“What did she learn?”
“She learned,” Mrs. Jasper said grimly, “whatever she damned well wanted to. Reading? She read quite well indeed if it involved the captions on the pictures in a movie magazine and not a newspaper or book. A selective learner, the educators might call her now. No matter how little she accomplished, Hilton praised her, or rather over-praised her. I went along with it. He was on a guilt trip, you see, and I was his passenger. A fourteen-year guilt trip. God knows how many times I felt we’d come to the end of the line. Maybe this is it.”
She finished her coffee and looked into the empty cup as if she hoped to find in it tea leaves that would foretell the end of the line. There was only a coffee stain and a thirsty buffalo fly on the cup’s rim.
“I never knew Hilton’s mother. Hilton and I didn’t meet until after she died. In my high moments I like to think he swept me off my feet and we got married and had a child. My low moments are more realistic. He was grief-stricken and lonely and I was available, the motherly type five years his senior. If there was any sweeping off of feet, I did it. He was smart, handsome and destined for big things.”
There was no mention of love, either on his part or hers, either for each other or for the girl. There was only duty, guilt, sacrifice, anger.
“If Hilton’s business associates were told some of the things I’ve told you, Mr. Aragon, they wouldn’t believe them. Hilton has a reputation as a cool, unsentimental, hardheaded, hard-driving executive. Our close friends know about Cleo, of course, but we don’t have many. I’ve never had the time for them. Up until this past year, when Hilton agreed to send Cleo to Holbrook Hall, I’ve been a full-scale babysitter.”
“What did Cleo take with her when she left here, Mrs. Jasper?”
“As far as I can tell, nothing. She wore the clothes she usually wore to school.”
“In addition to the thousand dollars she withdrew from the bank, did she carry a charge card?”
“Yes, at Drawford’s department store.”
“Was she accustomed to using it?”
“For Christmas gifts, birthdays, occasions like that. Usually when she shopped I went with her and she used my cards.”
She described what Cleo had been wearing on the morning she left with the dog. It was the same kind of outfit Aragon remembered from Cleo’s visit to his office, a navy blue jumper with white blouse and knee socks and black shoes.
“She picked her own clothes,” Mrs. Jasper added. “Mostly little-girl stuff. That was partly because she was so small we often had to buy things in the teen department of the store, but it was also her own choice. That is, until recently.”
“What happened recently?”
“We hired a new girl to come in and serve dinner every night—Lisa, a college senior. Cleo decided she wanted to dress more like Lisa.” She rubbed her left temple with her fingertips as though she were trying to erase a new headache or an old memory. “I guess Hilton’s little sister finally decided to become a woman.”
From the driveway came the unmistakable noise of an old Volkswagen, followed by the crunch of metal. There were a hundred yards of parking space available, but the VW had chosen to park directly behind Aragon’s Chevy.
A short, stout middle-aged woman wriggled out of the front seat and stooped to examine the two bumpers. Her frown and the way she stood with her hands on her hips indicated that in her opinion Aragon’s Chevy had willfully and deliberately backed into her VW. When she satisfied herself that no damage had been done she opened the front door of the car and a dog jumped out, dragging a length of rope. She attempted to grab the rope but the dog was too fast for her. He made a beeline for the garage, nose to the ground and tail wagging so furiously it was going in a circle. His legs were so short his stomach barely cleared the grass. A loud, full-throated bark announced to the world that Zia was home and in charge.
The woman puffed her way across the patio, trying to explain simultaneously that the dog was a holy terror, wouldn’t obey, dragged her every which way, and she hoped it was the right dog because she certainly didn’t intend to take it back, not on your life.
Frieda Jasper assured her it was the right dog. “I’m Frieda Jasper, Mrs. Griswold.”
“Thank heaven for that. About the dog, I mean. The strength of that mite of a creature you wouldn’t believe.”
“And this is Mr. Aragon, who is representing my husband in this matter.”
Mrs. Griswold, in the act of offering her stubby, sunburned hand to Aragon, suddenly withdrew it. “Representing, what’s that mean?”
“I’m one of Mr. Jasper’s lawyers.”
“A lawyer? Well, if that isn’t one for the books, dragging a lawyer into the case of a lost dog. Rich folks sure live different. I wouldn’t pay no lawyer for a commonsense thing like a lost dog.” Her sharp little eyes focused accusingly on Aragon. “Well, whatever commission you’re supposed to get, it’s not coming out of my share of the reward.”
“I’m on salary, not commission,” Aragon said. “You’ll receive the reward in full, Mrs. Griswold.”
“Oh, no, I won’t. I’m only getting fifty dollars for delivering the dog. It’s not much, but fair is fair. I didn’t find it and I didn’t see the ad. It was my tenant, Timothy North. His car’s on the blink.”
“Can you tell me the circumstances under which he found the dog?”
“He didn’t. A man gave it to him. He was in the bar where he works when a man came in and he had this dog with him.”
“Can you tell us the name of the bar or its location?”
“No. But it probably was one of those peculiar places, if you catch my gist. Mr. North is a pleasant young man, eats healthy, never touches a drop of booze, but he’s—well, peculiar.”
