watched while she dashed off a check and tore it out of the book, scarcely bothering to disguise her irritation as she handed it to me. I noticed we were bank mates, sharing the same branch of the Santa Teresa City Bank. I said, "You're upset."

"I operate on trust. Apparently, you don't."

"I've learned the hard way. It's nothing personal."

"I see."

I held out the check. "I can return this right now if you'd prefer."

"Just find him. I'll expect a full report the minute I get home."