Free Pish Posh by Ellen Potter Page B

nickname Doom and Gloom June had stuck.
    Clara looked at June Loblolly’s photo. It was not so much that she had a sad look on her face, but that her features were strangely set, so that she always gave the appearance of being gloomy.
    Finally, a tall, handsome, auburn-haired woman appeared at the reception desk, and the receptionist said to her, “Ah, Ms. Piff! This young lady is asking for your father. She says she’s a friend of his.”
    Ms. Piff looked at Clara with her auburn eyebrows arched high. Clara had heard Dr. Piff speak about his daughter, but she had always got the feeling that he didn’t like her very much.
    â€œCome this way, please, ” Ms. Piff said to Clara. She turned, and her heels clicked down the hallway and into an office with a large desk in the center covered with papers, and behind the desk were three file cabinets that were all open and empty. On the floor were a dozen or so cartons.
    â€œSit down, please,” said Ms. Piff coolly, gesturing for Clara to sit down on a little chair while she went around and sat behind the desk. “Now, what is this about?”
    â€œWhere’s Dr. Piff?” Clara asked.
    â€œDr. Piff is dead, ” she said. Then, seeing the shock on Clara’s face, she added, “I’m sorry to be so blunt, but I believe in being direct in such matters, even with children.”
    â€œHow?” Clara managed to murmur.
    â€œA heart attack. Just yesterday.” She stiffened when she saw the look on Clara’s face, and added, “If you are going to cry, I can provide you with tissues, or I can put my arm around you. Which would you prefer?”
    â€œI’m not going to cry. ”
    â€œThat’s good.” Ms. Piff seemed to relax a little.
    In fact, Clara felt a little numb. She had never known anyone who had died.
    â€œIs there anything else I can do for you?” Ms. Piff asked in a way that really meant “Now it’s time for you to leave.”
    Clara hesitated, having forgotten momentarily why she had come. “No,” she said absently, and she rose to leave. But then she stopped and said, “Yes. Yes, I have a question about someone. I think she was a patient of Dr. Piff’s. Her name is Audrey—”
    â€œOh, for goodness’ sake, don’t talk to me about my father’s patients!” Ms. Piff had clearly used up all the compassion she had in reserve, and now her tone was downright snappish. “Look around.” She indicated the boxes scattered all over the floor, each marked with letters on the lids, like A-D, and E-G. “I’ve been knee deep in my father’s patients all morning—hundreds of them. Good Lord, he was a terrible slob. ”
    Clara winced. It bothered her somehow to hear Dr. Piff described in those terms.
    â€œNow, if that’s all ...” Ms. Piff clapped her knees and stood up. She’d apparently had enough of chatting with an eleven-year-old girl.
    â€œI think perhaps I am going to cry,” said Clara. “Would you please get me a tissue?”
    Ms. Piff sighed very loudly. “You might have cried before, you know, when I first made the offer. ”
    â€œIt’s just coming on now,” Clara said.
    â€œOh, fine.” And Ms. Piff and her clicking heels left the room.
    Clara knelt beside the A-D file box and thumbed through the files quickly. No sign of a file for Audrey Aster.
    She stood up, sighed, lifted her sunglasses, and propped them up on her head. Then she saw it. It was lying on top of a pile of papers and magazines on the floor near the window: a beautifully framed drawing of a goldfish swimming in a lop-sided fishbowl. The goldfish was wearing blue pants, and was smiling. There were braces on its teeth. In the bottom left-hand corner was her own childish, printed signature.
    Oh! She remembered that drawing! She had made it for Dr. Piff when she was six. She remembered drawing it, too, and how