G is for Gumshoe

"I'll keep an eye out," she said. And then the door closed.

We tried the next house, and the next, with about the same results. By the time we reached the corner, forty-five minutes had gone by. It was slow work and so far, unproductive. No one had seen Agnes. We headed east on Concorde. A UPS truck approached and we waited on the curb until we'd seen it pass. I put a hand under Irene's arm as we crossed the street, supervising her safety as Dietz supervised mine.

A fine tremor seemed to be vibrating through the dark green silk of her dress. I studied her uneasily. Years of bleaching had left her hair a harsh white-blond, very thin, as if she'd succeeded finally in eliminating any whisper of color from the wispy strands. She had no brows to speak of, just two brown lines she'd penciled in by hand, wide arcs like a child might have drawn on a happy face. I could see that she might have been considered a beauty once upon a tune. Her features were fine, the blue eyes unusual in their clarity. One of her false lashes had come loose, sticking out like a tiny feather. Her complexion was too pale to seem healthy, but the texture of her skin was remarkable. She reminded me of an obscure one-role movie actress of the forties-someone you're surprised to find alive after all these years. She put a trembling hand on mine, her fingers so icy that I drew back in alarm. Her breathing was rapid and shallow.

"Irene, my God. Your hands are like ice. Are you all right?"

"This happens now and then. I'll be fine in a minute."

"Let's find you a place to sit down," I said. We were approaching a three-story clapboard house, tall and narrow with a porch on three sides. The yard was sunny, with the grass newly mown and not much attention to the flower beds. I knew it was a board-and-care because Rosie and I had been given the address. I'd never actually seen the inside of the house. Once Rosie realized there was no wheelchair access, we had crossed it off our list. I remembered the owner as an energetic fellow in his seventies, pleasant enough, but apparently not equipped to handle anyone who wasn't ambulatory. I'd already opened the shrieking iron gate and I could see the front curtain move as someone peered out. This seemed to be a neighborhood where people were on the watch. I couldn't believe Agnes had managed to get even half a block without someone spotting her.

We reached the front porch and Irene sank down on the bottom step. She put her head between her knees. I put a hand on the back of her neck, peering closely at her face. I could hear the wheezing in her throat.

"You want to lie down?"

"No, please. I'll be fine. It's my asthma acting up. I don't want a fuss made. Just let me sit here for a bit."

"Just slow your breathing down, okay? You're starting to hyperventilate. I don't want you passing out."

I checked the street for Clyde, but he was nowhere to be seen. I climbed the steps and crossed to the front door. The owner of the board-and-care emerged just as I was preparing to ring the bell.

He was a man who might have been hefty in his youth. Once-muscular shoulders had softened with age, sloping beneath his shirt. He was clean-shaven and balding, his extended forehead giving him a look of babyhood. He had pouches under his eyes and a mole stuck to his left cheek, like a raisin. "Something I can help you with?" His eyes strayed to Irene and I found my gaze following his. If she fainted, I was going to have a real problem on my hands.

"She'll be all right. She's feeling light-headed and just needs to sit down for a bit," I said. "A woman's disappeared from the nursing home down the block and we're checking with the neighbors, hoping someone's seen her."

He had focused on my face, surveying me quizzically. "You look familiar. Do I know you?"

"Kinsey Millhone," I said. "I was here a couple of weeks ago with a friend of mine-"

"Right, right, right. I remember now. Spunky little redhead with a sister in a wheelchair. I was sorry we couldn't accommodate her. She the one who's missing?"

"No. This is someone else," I said. I held a hand up above my own head, describing her again. "Tall, very thin. She's been gone since early this morning and we can't seem to get a line on her. I can't believe she got far."

"Some of those old folk move fast," he said. "They can fool you if you don't keep an eye out. Wish I could help you, but I've been working in the back. Have you called the police?"

"They were notified first thing. I understand they've searched this whole area. We thought we'd try again."

"Happens occasionally, especially in this neighborhood. Usually they turn up."