Free W Is for Wasted by Sue Grafton Page A

no longer mysterious in the overall scheme of things. I paused to correct myself. There had actually been three calls, the last one being from the coroner’s office.
    Now that I thought about it, I’d had a number of hang-ups on my office answering machine. There must have been six in all, someone calling while I was out and electing not to leave a message. There was no reason to assume that the caller was the same in every instance and no reason to imagine it was R. T. Dace on the other end. But it was possible. Nothing to be done about it at this point, and I felt a momentary, formless regret.
    As long as I was only three blocks from home, I decided to stop off and see what kind of luck Henry was having with the cat. I’d left that morning long before William’s appointment with the neurologist, and I was interested in an update on his condition as well. I found a parking spot across the street from Rosie’s place and noticed that the tenting was down. I could see a workman closing the downstairs windows, and I assumed that both the restaurant and the apartment upstairs had undergone a thorough airing out.
    I locked my car, walked the half block, and made my way into the backyard. There was no sign of Henry, no sign of the cat, and no sign of William. Henry’s kitchen door was open, and when I tapped on the frame, there was a lengthy delay and then William hobbled into view from the direction of the living room. He held the door for me and I stepped into the kitchen.
    “Henry’s not here, but he’s due back momentarily. Have a seat and don’t mind me if I stand. Hurts too much to get up and down. I’m better off on my feet.”
    “I see the termite tenting’s down. Will you be staying here or going home?”
    “I’ll go home if I can manage it. I’m sure Henry will be glad to see the last of me.”
    “What about all the kitchen equipment and supplies? Won’t they have to be moved back in?”
    “I suppose that can wait until Rosie gets home.”
    “I’ll be happy to help. If you’ll direct our efforts, Henry and I can do the work.”
    I pulled out a kitchen chair and settled my shoulder bag on the floor nearby. William leaned against the counter with his cane to provide balance. I could see past him into the backyard, so I knew I’d spot Henry as soon as he appeared. “How’d your doctor’s appointment go?” I asked.
    “Dr. Metzger did a thorough examination and didn’t seem to think an MRI would be necessary for now. He made a point of saying ‘for now.’ ‘Always have ammunition in reserve’ was the way he put it. He prescribed an anti-inflammatory, pain medication, and a muscle relaxant. I’m also to do physical therapy three times a week. I have a heating pad that I’m to use before therapy and an ice pack for after.”
    I sensed William’s discomfiture that his medical prognosis had been downgraded from near death, past acute, down to the mundane level of pills, ice packs, and PT. Added to that shame was his miscalculation with regard to the cat. I said, “Well, thank heaven you came home when you did. If you’d stayed in Flint four more days, no telling how bad your sciatica would have been. At least you’re under the care of a specialist.”
    “The doctor said so as well, that I’d done exactly what he would have done in my shoes.”
    “Absolutely. Good for you,” I said. “When do your physical therapy sessions start?”
    “Tomorrow afternoon. I believe the facility is not far from here. Of course, I don’t want to be a burden, so I might take a cab. I hate to put Henry out.”
    “Where’d you sleep last night? I thought both his guest rooms were stacked with items from the restaurant.”
    “He offered me the couch, but I thought it best that I sleep on the floor. Once I managed to get down, which was no easy task, I kept my knees elevated so my back remained flat and properly supported. I slept as well as I could under the circumstances.”
    “What’s the situation with