Free Drawing Dead by Grant McCrea

was a dog. Not one of those poofed-up little-old-lady dogs. Some mangy thing with red eyes.
    Happened? asked Henry, seeming genuinely confused.
    To your job, she said. As a professor.
    Oh that, he said vaguely. I don’t remember.
    Now, about this Russian fellow you mentioned? I asked Ms. Chandler. Were they married?
    Are
they married?
    Sorry. I didn’t mean … I mean, I didn’t mean to assume, imply, I thought perhaps they were divorced. Or perhaps I meant, had they been married? I mean, I didn’t mean to say that she may have come to any harm.
    Never mind, she said. No, she’s never been married. That I know of.
    Was she living with him?
    Not that I’m aware of. But I don’t know.
    Still seeing him, last you heard?
    Well, I don’t really know. She wasn’t, isn’t, in the habit of talking to me about her personal life. I don’t even remember how I know about him, to tell you the truth.
    Do you remember his name?
    Vladimir, I believe.
    Last name?
    I’m not sure I ever knew his last name.
    Did she ever say they’d broken up or anything?
    No. I don’t think so.
    Okay. Well, normally we’d start with him. But we don’t even have a last name. I think somebody’s just going to have to go to the last address you have, ask around.
    I’ve already paid somebody to do that.
    I understand. I see. Yes. But you pay guys like us for a reason. Maybe we ask a few questions they forgot to ask, or in a different way, if you know what I mean. Ask somebody those guys didn’t think of asking. Follow stuff up. Those guys, they run a service. They have a checklist. They do the minimum. They cash your check. If someone’s … uh … trying to lay low, they’ll never find them.
    All right. I understand.
    Okay. Another thing. You mentioned that she’d been ill.
    Yes.
    And in your note, it said something about being allergic to sunlight?
    Yes.
    What did you mean by that?
    I did not mean anything by that. That is what she told me. To tell you the truth, it has always puzzled me.
    I can understand that. It puzzles me, too. I mean, wouldn’t you move to England, rather than the desert, if you were allergic to sun light? But we can do some research. Figure out what she could have been talking about.
    I would appreciate that.
    By the way, I was curious about one other thing.
    Yes?
    You asked if I had a gun.
    That seems to be a bit of a detour. From the job at hand.
    Yes. Maybe. But it made me wonder. I mean, your sister is missing. She’s been ill. Nothing you’ve told me would make me think that there’s likely to be any danger in trying to track her down.
    Ms. Chandler gazed at me a moment, a small smile at the corners of her mouth. She smoothed her hair. Looked away with a teasing air.
    I was just curious, Mr. Redman. I’ve never dealt with a private investigator before.
    I see.
    But I like it that you asked. It gives one confidence. That you would notice something like that. Follow it up.
    Well, thank you, I said. So, we’ll check out that address. Start there. As soon as we get to Las Vegas. I’ll check it out. Or one of my associates will.
    The one with the pretty face?
    The one with …
    The fellow on the stairs. At your house.
    Oh. Yes. Brendan. Probably. Do you have a problem with that?
    Oh no, not at all. I assume he knows what he’s doing, if he’s with you. I’m sure you trained him well.
    Oh, sure, I lied. You can count on Brendan.
    Ms. Chandler was laughing.
    It was rather disconcerting.

15.
    M Y EYES PEELED OPEN . I looked at my watch. Ten past noon.
    I love an early start to the day.
    I glanced through the mail. Anything that looked official meant I owed somebody money. I threw it out. Anything colorful, with pictures, was potential entertainment. Catalogs were fun. They could only take you so far out of your world, though. Eventually you had to get up, put on some clothes. Do something.
    The phone rang.
    Brendan.
    Brighton Beach, he said. Six o’clock.
    I don’t know, I said. I forgot about that.
    What do