G is for Gumshoe Read Free Page A

local police? Any chance of getting a line on her through them?”
    â€œI’ve been reluctant to try. My mother is very jealous of her privacy, even a bit eccentric when it comes right down to it. She’d be furious if I contacted the authorities.”
    â€œSix months is a long time to let this ride.”
    Her cheeks tinted slightly. “I’m aware of that, but I kept thinking I’d hear. Frankly, I haven’t wanted to brave her wrath. I warn you, she’s a horror, especially if she’s on a tear. She’s very independent.”
    I thought about the situation, scanning the possibilities. “You mentioned that she has no regular address. How do I find her?”
    She reached down and picked up a leather jewelry case she’d tucked under the chaise. She removed a small envelope and a couple of Polaroid snapshots. “This is her last note. And these are some pictures I took last time I was there. This is the trailer where she lives. I’m sorry I don’t have a snapshot of her.”
    I glanced at the pictures, which showed a vintage mobile home painted flat blue. “When was this taken?”
    â€œThree years ago. Shortly before Clyde and I moved uphere. I can draw you a map, showing you where the trailer’s located. It’ll still be there, I guarantee. Once someone at the Slabs squats on a piece of land—even if it’s just a ten-by-ten pad of concrete—they don’t move. You can’t imagine how possessive people get about raw dirt and a few creosote bushes. Her name, by the way, is Agnes Grey.”
    â€œYou don’t have any pictures of her?”
    â€œActually, I don’t, but everyone knows her. I don’t think you’ll have a problem identifying her if she’s there.”
    â€œAnd if I find her? What then?”
    â€œYou’ll have to let me know what kind of shape she’s in. Then we can decide what course of action seems best. I have to say, I chose you because you’re a woman. Mother doesn’t like men. She doesn’t do well among strangers to begin with, but around men she’s worse. You’ll do it then?”
    â€œI can leave tomorrow if you like.”
    â€œGood. I was hoping you’d say that. I’d like some way to reach you beyond business hours,” she said. “If Mother should get in touch, I want to be able to call without talking to your machine. An address, too, if you would.”
    I jotted my home address and phone number on the back of my business card. “I don’t give this out often so please be discreet,” I said, as I handed it to her.
    â€œOf course. Thank you.”
    We went through the business arrangements. I’d brought a standard contract and we filled in the blanks by hand. She paid me an advance of five hundred dollars and sketched out a crude diagram of the section of the Slabs where her mother’s trailer stood. I hadn’t had a missingpersons case since the previous June and I was eager to get to work. This felt like a routine matter and I considered the job a nice birthday present for myself.
    I left the Gersh house at 12:15, drove straight to the nearest McDonald’s, where I treated myself to a celebratory Quarter Pounder with Cheese.

 
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    By one o’clock I was home again, feeling smug about life. I had a new job, an apartment I was thrilled with . . .
    The phone began to ring as I unlocked the door. I snatched up the receiver before my answering machine kicked in.
    â€œMs. Millhone?” The voice was female and unfamiliar. The hiss in the line suggested the call was long-distance.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWill you hold for Mr. Galishoff?”
    â€œSure,” I said, instantly curious. Lee Galishoff was an attorney in the public defender’s office in Carson City, Nevada, whom I’d worked with some four years back. At the time, he was trying to track a fellow named