“It was a gay bar?”
“I guess that’s what they call it.”
“Did the man come in alone?”
“My goodness, I wasn’t there. They don’t like women coming into those places. Anyway, you’ve got the dog back, so what difference does it make?”
“Perhaps a great deal.”
“It said in the ad, ‘no questions asked,’ and here I am faced with a whole bunch of them. Fraud, that’s what it is, fraud, and you a lawyer, too. You ought to be ashamed.”
“The dog was stolen, Mrs. Griswold, and I’m trying to locate the young woman who stole it.”
“My goodness, don’t you lawyers have more important things to do than tracking down a dog thief? . . . Now I’ll take my money if you don’t mind, and be on my way.”
“I prefer to hand the money over to Mr. North personally . . .”
“That sounds like you don’t trust me.”
“Of course we trust you,” Frieda Jasper said. “You volunteered the information that you didn’t either find the dog or see the advertisement. Only an honest woman would have done that.”
Mrs. Griswold was partly mollified. “Even my worst enemies never called me dishonest.”
“However, Mr. Aragon feels he must talk to your tenant because he might have some vital information. Much more is at stake than a stolen dog.”
“It’s the girl,” Mrs. Griswold said. “It’s the girl you’re after. Well, like I told you before, no girl would have any business going into that bar.”
“These places usually have a pretty steady clientele, like an unofficial club,” Aragon said. “Perhaps Mr. North knew the man who brought the dog in, or at least could give me a description. Would I find him at home now?”
“He was there when I left. I’m going right back and you can follow me in your car if you want to.”
“I’ll do that.”
Mrs. Griswold’s driving proved to be as unorthodox as her parking. She raced through the city streets as though they were roped off for a Grand Prix, and when she hit the freeway she slowed to forty miles an ho
ur and cars honked and passed her on both sides. She finally turned into a driveway without making a signal and Aragon had to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting her.
“You almost hit me,” she said when she got out of her VW. “You’re certainly not much of a driver. Are you just learning?”
“I’ve learned quite a lot in the last fifteen minutes.”
“I like to set a good example to young people,” Mrs. Griswold said virtuously. “I’ll be up front in the office if you need me. Mr. North’s is number ten, at the far end. You may have to pound pretty hard. He’s a bit deaf, being exposed to all that loud music night after night.” She turned to go, then suddenly wheeled around to face Aragon again. “What about my reward?”
“Mr. North hired you. I expect he’ll pay you.”
“He bloody well better or I’ll double his rent.”
The apartment house was more like a motel, a series of small pink stucco buildings with a carport separating each pair. The inner courtyard contained a live oak tree that looked dead, and a fountain with a bronze dolphin prepared to spout water when someone remembered to turn it on. Number ten was at the rear of the courtyard. Its windows were open and music was playing inside, not the kind of loud rock or disco that Mrs. Griswold had referred to but a soft, melancholy Russian nocturne.
Mr. North’s quick response was also unexpected. The door opened before Aragon had a chance to knock.
“Mr. Timothy North?”
“You know it. I saw you out back with Griswold.”
The young man’s eyes went with the music. They were sad and grey and remote. But he had the body of a weight lifter, overdeveloped chest and biceps that looked ready to burst through his skin as well as his T-shirt. His voice seemed, like his muscles, to have been overused.
He said hoarsely, “The basset was yours, huh?”
“I’m prepared to pay the reward.”
“Fine. I’m prepared to accept it.” He turned off the music. “I hope it’s in cash. What did you say your name was?”
“Tom Aragon.”
“And I’m Tim. Tom and Tim. Cute. We could be twins. How about that?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions, Mr. North.”
“Tim.”
“Tim.”
“Questions weren’t part of the deal, Tom,” North said reproachfully. “But you’re calling the shots, amigo. You got the dog, you got the money. All I got is egg on my face. Or what might look like egg to somebody suspicious.”
“I don’t see any egg.”
“Okay, come in.”
About half of the small room was taken up by an expensive-looking exercise machine. The cologne North had sprayed on himself wasn’t quite strong enough to cover the smell of sweat that hung in the air.
North gazed at the machine with parental pride. “Some little contraption, huh? It’s a killer. You wouldn’t last a minute on it.”
“Probably not,” Aragon said. “What’s the name of the bar where you work, Mr. North?”
“Phileo’s. Phileo, that’s the Greek word for I love. Cute, huh?”
“Real cute.”
“It’s not the kind of place where you’d bring your mother, but we got plenty of action. You ought to drop in sometime.”
“Sorry, my mother never lets me go anywhere without her.”
“We might make an exception in her case.”
“Neither does my wife.”
“So you have a wife. You’re not wearing a wedding band.”
“When we were married we couldn’t afford two wedding bands, so we flipped for it. She won. Cute, huh?”
North’s shrug indicated that other people’s cutes weren’t as amusing as his own. Leaning against the exercise machine, he waved his hand in the direction of the couch. “Sit down.”
The couch needed cleaning and reupholstering but Aragon sat. “When did you acquire the dog, Mr. North?”
