old man going missing.”
“Fine,” Frasier snapped. “Let’s just go find him.”
I turned to Will. “I’ll be back later if I can–”
“I’m coming with you,” he broke in as he handed the cheese and crackers to one of the men standing there. “I’m not going to let you wander around the French Quarter alone at night.”
“I won’t be alone. Dr. Frasier and Dr. Paige are going, too.”
“Well, there’ll be four of us, then,” Will insisted.
I didn’t want to waste any more time arguing about that, so I said, “All right, come on. Let’s go.”
The tuxedo-clad man protested. “I still think we should call the police now.”
“Let ‘em take a look,” Dr. Keller urged. “It won’t take long to check and see if the old guy showed up at the hotel since Dr. Frasier left.”
That’s what I thought. There wouldn’t be any leisurely stroll along the sidewalks of the French Quarter this time. I wanted to get back to the St. Emilion as fast as we could.
We left the theater and headed for the hotel, walking fast. I asked Frasier, “Did you actually tell anybody at the hotel that Mr. Burleson is missing?”
He shook his head. “No. The room service operator probably wondered why I was asking if his food had been delivered, but I didn’t specifically say that I couldn’t find him.”
That meant the hotel management wouldn’t have notified the authorities, either.
“Does he have Alzheimer’s?”
“What?” Frasier snapped in reply to my question. “Howard, you mean?”
“Yeah. Has he been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s? Is he on medication for it or for anything else?”
“Not that I know of. His memory’s a little fuzzy sometimes, but mostly he’s as sharp as he can be.”
Dr. Paige said, “Except when he starts trying to convince people that he and Tennessee Williams were lovers.”
“They–” Frasier began angrily, then stopped short in his argument. He turned back to me and said, “Why do you want to know if he has Alzheimer’s?”
“Because if he doesn’t, the police might not even start to look for him for twenty-four or forty-eight hours, depending on what their policy is here. They’ll make an exception, though, if the missing person is delusional or on medication.”
“I don’t know what medication he’s taking,” Frasier said. “He never mentioned anything about being delusional, though.”
That was just the thing, I thought: if you’re delusional, you probably don’t know it. You think you’re all right and it’s the rest of the world that’s crazy.
I was also shocked that Frasier would bring a man in his eighties on a trip like this without even knowing what medications he was taking. What if Mr. Burleson had had a medical emergency of some sort? Maybe he carried all that information on him, but maybe he didn’t.
That confirmed my hunch that Frasier didn’t really care about the old man as a person. Burleson was just a prop for his presentation. A vital prop, maybe, but still a prop.
I saw the hotel ahead of us. I’d been looking at everybody we passed and trying to peer into the windows of every building, too, hoping to spot Howard Burleson. So far, though, there had been no sign of him.
As we reached the hotel, I suggested, “We should talk to that fella Gillette, the assistant manager, if we can find him. I bet he’d be glad to help–and keep quiet about it. He won’t want any bad publicity for the hotel.”
Will said, “That’s a good idea, but he’ll probably be even more worried about the hotel’s liability in a potential lawsuit.”
“I don’t care what gets him movin', as long as he helps us find the old man.”
When we asked at the concierge’s desk for the assistant manager’s office, the pretty blond woman on duty there pointed us down a narrow hallway.
“Is there a problem?” she asked with a look of professional concern. “I’d be glad to help if I can.”
I shook my head. “We just need to talk to Mr.
“Fine,” Frasier snapped. “Let’s just go find him.”
I turned to Will. “I’ll be back later if I can–”
“I’m coming with you,” he broke in as he handed the cheese and crackers to one of the men standing there. “I’m not going to let you wander around the French Quarter alone at night.”
“I won’t be alone. Dr. Frasier and Dr. Paige are going, too.”
“Well, there’ll be four of us, then,” Will insisted.
I didn’t want to waste any more time arguing about that, so I said, “All right, come on. Let’s go.”
The tuxedo-clad man protested. “I still think we should call the police now.”
“Let ‘em take a look,” Dr. Keller urged. “It won’t take long to check and see if the old guy showed up at the hotel since Dr. Frasier left.”
That’s what I thought. There wouldn’t be any leisurely stroll along the sidewalks of the French Quarter this time. I wanted to get back to the St. Emilion as fast as we could.
We left the theater and headed for the hotel, walking fast. I asked Frasier, “Did you actually tell anybody at the hotel that Mr. Burleson is missing?”
He shook his head. “No. The room service operator probably wondered why I was asking if his food had been delivered, but I didn’t specifically say that I couldn’t find him.”
That meant the hotel management wouldn’t have notified the authorities, either.
“Does he have Alzheimer’s?”
“What?” Frasier snapped in reply to my question. “Howard, you mean?”
“Yeah. Has he been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s? Is he on medication for it or for anything else?”
“Not that I know of. His memory’s a little fuzzy sometimes, but mostly he’s as sharp as he can be.”
Dr. Paige said, “Except when he starts trying to convince people that he and Tennessee Williams were lovers.”
“They–” Frasier began angrily, then stopped short in his argument. He turned back to me and said, “Why do you want to know if he has Alzheimer’s?”
“Because if he doesn’t, the police might not even start to look for him for twenty-four or forty-eight hours, depending on what their policy is here. They’ll make an exception, though, if the missing person is delusional or on medication.”
“I don’t know what medication he’s taking,” Frasier said. “He never mentioned anything about being delusional, though.”
That was just the thing, I thought: if you’re delusional, you probably don’t know it. You think you’re all right and it’s the rest of the world that’s crazy.
I was also shocked that Frasier would bring a man in his eighties on a trip like this without even knowing what medications he was taking. What if Mr. Burleson had had a medical emergency of some sort? Maybe he carried all that information on him, but maybe he didn’t.
That confirmed my hunch that Frasier didn’t really care about the old man as a person. Burleson was just a prop for his presentation. A vital prop, maybe, but still a prop.
I saw the hotel ahead of us. I’d been looking at everybody we passed and trying to peer into the windows of every building, too, hoping to spot Howard Burleson. So far, though, there had been no sign of him.
As we reached the hotel, I suggested, “We should talk to that fella Gillette, the assistant manager, if we can find him. I bet he’d be glad to help–and keep quiet about it. He won’t want any bad publicity for the hotel.”
Will said, “That’s a good idea, but he’ll probably be even more worried about the hotel’s liability in a potential lawsuit.”
“I don’t care what gets him movin', as long as he helps us find the old man.”
When we asked at the concierge’s desk for the assistant manager’s office, the pretty blond woman on duty there pointed us down a narrow hallway.
“Is there a problem?” she asked with a look of professional concern. “I’d be glad to help if I can.”
I shook my head. “We just need to talk to Mr.
Similar Books
