16.

I met Sorrentino for dinner. He hadn’t learned a damned thing, and neither had I. The cow that supplied the steak had been a muscle builder that would put Arnold Schwarzenegger to shame. Dessert wasn’t much better, and we agreed to meet at yet another Bob Evans for lunch the next day. Then I remembered that it was Sunday, and I had planned to stay home and watch the Bengals, so we agreed to skip lunch and meet at a German joint, of which Cincinnati has its share, for dinner.

I was really looking forward to kicking off my shoes, fighting Marlowe for the couch cushion that was directly in front of the TV, and watching Cary Grant portray Cary Grant in a quartet of movies.

But before I could unlock the door to my apartment, Mrs. Cominsky rushed up to me.

“Three hundred and seventy-two more, just today,” she announced.

“Find the guilty party yet?” I asked without much interest.

“Guilty of what?” she responded. “We’ve got seven for-sure rapists, a dozen sodomists, nine pedophiles, twenty-two hookers . . . and the list goes on and on.”

“The charm of living in the city,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Makes me afraid to walk to the supermarket,” she said.

“Well, turn ’em over to the cops and let them worry about it,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to get by her and put my key in the lock.

“Not yet,” she said quickly. “There are some I need to study further.”

“To see who returned the cat?”

She looked blank for a moment, and then my question registered. “Oh, of course,” she said quickly. “Definitely. That’s what this is all about.”

“Right,” I said. Marlowe, who had doubtless been listening, finally barked, now that the dirty parts were over. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d better take the dog for a walk before he does something dreadful to your rug.”

“My carpet!” she snapped.

She stepped aside as I unlocked and opened the door. Marlowe was standing just on the other side, and his expression seemed to ask why I was wasting my time with this dirty old lady when I could be walking him in the freezing rain. I didn’t have an answer, so I stuck a leash on him and took him outside.

He’d just finished blessing Mrs. Garabaldi’s petunias in his own unique way when she stuck her head out the window and began cursing us both out, as usual.

“Hey, Mrs. Garabaldi,” I said. “I want to make amends for my dog’s poor behavior.” She stared at me, frowning. “Mrs. Cominsky down the street has a bunch of pornographic letters she’d like to share with you.”

She kept staring.

“I’m not kidding. They’re the real thing.”

“Mrs. Cominsky?” she said at last.

“Right.”

“Dirty letters?”

“Filthy,” I said.

She closed the window without another word. I went straight home and never did see if she showed up or not, but the thought of the two old biddies poring over those letters kept me warm on a chilly winter night.

The next day, I woke up half an hour before kickoff, watched the Bengals almost blow a twenty-point lead, met Sorrentino for dinner, exchanged three pleasantries and no information, and went back home, where Marlowe and I spent a few hours watching Gary Cooper say “Yup” and “Nope” and occasionally shoot the bad guys. I walked him one more time and went to bed.

This time I was photographing Bettie Page on a beach. There was no one within miles of the two of us, and she was twenty-four years old again. I told her I loved her. She opened her moist red lips to answer, and nothing came out but a ringing sound.

“Bettie, are you all right?” I said apprehensively.

She smiled reassuringly and tried to tell me she was fine and madly in love with me, but she made that ringing noise again.

Suddenly the wind growled in my ear. It seemed to be saying, Answer the fucking telephone.

I sat up in the bed, shook my head a couple of times to remove Bettie from it, told Marlowe to shut the hell up, and picked up the phone.

“Hello?” I muttered.

“Mr. Paxton?”

“Right,” I said, blinking my eyes to get some of the sleep out of them.

“This is Phineas Kaiser.”

“Who?” I said groggily.

“Phineas Kaiser.”

“Do I know you?”

“I’m a jeweler. You were in my store on Saturday.”

“Oh! Right!” I said, suddenly alert. “What can I do for you, Mr. Kaiser?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “But perhaps I can do something for you.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I passed the word about your missing diamonds to some of my colleagues, the ones who might expect to handle such items. And I scanned the insurance policy’s description and e-mailed it to them.”

“And?” I said, trying to keep my excitement out of my voice.

“And Winslow Monroe, who runs a shop about a mile from mine, tells me he was offered a diamond ring that was worth in the neighborhood of one hundred thousand dollars. He passed on it—even a jeweler of Winslow’s stature doesn’t shell out that kind of money without a buyer in mind—and he returned it to her. But of course he examined it very thoroughly, and he is certain it was one of your missing diamonds.”

“And his name is Winslow Monroe?” I said.

“That’s correct.”

“Do you happen to have his address?”

He gave it to me. I’d fallen asleep in my pants and shirt, so I pulled a pen out of my pocket. I couldn’t find any paper on the bed table, so I wrote it down on my shirt cuff.

“Thanks, Mr. Kaiser,” I said. “What time does he open?”

“It’s eleven o’clock,” answered Kaiser. “He’s been open for two hours.”

“You’ve been a big help,” I said. “If there’s ever anything I can do to thank you, just let me know.”

“Well . . .” he began slowly.

“Yes?”

“Next time you’re near the store, please drop in and inspect my burglar alarm system. I’ve been wondering if it’s time to update it.”

“You got yourself a deal, Mr. Kaiser,” I promised him.

We hung up, I decided to change shirts, and then Marlowe reminded me that it was time to walk the dog. I took him out, and even though he spread more holy water on Mrs. Garabaldi’s petunias, there was no cursing.

“Eli,” I muttered to myself as we turned to go back home, “you’ve made two old ladies very happy.”

I decided that it was my good deed for the month, and it was time to get back to work. I returned Marlowe to the apartment, barely avoided him as he made a dash for the couch, and went off to talk diamonds with the one man who had actually seen what I was looking for.