“Night before last. This man comes into Phileo’s with a basset hound on a leash. He wasn’t one of our regulars. As far as I know I never saw him before. Or since.”
There was something bitter in North’s voice that puzzled Aragon. “Would you describe him?”
“Medium height, a bit paunchy around the middle. Wavy brown hair thinning on top. I’d guess he was in his middle thirties. Not bad-looking but he had a bad case of the glooms. Nothing like the glooms to kill off a guy’s looks. Me, when I feel them coming on I mount Baby here and sweat them away.” He patted the machine on what was more or less its rear end. “Anyway, the guy sits down at the table nearest the door and he and the dog are real quiet, minding their own business. As far as I was concerned they could have stayed there. But the boss spotted them right away and sends me right over. I had to tell the guy that dogs weren’t allowed in there. He apologized. He said dogs didn’t seem to be welcome anyplace anymore, that his landlord had told him to get rid of it or else, and he was looking for someone to take it off his hands. The fact is, I’ve always been a pushover for dogs and I think he guessed this. I said I’d consider it. I went back to the bar and made some customer a margarita—I distinctly remember it was a margarita—and went back and told the guy okay, I’d take it. It was a real cute dog. I kidded myself that Griswold’s little heart would melt at the sight of it. It didn’t.”
“You said the dog was on a leash?”
“A thin brown leather leash and collar with metal tags.”
“It was on a rope when Mrs. Griswold delivered it.”
“That was a funny thing. When he gave me the dog he removed its collar with the leash attached, said he wanted something to remember it by. It didn’t occur to me until I read the ad in the paper that he didn’t want me to see the dog’s tags because it was stolen. Was it?”
“Yes, but not by him—by a young woman.”
“You can bet the rent it wasn’t his woman,” North said with a sardonic smile. “Ordinary people don’t just drop by Phileo’s for a drink. We’re out of the way. You have to come looking for us and know what you’re looking for. This guy belonged there. He didn’t look happy about it. Maybe he was still in the closet or just coming out because he’d discovered closets have glass doors. No matter. He belonged at Phileo’s. Taking the dog there with him, that part was unusual. We don’t run any far-out joint that involves animals. Besides, he wasn’t the type.”
“How could you tell?”
“I got X-ray eyes when it comes to people’s weaknesses. This guy was depressed, real depressed. I don’t say he was sick. He probably had plenty to be depressed about.” Once again there was a curiously bitter note in his voice: so the guy was depressed—serves him right.
“Would you recognize the man if you saw him again?”
“Bet the rent I would. Faces are my business.” North’s own face was beginning to show signs of impatience. “Now I think I’ve answered enough questions for five hundred dollars minus fifty for Griswold. I could slit my throat for offering her fifty. She’d probably have taken twenty. Well, next time I’ll know better. Not much chance of that, though, is there?”
“No.”
The envelope changed hands. North folded the five crisp new hundred-dollar bills and put them in the back pocket of his jeans. Then he picked up the morning newspaper opened to the want-ad section and kissed it vigorously. “Thank you, Daily Press . . . Maybe I should have it framed. On second thought, maybe I should give it to you for good luck. Here you are, Tom. Good luck.”
It didn’t turn out that way.
From a public phone booth in the nearest gas station he called the number given in the lost-and-found ad. A woman answered in a heavy Spanish accent:
“This is the Jasper residence. Hello.”
“Is Ted there?”
“Just a min—No, no. No, no, no.”
There were to
o many no’s. “This is a friend of his from school. I just wanted to say hello.”
“He not here. Mr. Jasper not here. Mrs. Jasper not here. Nobody. Nobody home. Ted say nobody home.”
“Tell him a friend of his from Cal Poly is passing through town and wants to buy him a drink.”
There were sounds of a slight scuffle, a barely audible “Goddam you, Valencia, when are you going to learn?” Then a man’s voice:
“Who is this?”
“We were in the same lab last semester.”
“I didn’t have a lab last semester.”
“Maybe I have the wrong Jasper. Theodore?”
“Edward.”
“Wrong Jasper, obviously. Sorry. It was a natural mistake.”
“Not so natural,” Ted said. “We’re not listed in the phone book . . . Who is this anyway? And what do you want?”
Aragon hung up. It was a stupid error, not checking the telephone directory. But he had the notion that Ted wouldn’t have been of much help under any circumstances. He sounded like a very angry and suspicious young man.
7
It was still morning, though it felt later. The hours spent with Frieda Jasper, Mrs. Griswold and Timothy North seemed to have spread across a whole day like an oil spill, leaving black stains and the smell of tar.
He drove to Holbrook Hall for his second visit of the week. Halfway up the long steep driveway, two older students were preparing to have a picnic lunch under an enormous fig tree. A third was in the tree itself—Donny Whitfield, his fat, sunburned legs dangling like meat on a hook. He let out a yell when he saw Aragon’s car.
“Hey. Hey, wait up!”
Aragon stopped. The boy dropped out of the tree and came stumbling across the lawn. He got in the car, breathing noisily.
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