Free Hillerman, Tony by Finding Moon (v4) [html]

of Southeast Asia and the rules of the game. He’d call him. But first he picked up the letter.
    The envelope was a standard business size, addressed to Mr. Moon Mathias in care of Castenada’s office. No return address. The postmark was faint, but it seemed to read KUPANG, TIMOR . Timor? An island, Moon thought. Something like Ceylon. But where? And who there would know him as Moon? Know him at all? Have any business with him? He tore it open. The single sheet of paper was as plain as the envelope.
    Dear Mr. Mathias:
    I am a former client of Ricky’s and I think of him as a friend as well. Only today did I hear the sad news of his death. First please accept my condolences. I am sure that the immense admiration Ricky felt for you was mutual and that the loss must be a terrible one. I, too, have a brother with whom I am very close.
    I am asking Mr. Castenada to forward this letter to you. By the time you receive it, or very soon thereafter, I will be in Manila at the Hotel Del Mar. Please call me there. I would not ask this of you if it was not a matter of extreme importance. In fact, it is a matter of life and death.
    Sincerely,
Mrs. Osa van Winjgaarden
    Moon found the Hotel Del Mar in the phone book, picked up the telephone, and then put it back. Life or death or not, it could wait until tomorrow. Mrs. what’s-her-name probably wasn’t even here yet. He did a bit of mental arithmetic and set the alarm beside his bed for two A.M. if he had the time zones right that would be ten A.M. in L.A. and eleven in Durance, a decent time to be ringing telephones there.
    In fact, it was a little early for the person he most wanted to reach. Dr. Serna was in surgery and “not available.” The nurse in his mother’s ward reported her officially in serious condition but sleeping comfortably.
    The receptionist answered Debbie’s office number. Someone new. She reported Debbie was off today. She’d called in sick. Try her at home. Moon called his home number, let the phone ring twelve times, and hung up feeling uneasy. Sick? How sick? Debbie was never sick, not even during her period. But Debbie often didn’t bother to answer the telephone. And sometimes Debbie wasn’t home when people thought she was. And for Debbie, calling in sick would not necessarily have much to do with the state of her health.
    Moon called the paper. Shirley sounded delighted to hear his voice. How was his mother? How was he? How was Manila? When would he be home? Shirley was going by his house every day to feed her dog and wanted to know how soon— “Why?” Moon asked. “Debbie can feed the dog until I get back.” For Shirley, “going by” his house meant driving a dozen miles in the wrong direction. She was sticking herself with a long round trip just because she was too proud to accept a favor from Debbie. Downright silliness. Moon’s mood had shown in his tone, and Shirley’s tone showed she had noticed it.
    “I think Debbie may have gone off on a little journey. Or something.”
    “Well,” Moon said, wondering how he could make amends, trying to remember how he came to be tending Shirley’s spaniel. Yes, it was because her apartment had changed ownership and the new landlord didn’t allow pets. She needed a dog tender until she could work something out. “Maybe Hubbell could feed the dog,” Moon said. “What do you think? You know he rents a room from me.”
    Shirley laughed, placated. “I think he’d tell me to take care of my own damn dog,” she said. “Or maybe something a little worse.”
    “You’re right,” Moon said. “But switch me over and I’ll ask him.”
    Hubbell said he’d be willing to haul Shirley’s dog out into the San Juans and let the coyotes solve the problem. And how was Moon’s mother? And were the Manila women as slick as they were when he did his navy time in the Islands, and when was Moon coming back, because it was time to get going on the damned vacation edition, and he was pretty sure Rooney was