was so happy I was finally back from being in Florida forever, and he made my favorite. His chili’s really amazing, and of course Marino and everyone’s blaming us as if we’re irresponsible and don’t care if we kill our cat.” He looks at me and looks exhausted, fear crouched at the back of his eyes. “She’s only ten weeks old, Dr. Scarpetta, and I’ve had cats before and know when something’s really wrong.”
“I’m sorry, Bryce.” I set the file on the table and shut the door that leads into the corridor. “We’ll talk about it when I’m back.”
“I know it happened at the groomer,” he continues from inside my closet, where he’s now looking for something on the floor. “Well, your shoes are here but still no pantyhose. Just a week ago Saturday, her very first visit to get her claws clipped, and there she was with about twenty other animals, including a parrot that was making these strangling, hacking sounds like it had kennel cough. I realize it might have been imitating it, but what if it wasn’t . . . ?”
“Bryce, I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but I’ve got to get cleaned up.”
He hands me my shoes.
“Do you have any idea how careful we are?” He’s on the verge of tears.
“I promise we’ll chat about this later. . . .”
“We’re so paranoid about onions and poisonous things, like poinsettias, which we refuse to have in the house, and I don’t eat raw onions anyway. . . .”
“I’ve got to get ready and can’t with you standing here. . . .”
“So we always use onion powder, which is better all the way round, because there’s no chance of the ittiest, bittiest piece escaping the counter and ending up on the floor.” His eyes well up.
“You put onion powder in your chili?” I carry my suit and blouse into the bathroom and hang them on the shower door.
“Now’s not the time to criticize our cooking.” His voice shakes.
“I had a cat when I was in law school, and sometimes he refused to eat. . . .”
“They can be very sensitive. He was probably angry with you.”
“A vet suggested I give him meat baby food, and apparently it had onion powder in it, which can cause toxicity, the same as raw onions, by oxidizing hemoglobin. . . .”
“Oh my God! Did he die?”
“No. It’s just something to think about and mention to the vet. And you need to leave so I can change. Please.”
“It’s just terribly upsetting.”
“Well, I guess I’ll just change in here.” I set my shoes on the toilet lid.
“You need to be aware the media’s been ringing the phone off the hook.”
His voice sounds loudly, tragically from the doorway that adjoins my office with his, and I unzip the gray liner and hurry out of it, leaving it in a pile on my bathroom floor.
“Calling my cell phone, too, at least those reporters who have my number. There’s huge speculation that the old lady you just pulled out of the bay is Mildred Lott. . . .”
“No evidence of it.” I run a washcloth under hot water and clean up as best I can, and of course a shower right now is impossible.
“You know? That someone obviously was holding her hostage all this time, or maybe her disappearance was faked back in the spring or how she’s been hiding and finally drowned herself? You should hear the theories.”
“There’s nothing to make me think it’s her.” I pull on a new pair of pantyhose I retrieve from a cabinet.
“Meaning her husband, Channing Lott, couldn’t have had anything to do with her death, since he’s considered a flight risk and has been in jail without bond since April?” Bryce has the remarkable ability of talking nonstop without seeming to take a breath. “So how could he possibly have killed her or paid someone else to some six months after she supposedly vanished?”
I step into my pin-striped skirt and yank up the zipper in back. “I don’t want you releasing any information at all, not one word about this case, please.” I hurry into my blouse, fumbling with the buttons and tucking it in, disgusted by how quickly rumors can start and how difficult it is to disarm them. “Not even a hint of an opinion about whether the dead lady might be Mildred Lott or Emma Shubert or anyone. Understood?”
“Well, of course. I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. I know what the press does with the