Flesh And Blood

A fingertip grazed a plucked eyebrow. “To be honest, I wanted to be convinced. Being alone’s so… dark. I hadn’t… And Lo’s a wonderful person – and now she’s flown off somewhere. Dr. Delaware, do we need to worry? I really don’t want to worry, but I must admit, I am bothered.”

“Lauren didn’t give a clue where she was going?”

“No, and she didn’t take her car – it’s parked in her space out back. So maybe she did fly off – literally. It’s not as if she’s a Greyhound girl. Nothing slow suits her, she works like a demon – studying, doing research.”

“Research at the U?”

“Uh-huh.”

“On what?”

“She never told me, just said that between her classes and research job she had a full plate. You think that’s what might’ve taken her somewhere – the job?”

“Maybe,” I said. “No idea who she worked for?”

Salander shook his head. “We’re chums and all that, but Lo goes her way and I go mine. Different biorhythms. She’s a morning lark, I’m a night owl. Perfect arrangement – she’s bright and chirpy for classes and I’m coherent when the time rolls around for my work. By the time I wake up, she’s usually gone. That’s why it took a couple of days to realize her bed hadn’t been slept in.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Our bedrooms are our private space, but Mrs. A sounded so anxious that I did agree to peek in.”

“The right thing to do,” I said.

“I hope.”

“What kind of work do you do, Mr. Salander?”

“Andrew. Advanced mixology.” He smiled. “I tend bar at The Cloisters. It’s a saloon in West Hollywood.”

Milo and Rick sometimes drank at The Cloisters. “I know the place.”

His brows climbed higher. “Do you? So why haven’t I seen you before?”

“I’ve driven by.”

“Ah,” he said. “Well my Bombay martinis are works of art, so feel free to breeze in.” His face grew grim. “Listen to me, Lauren’s gone and I’m sitting here prattling – No, Doctor, she never gave me a clue as to where she was headed. But till Mrs. A called I can’t say I was ready to panic. Lauren did go away from time to time.”

“For a week?”

He frowned. “No, one or two nights. Weekends.”

“How often?”

“Maybe every two months, every six weeks – I can’t really recall.”

“Where’d she go?”

“One time she told me she spent some time at the beach. Malibu.”

“By herself?”

He nodded. “She said she rented a motel room, needed some time to decompress, and the sound of the ocean was peaceful. As for the other times, I don’t know.”

“Those weekends, did she usually take her car?”

“Yes, always… So this is different, isn’t it?” He rubbed his armband tattoo, wincing as if the art were new, the pain fresh. “Do you really think something’s wrong?”

“I don’t know enough to think anything. But Mrs. Abbot seems to be worrying.”

“Maybe Mrs. A’s getting us all overwrought. The way mothers do.”

“Have you met her?”

“Only once, a while back – two, three months ago. She came to take Lo out to lunch and we chatted briefly while Lo got ready. I thought she was nice enough but rather Pasadena, if you know what I mean. Coordinated ensemble, several cracks past brittle. I saw her as a perfect fifties person – someone who’d drive a Chrysler Imperial with all the trimmings and pile the backseat full of Bullocks Wilshire shopping bags.”

“Conservative,” I said.

“Staid,” he said. “Theatrically sad. One of those women fighting the future with mascara and matching shoes and tiny sandwiches with the crust trimmed.”

“Doesn’t sound like Lauren.”

“Hardly. Lauren is très natural. Unaffected.” The washcloth was wadded once more. “I’m sure she’s fine. She has to be fine.” He sighed, massaged the tattoo some more.

I said, “So the time you met Mrs. Abbot, she and Lauren went out to lunch.”

“Long lunch – must’ve been three hours. Lo came back alone, and she didn’t look as if she’d had fun.”

“Upset?”

“Upset and distracted – as if she’d been hit on the head. I suspected something emotional had gone on, so I fixed her a gimlet the way she likes it and asked if she wanted to talk about it. She kissed me here” – he touched a rosy cheek – “said it wasn’t important. But then she drank every drop of that gimlet and I just sat there emitting that I’m-ready-to-listen vibe – it’s what I do, after all – and she-” He stopped. “Should I be telling you this?”

“I’m beyond discreet,” I said. “Because of what I do.”

“I suppose. And Lauren did say she liked you… All right, it’s nothing sordid, anyway. She simply told me she’d spent her childhood fighting not to be controlled, had made her own way in the world, and now her mother was trying to do the same old thing, again.”

“Control her.”

He nodded.

“Did she say how?”

“No – I’m sorry, Doctor, I’m just not comfortable flapping my trap. There’s nothing more to say, anyway. That’s the entire kit and caboodle.”

I smiled at him. Didn’t budge.

He said, “Really, I’ve told you everything – and only because I know Lo liked you. She came across your name in the paper, some kind of police case, said, ‘Hey, Andrew, I knew this guy. He tried to straighten me out.’ I made some remark – how it obviously hadn’t taken. She thought that was fu

“What do you mean?” I said.

“She realized that her parents had set her up to rebel. Tried to use you as a weapon against her, but you hadn’t gotten sucked into their game, you had integrity – You’re sure I can’t get you a drink?”

My throat had gone dry. “A Coke would be fine.”

He laughed. “The soft stuff? Recovering juice fiend?”

“No, it’s just a bit early for me.”

“Trust me, it’s never too early. But all right, one cola-bean juice, coming up pronto. Lemon or lime?”

“Lime.”

He hurried into the kitchen, returned with a tall drink on ice and a glass of white wine for himself. Settling back down, he rested one elbow on a knee, placed his chin in a cupped palm, stared into my eyes.

I said, “So Lauren felt her mother was trying to control her but she didn’t say how.”

“And the next day she was going about her business with nary a mention of mama. Truth is, I don’t think Mrs. A looms large in her life. She’s been on her own for years. And that’s absolutely all I can tell you about her family dynamics, so drink up.” He drew out the pocket watch.

“Your friend,” I said.

He flinched. “Yes.”

“Does Lauren have any friends I could talk to?”

“No.”

“No one at all?”

“Not a one. She doesn’t date, nor does she chum around with the girls. We’re both social isolates, Doctor. Yet another tie that binds.”

“The night owl and the morning lark,” I said.

“Makes for a cozy little aviary – this is absolutely the best living arrangement I’ve ever had. Lauren’s a living doll and I simply insist that she be okay. Now, if you’d like, I can pour that drink into Styrofoam and you can take it to go-”

As charming a dismissal as I’d encountered. Placing the drink on a side table, I stood. “Just a few more questions. Mrs. A said Lauren didn’t pack a suitcase.”

“I told her that,” he said. “I know every item in Lauren’s wardrobe – She has luscious things. After I moved in I organized her closet. She owns two pieces of luggage – a pair of vintage Samsonites we picked up for a prayer at the Santa Monica flea market – and they’re both here. So is her backpack from school. And her books. So she must be pla