E Is for Evidence

manner became formal, circumspect. "I see. Well, Darcy, he doesn't talk to me about his work. I know he loves the company and he's fine at what he does."
    "Oh, absolutely," said I. "And he's very well liked, which is why we were concerned when he went off with-out a word. We thought maybe some kind of family matter came up. He didn't say anything about going out of town for a few days?"
    She shook her head.
    Judging from her attitude, I was almost certain she knew about the scam. I was equally certain she'd never give a hint of confirmation.
    She said, "I wish I could help you, but he never said a word to me. In fact, I'd appreciate a call myself when the man turns up. I don't like to have to sit here and fret."
    "I don't blame you," I said. "You can reach me at this number if you need to, and I'll check back with you if I hear anything." I jotted down Darcy's name and my tele-phone number.
    "I hope nothing's wrong." This seemed like the first sincere comment she'd made.
    "I'm sure not," I said. Personally, I was betting some-thing had scared the hell out of him and he'd taken off.
    She'd had a few minutes now to focus on my browless, burned face. "Uh, I hope this doesn't seem rude, but were you in some kind of accident?"
    "A gas heater blew up in my face," I said. She made some sympathetic noises and I hoped the lie wouldn't come back to haunt me. "Well, I'm sorry I had to bother you on a holiday. I'll let you know if we hear from him." I got up and she rose as well, crossing with me to the front door.
    I walked home through streets beginning to darken, though it was not quite 5:00. The winter sun had sunk and the air temperature was dropping with it. I was exhausted, secretly wishing I could check back into the hospital for the night. Something about the clean white sheets seemed inviting. I was hungry, too, and for once would have wel-comed something more nutritious than peanut butter and crackers, which was what I was looking forward to.
    Daniel's car was parked at the curb out in front of my apartment. I peered in, half expecting to find him asleep on the back seat. I went in through the gate and around the side of the building to Henry's backyard. Daniel was sitting on the cinder-block wall that separated Henry's lot from our neighbor to the right. Daniel, his elbows on his knees, was blowing a low, mournful tune on an alto har-monica. With the cowboy boots, the jeans, and a blue-denim jacket, he might have been out on the range.
    " 'Bout time you got home," he remarked. He tucked the harmonica in his pocket and got up.
    "I had work to do."
    "You're always working. You should take better care of yourself."
    I unlocked my front door and went in, flipping on the light. I slung my handbag on a chair and sank down on the couch. Daniel moved into my kitchenette and opened the refrigerator.
    "Don't you ever grocery-shop?"
    "What for? I'm never home."
    "Lord." He took out a stub of butter, some eggs, and a packet of cheese so old it looked like dark plastic around the edge. While I watched, he searched my kitchen cabi-nets, assembling miscellaneous foodstuffs. I slouched down on my spine, leaning my head against the back of the couch with my feet propped up on the ottoman. I was fresh out of snappy talk and I couldn't conjure up a shred of anger. This was a man I'd loved once, and though the feelings were gone, a certain familiarity remained.
    "How come this place smells like feet?" he said idly. He was already chopping onions, his fingers nimble. He played piano the same way, with a careless expertise.
    "It's my air fern. Somebody gave it to me as a pet."
    He picked up the tag end of a pound of bacon, sniffing suspiciously at the contents. "Stiff as beef jerky."
    "Lasts longer that way," I said.
    He shrugged and extracted the three remaining pieces of bacon, which he dropped into the skillet with a clinking sound. "God, one thing about giving up dope, food never has tasted right," he said. "Smoke dope, you're always eating the best meal you ever had. Helps when you're broke or on the road."
    "You really gave up the hard stuff?"
    "'Fraid so," he said. "Gave up cigarettes, gave up coffee. I do drink a beer now and then, though I notice you don't have any. I used to go to AA meetings five times a week, but that talk of a higher power got to me in the end. There isn't any power higher than heroin, you can take my word for it."
    I could feel myself drifting off. He was humming to himself, a melody dimly remembered, that