calculating?”
“He was like a wild animal. Feral.”
“Smart feral? Like a wolf? Or stupid feral like a snapping turtle?”
“I see what you mean. Like a wolf. He had an evil self-awareness, like he wanted to be thought of as tough.”
“Do you know where he and Simone live?”
Rorvik shook his head. “No. He drove this big pickup, all rebuilt except that it still needs bumpers. It sits up twice as high as any other vehicle. Rell said they live in Sierra Tract, so maybe you could drive those streets and look for the pickup. But I would warn you that you might get yourself killed. At my age, I’ve become quite a good judge of character. My sense was that this guy wouldn’t hesitate to shoot you if he was mad at you. Or, more likely, he’d beat you up first, then shoot you. Although you don’t look like you’d be too easy to beat up.”
“Everybody can be beat up by somebody. I appreciate the warning.”
I thanked Joe for his time. As he made a little nod, I saw a profound sadness in his face.
I felt bad leaving Joe, but I thought I should stop by to visit Dwight Frankman and Michael Paul.
“One more thing you can help me with,” I said. “Do you have the addresses for your full-time neighbors Dwight and Michael?”
Joe looked embarrassed. “That would be obvious, wouldn’t it? But no, I don’t. I can tell you which houses they live in.”
“That’ll work just as well.”
Joe walked over to the front door. When Spot realized where Joe was going, he got up and trotted over to join him. Doors always represent promise and excitement for dogs.
I realized that Joe wanted to point and such, so I opened the door and stepped outside.
Dwight was gone. The Christmas lights on the abstract sculptures were dramatic, and they lit up the entire entry.
“Do you see the reddish house with the big gable up the street on the right?” Joe pointed. “Just before where the street curves away?”
Spot looked where Joe was pointing, then turned toward me. Probably wondering if we were going to run again.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Michael Paul’s house is – let me think – one, two, three, four houses past it on the same side.” Joe turned and pointed the opposite direction down the street.
“If you go down this other way and take the first two right turns in a row and drive down the hill a bit, there’s a modern glass house on the right. The house right after it is Dwight’s house. Kind of a greenish gray.”
I was trying to visualize. “That would be down in the forest below your deck,” I said.
Joe thought about it. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“I’ll be in touch,” I said. Spot and I were half way to the Jeep when I realized that I had one more question. I went back and knocked again.
“You mentioned Simone’s boyfriend’s pickup,” I said when Joe opened the door. “Do you remember the color?”
“Yellow,” Joe said. “Bright yellow.”
EIGHT
I drove to Michael Paul’s house first. It was dark. Nevertheless, I got out and rang the bell.
There was no response. To be expected when the place was dark.
I tried again, waited again. Still no response.
I drove to Dwight’s house. Light spilled out several windows.
He too had some Christmas lights near the front door, but none so high that he needed to risk his life on a step ladder to install them.
The wide entry door was made of beautiful wood with inset panels. Around each panel was a thin stripe of inlaid wood, darker, reddish. Rosewood, maybe. The door probably cost more than my used Jeep.
On the wall to the side of the door was a knocker made of a two-foot length of ski with a ski binding mounted on it. It was an interesting bit of ski country kitsch next to such an elegant door.
I lifted the hinged portion of the ski binding and dropped it down against the ski. It made a loud thwack. Three times was enough to wake any sleeping neighbors and send non-hibernating bears rushing back to their dens.
After a
“He was like a wild animal. Feral.”
“Smart feral? Like a wolf? Or stupid feral like a snapping turtle?”
“I see what you mean. Like a wolf. He had an evil self-awareness, like he wanted to be thought of as tough.”
“Do you know where he and Simone live?”
Rorvik shook his head. “No. He drove this big pickup, all rebuilt except that it still needs bumpers. It sits up twice as high as any other vehicle. Rell said they live in Sierra Tract, so maybe you could drive those streets and look for the pickup. But I would warn you that you might get yourself killed. At my age, I’ve become quite a good judge of character. My sense was that this guy wouldn’t hesitate to shoot you if he was mad at you. Or, more likely, he’d beat you up first, then shoot you. Although you don’t look like you’d be too easy to beat up.”
“Everybody can be beat up by somebody. I appreciate the warning.”
I thanked Joe for his time. As he made a little nod, I saw a profound sadness in his face.
I felt bad leaving Joe, but I thought I should stop by to visit Dwight Frankman and Michael Paul.
“One more thing you can help me with,” I said. “Do you have the addresses for your full-time neighbors Dwight and Michael?”
Joe looked embarrassed. “That would be obvious, wouldn’t it? But no, I don’t. I can tell you which houses they live in.”
“That’ll work just as well.”
Joe walked over to the front door. When Spot realized where Joe was going, he got up and trotted over to join him. Doors always represent promise and excitement for dogs.
I realized that Joe wanted to point and such, so I opened the door and stepped outside.
Dwight was gone. The Christmas lights on the abstract sculptures were dramatic, and they lit up the entire entry.
“Do you see the reddish house with the big gable up the street on the right?” Joe pointed. “Just before where the street curves away?”
Spot looked where Joe was pointing, then turned toward me. Probably wondering if we were going to run again.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Michael Paul’s house is – let me think – one, two, three, four houses past it on the same side.” Joe turned and pointed the opposite direction down the street.
“If you go down this other way and take the first two right turns in a row and drive down the hill a bit, there’s a modern glass house on the right. The house right after it is Dwight’s house. Kind of a greenish gray.”
I was trying to visualize. “That would be down in the forest below your deck,” I said.
Joe thought about it. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“I’ll be in touch,” I said. Spot and I were half way to the Jeep when I realized that I had one more question. I went back and knocked again.
“You mentioned Simone’s boyfriend’s pickup,” I said when Joe opened the door. “Do you remember the color?”
“Yellow,” Joe said. “Bright yellow.”
EIGHT
I drove to Michael Paul’s house first. It was dark. Nevertheless, I got out and rang the bell.
There was no response. To be expected when the place was dark.
I tried again, waited again. Still no response.
I drove to Dwight’s house. Light spilled out several windows.
He too had some Christmas lights near the front door, but none so high that he needed to risk his life on a step ladder to install them.
The wide entry door was made of beautiful wood with inset panels. Around each panel was a thin stripe of inlaid wood, darker, reddish. Rosewood, maybe. The door probably cost more than my used Jeep.
On the wall to the side of the door was a knocker made of a two-foot length of ski with a ski binding mounted on it. It was an interesting bit of ski country kitsch next to such an elegant door.
I lifted the hinged portion of the ski binding and dropped it down against the ski. It made a loud thwack. Three times was enough to wake any sleeping neighbors and send non-hibernating bears rushing back to their dens.
After a
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