The Julius House Page 0,30

comfortable, if not exactly happy. I supposed, if you couldn't live entirely on your own, this would be a good place to live. Mrs. Totino's apartment was on the third floor. I could tell by the spacing of the doors that some apartments were larger than others. Hers was one of the small ones. I knocked, and the door swung open almost before I could remove my hand.

I could look her straight in the eyes, so she wasn't more then five feet tall. Her eyes were dark brown, sunk in wrinkles that were themselves blotched with age spots. She had a large nose and a small mouth. Her wispy white hair was escaping from a small bun on the back of her head. She wore no glasses, which surprised me. Her ludicrously cheerful yellow and orange striped dress was covered with a gray sweater and the air that rushed out smelled strongly of air freshener, talcum powder, and cooking.

"Yes?" Her voice was deep and pleasant, not shaky as I'd expected.

"I'm Aurora Teagarden, Mrs. Totino."

"That's what Duncan said. Now, what kind of name is Duncan for a black man? I ask you." And she backed into her apartment to indicate I should enter. "I asked him that, too," she said with great amusement at her own daring. "I said, 'I never knew no black man called Duncan before.' He said, 'What you think I should be called, Miz Totino? LeRoy?' That Duncan! I laughed and laughed." Who-wee, what a knee-slapper. I bet Duncan had thought so, too.

"Have a seat, have a seat."

I looked around me nervously. There were seats to be had, but everything was so busy I wasn't sure if they were occupied or not. The sofa and matching chair were violently flowered in orange and brown and cream. The table between the chair and the sofa contained a TV Guide, the ugliest lamp in the universe, a red-and-white glass dish containing hard candy, a pair of reading glasses, a box of Kleenex, and a stunningly sentimental figurine of a little girl with big eyes petting a cuddly puppy with the legend across the base, "My Best Friend." I finally decided one of the couch cushions was empty and lowered myself gingerly down.

"This apartment building is very nice," I offered. "Oh, yes, the new security makes all the difference in the world! Can I get you a cup of coffee? I'm afraid I only have instant decaffeinated." Then why have coffee at all? "No, thank you."

"Or a - Coke? I think I have a Coke stuck in the refrigerator."

"Okay, thanks."

She walked bent over, and haltingly. In the jammed tiny room there were two doorways, one at the rear left leading into the kitchen and one at the right into the bedroom. I heard the sounds of fumbling and muttering in the kitchen and took the chance to look around me.

The walls were covered with doodads of every description. Gold-tone butterflies in a group of three, one rather pretty painting of a bowl of flowers, two awful prints of cherubic children being sweet with cute animals, a straw basket holding dried flowers that looked extremely dusty, a plaque with The Serenity Prayer... I began to feel dazed at the multitude of things that presented themselves for inspection. I thought of all the room in our house and felt a stir of guilt.

Then the television caught my attention. All this time it had been on, but I had not paid any attention to the picture. I realized now that the scene I was seeing was the apartment building lobby. An old man with a walker moved slowly across the screen as I watched. Good Lord. I wondered if many of the residents chose to watch life in their lobby.

Mrs. Totino tottered back into the room with a glass of Coke and ice clutched in her shaking hand. The ice was tinkling against the glass with a quick tempo that was distinctly nerve-wracking.

"Did you like the placemats?" Mrs. Totino asked suddenly and loudly.

We negotiated the transfer of the Coke from her hand to mine.

"I've never seen any like them," I said sincerely. "Now, I know you won't be offended when I tell you that they were wedding presents for T.C. and Hope. They'd been packed away in a drawer for these many years, and I thought, why not let someone else enjoy them? And they've never been used - it's not like I gave you a used gift!" "Recycled," I suggested.

"Right, right. Everything's