he climbed back up to the house
In my office, a dusty stack of psych journals beckoned. A twenty-pagetreatise on the eye-blink reflex in schizophrenic Hooded rats lowered myeyelids.
I went down to the pond and fed the koi. For fish, they’re smart, havelearned to swarm the moment I come down the stairs. It’s nice to be wanted.
Warm air and sloshing water put me under again. The next thing I saw was Milo’s big face crowding my visual field.
Smile as wide as a continent. Scariest clown in the known world. I mumbledsome kind of greeting.
“What’s with you?” he said. “Snoozing midday like a codger?”
“What time is it?”
He told me. An hour had vanished. “What’s next, white shoes and dinner atfour?”
“Robin naps.”
“Robin has a real job.”
I got to my feet and yawned. The fish sped toward me. Milohummed the theme from Jaws. In his hand was a folder. Unmistakable shade ofblue.
“A new one?” I said.
Instead of answering, he climbed back up to the house. I cleared my head andfollowed.
He sat himself at the kitchen table, napkin tucked into his collar, dishesand utensils set for one. Half a dozen slices of toast, runny Vesuvius ofscrambled eggs, sixteen-ounce glass of orange juice, half emptied.
He wiped pulp from his lips. “Love this place. Breakfast served any time.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to rob you blind if such were my intention. Why can’t Iconvince you to lock your door?”
“No one drops in but you.”
“This isn’t a visit, it’s business.” He stabbed the egg mound, slid the bluefolder across the table. A second file separated from the first. “Read ’em andwake.”
A pair of missing persons cases. Gaidelas, A. Gaidelas, C.
Consecutive case numbers.
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