I laughed. “Damn it. Now I’ll be ugly at the same time I’m feeling stupid.”
“You’re not stupid. You’re adorable. You make lousy coffee, but I’ll try not to blame you for that.”
“Quit saying nice things.”
He swayed, holding me in his arms. It was like dancing in place; the first time he’d actually touched me since he’d been back. That first night, he’d declined to kiss my cheek. At that point, he was still half mad at me and I was still indignant that he’d accused me of recommending him to Pete. I could feel the whisper of sexuality rising up along my frame.
I stepped back. “Let’s don’t do this. It makes no sense.”
“Does everything have to make sense?”
“Yes, it does and I’ll tell you why. I’m the one being left behind. And I understand why and I wish you well, but I don’t see any reason to put my soul on the line.”
“You think my soul’s not on the line?”
“I don’t.”
“You’re mistaken about that.”
“Okay, fine. I stand corrected and let’s not turn this into an argument. I don’t want us to leave each other with bad feelings. If you come back, we can revisit the issue.”
“When I come back, not if.”
“Don’t push your luck.”
He watched me for a moment and whatever he saw in my eyes must have been more eloquent than our brief exchange. “You want me to call?”
“Nope. I want you to go where the wind blows you. I want you to have an incredible adventure with your son. Anything else can wait and if I never see you again, I’ll somehow manage to survive, so don’t worry on my account.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Although it does sound harsh.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“Better. I’ll get in touch when I can.”
And that’s where we left it. When the door closed behind him, I waited until I heard the low rumble of his Porsche come to life and then diminish as he drove away. I picked up the saucer and let the sour milk run down the kitchen drain. I emptied the coffeepot and washed it, washing the saucer at the same time, thus restoring order to this small life of mine. I checked Ed’s reaction. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
He sat politely and we shared a long look. He blinked at me lazily and I blinked back at half speed, an exchange I later learned was called a cat kiss. When the phone rang, I pointed at Ed. “Stay.”
I crossed to the desk and picked up the handset.
“Hey, Kinsey. This is Aaron Blumberg.”
“Hi, Aaron. How are you?” This was me being cordial in the midst of unacknowledged heartbreak. Really, I should have been weeping my baby eyes out, but I’m made of sterner stuff.
He said, “I’m fine, thanks. I called because we have the autopsy report and lab work on Dace and I thought you might want a rundown.”
“That was fast,” I said. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”
“It’s been ten days,” he said. “About par for the course. Case wasn’t complicated. I’ll send you a copy of Dr. Palchek’s notes, but you might as well get the gist of it by phone.”
“Great.”
“I’ll give you the formal version first and then answer any questions you have. Cause of death was hepatic failure due to chronic alcoholism. Thus the jaundice. No big surprise there.”
“Right.”
“He was also suffering from alcoholic ketoacidosis syndrome. AKA for short. Essentially we’re talking about the buildup of ketones in the blood. Ketones are a type of acid that form when the body breaks down fat for energy. Patients typically have a recent history of binge drinking, little or no food intake, and persistent vomiting. This results in a delay and decrease in insulin secretion and excess glucagon secretion. A lot of hokum here that I’ll skip . . .
“Basically, all patients with severe AKA are dehydrated. Several mechanisms might be responsible, including decreased fluid intake and inhibition of antidiuretic hormone secretion by ethanol. Volume depletion is a stimulus to the sympathetic nervous system, which decreases the ability of the kidneys to excrete ketoacids and can culminate in circulatory collapse.
“My guess is if you go back and talk to his pals, they’ll confirm one or more of the following symptoms. You got a pencil and paper handy?”
I picked up a pen and pulled over a scratch pad, jotting down the list as he recited it.
“Abdominal pain, agitation, confusion, an altered level of alertness. Also, let’s see here . . . low blood pressure, fatigue, sometimes dizziness. Fruity breath is one key, so be sure you ask about that. Smells like acetone.”
“You want verification?”
“It might satisfy any questions his cohorts have. His family might be interested as well. The bad news is, if someone had picked up on his condition and had taken him to the ER in time, he might be alive.”
“Oh, man. I think I’ll keep that to myself,” I said. “Anything else?”
“Well, just running down the page here . . .autopsy showed his heart was enlarged and there was also extensive kidney damage.”
“Also associated with chronic alcoholism I’d imagine.”
“Can be. The only thing that struck me as odd was that blood and urine came back negative for opiates and alcohol.”
I was silent. “You’re saying he was sober?”
“Totally.”
“Are you sure? Because two of his homeless pals swear he was drunk to the end. In fact, Pearl was devastated because he swore up and down he’d quit.”
“Well, there’s no way to know how efficiently he metabolized alcohol, but he was clean on October 7 and probably the day before as well. He might’ve behaved like he was drunk. Kidneys start shutting down and the buildup of toxins can render you incoherent. Lethargy’s another symptom that can mimic inebriation. He might have garbled his words.”
I said, “I’ll ask about that. I’m told he’d been going downhill for months.”
“He was a short-timer. No doubt about that. All I’m saying is what got him wasn’t the result of alcohol consumption during the two or three days prior. The time frame’s a guess on my part, by the way.”
“What about pain pills? I hear he was hooked on those.”
“Nope. No sign of anything in his system,” he said. “At any rate, if you hear something to the contrary, you let me know.”
“I’ll do that. And thanks.”
30
I sat at my desk, wondering what to make of it. I certainly wasn’t going to tell Pearl that Dace might have been saved. She had Felix’s death to deal with and that was enough. She was already blaming herself for the beating that killed him. I picked up my jacket, my bag, and car keys. Ed seemed willing to follow me into the yard, but I couldn’t be sure he’d behave once I was gone. I went back into my apartment and snagged Henry’s house keys. I locked my door, lifted Ed, and tucked him under my arm. He purred happily, perhaps thinking we’d be going through life this way, his warm body pressed against mine. I would have kissed his sweet head, but I didn’t know him that well and I was worried he’d take offense. I unlocked Henry’s door and dropped him inside, a move he also accepted without complaint.
In the car again, I drove along the beach, scanning the grassy areas along the bike path for sight of Dandy or Pearl. I spotted them in their usual place, in the area under the palms, across the street from the Santa Teresa Inn. They’d set up day camp. They had their carts close by, angled against the damp breeze coming off the surf. Both purloined grocery carts were filled with blankets, pillows, and shopping bags that bulged with recyclable bottles and soda cans. There was a redemption center three blocks away and the homeless supplemented their sketchy incomes by turning in glass and plastic for whatever it netted them. Of course, they squandered the money on bad booze and cheap smokes, trusting the good folks in town would see to their room and board.