B Is for Burglar

well did you know Elaine?" I asked.
    "We spoke when we ran into one another in the hall," he said. "We've been neighbors for years. Why do you want her? Did she run out on her bills?"
    I told him briefly about her apparent absence, adding that the explanation didn't have to be sinister, but that it was puzzling nevertheless. "Do you remember when you saw her last?"
    "Not really. Sometime before she went off. Christmas, I guess. No, I take that back. I did see her New Year's Eve. She said she was staying home."
    "Do you happen to know if she had a cat?"
    "Oh sure. Gorgeous thing. A massive gray Persian named Mingus. He was actually my cat originally, but I was hardly ever home and I thought he should have company so I gave him to her. He was just a kitten at the time. I had no idea he'd turn out to be such a beauty or I never would have given him up. I mean, I've kicked myself ever since, but what can one do? A deal's a deal."
    "What was the deal?"
    He shrugged indifferently. "I made her swear she'd never change his name. Charlie Mingus. After the jazz pianist. Also she had to promise not to leave him by himself, or what was the point in giving him away? I might as well have kept him myself."
    Wim took a careful drag of his cigarette, resting his elbow on the kitchen table. I could hear the shower running somewhere in the back of the apartment.
    "Did she take him with her to Florida every year?"
    "Oh sure. Sometimes right up in the cabin if the airline had the space. She said he loved it down there, thought he owned the place." He picked up a napkin and folded it in half.
    "Well, it's curious he hasn't shown up someplace."
    "He's probably still with her, wherever she is."
    "Did you talk to her after that murder next door?"
    Wim shook his head, neatly flicking ash into the folded napkin. "I did talk to the police, or rather they talked to me. My living-room windows look right down on that house and they were interested in what I could have seen. Which was nothing, I might add. That detective was the biggest macho asshole I've ever met and I didn't appreciate his antagonistic attitude. Can I warm that up for you?"
    He got up and fetched the coffee.
    I nodded and he topped off both our mugs, pouring from a thermos. The sound of running water had abruptly ceased and Wim took note of it, just as I did. He went back to the sink and extinguished his cigarette by running it under the tap and then he tossed it in the trash. He got out a frying pan and took a package of bacon from the refrigerator. "I'd offer you breakfast, but I don't have enough unless you want to join me in a protein drink. I'm going to make that up in a minute, disgusting as it is. I'm doing real food for a friend of mine."
    "I've got to go shortly anyway," I said, getting up.
    He waved at me impatiently. "Sit down, sit down. Finish your coffee at any rate. You might as well ask whatever you want as long as you're here."
    "What about a vet for the cat? Did she have someone in the neighborhood?"
    Wim peeled off three strips of bacon and laid them in the pan, flipping on the gas. He leaned over, peering at the low blue flame. He had to tug his robe down in back.
    He said, "There's a cat clinic around the corner on Serenata Street. She used to take Ming over in one of those cat carriers, howling like a coyote. He hated the vet."
    "You have any guesses about where Elaine might be?"
    "What about her sister? Maybe she's gone down to L.A. to see her."
    "The sister was the one who hired me in the first place," I said. "She hasn't seen Elaine in years."
    Wim looked up sharply from the bacon pan and laughed. "What a crock of shit! Who told you that? I met her up here myself not six months back."
    "You met Beverly?"
    "Sure," he said. He took a fork and pushed the bacon strips in the pan. He went back to the refrigerator and got out three eggs. I was starving to death just watching this stuff.
    He continued chattily. "She was maybe four years younger than Elaine. Black hair, cut gamin-style, exquisite skin." He looked at me. "Am I right or am I not?"
    "Sounds like the woman I met," I said. "But I wonder why she lied to me."
    "I can probably guess," he said. He tore off some paper toweling and folded it, putting it near the frying pan. "They had that nasty falling-out, you know, at Christmastime. Beverly probably doesn't want the word to get out. They positively shrieked and threw things, doors slamming. Oh my God! And the language they used. It was obscene. I had no