Free Mind to Mind: Ashton Ford, Psychic Detective by Don Pendleton Page B

new
meanings, the depth perception was just a bit off, colors seemed
more vivid. Time and motion seemed a bit out of whack, too, not
entirely synchronized in the usual manner. I asked Alison if she
was experiencing the same problem, but she apparently was not
because she did not seem to understand the question.
    At any rate, I did not
immediately trust myself behind the wheel of a car. I also did not
trust another driver behind the wheel of my Maserati. So I stalled
a little, walked around the car several times checking the tires
and bumpers and lights and so forth until the commonsense reality
was back in place in my head. Then we took off for Hollywood, both
of us in the Maserati.
    I had a copy of the
computer graphics sealed in a manila envelope as my "passport" into
the Cochran household. I did not expect that Jim would be home;
hoped that he would not. It was Vicky Victoria that I was
interested in. I was hoping for a few minutes alone with her. And I
wanted Alison to see her in the flesh.
    It worked out just fine.
The Cochran home is in the Hollywood hills, up by the reservoir.
Nice place. The homes in this area don't look all that great from
the street side because the exposure is to the rear; the yard is
back there, the view is back there, therefore the actual "front" of
the house is back there. You don't see a lot from the street
approach. The lots are rather narrow, the houses therefore closely
side by side. But half of Jim's lot was terraced hillside. He was a
pretty good handyman, so he did a lot of improvements on his own.
Built his own swimming pool and spa, had a nice little play area
for the kids on the terrace.
    Georgia was working in a
small flower garden back there. A little boy of about eight
answered our ring and took us through. He was
"Manuel-Manuel"—Manuel being Spanish for Immanuel, which means "God
is with us." He told us that himself, in transit from the front
door to the back. This little boy was Latino. He had a withered
left arm and walked with a sort of crabbing gait, the result of an
also less-than-whole left leg.
    I had told Alison that the children were
adopted, to properly prepare her for the meeting. She caught my
eye as we followed along behind the slow but enthusiastic lead of
Manuel-Manuel and whispered to me, "These are good people."
    I nodded silent agreement
with that. It does take, I'm sure, a somewhat different
"commonsense notion" of values to adopt a physically handicapped
child. I mean, when it happens to you with your own, then I guess
you just swallow hard and try to make the best of a heartbreaking
situation. But to take on someone else's heartbreak ... well, yes,
that presupposed a rather uncommon approach to the value system.
And I guess I knew then why I had instantly liked Georgia Cochran,
why I'd always had a special feeling for her husband
too.
    I introduced the women
without going into Alison's background, and I lied a little as to
the nature of our visit. I do that sometimes when a little lie
seems appropriate. I placed the manila envelope on a patio table
and explained that we were passing nearby the neighborhood, decided
to leave the package for Jim rather than trying to track him down
at work.
    Georgia seemed to buy
that, smiled at Alison, said, "Oh, yes, I recognize the name now.
You're the psychologist for ... that poor girl."
    She insisted on refreshing us. We decided on
iced tea, and Georgia went inside to attend to that.
    All this time Vicky
Victoria has been silently watching us from atop a small sliding
board on the terrace. She is holding a large book, open on her
lap. As soon as Georgia goes inside the house, Vicky slides on down
and comes over to join us. Alison and I are seated at the patio
table. Vicky carefully deposits the book on the table and moves
around behind to perch on my lap.
    I catch the expression on
Alison's face as she is inspecting this little squirt. She is
obviously "taken" by what Cochran himself has described as the
"uncanny